diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:47 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:39:47 -0700 |
| commit | f097dcb9704eca6fcee9dc4298eeb3456dd1dc3b (patch) | |
| tree | 45fdb50daaebfb8da7422bff147b276783d7c172 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 12385-0.txt | 13590 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12385-8.txt | 14015 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12385-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 276090 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12385.txt | 14015 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12385.zip | bin | 0 -> 275996 bytes |
8 files changed, 41636 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12385-0.txt b/12385-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b9513c --- /dev/null +++ b/12385-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13590 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12385 *** + +THE ITALIANS: + +A Novel + +BY FRANCES ELLIOT + +AUTHOR OF "ROMANCE OF OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE," "THE DIARY OF AN IDLE +WOMAN IN ITALY," ETC., ETC. + +1875 + + + + + + +TO + +THE REAL ENRICA, + +WITH + +THE AUTHOR'S LOVE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I. + + I. LUCCA + II. THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA + III. THE THREE WITCHES + IV. THE MARCHESA GUINIGI + V. ENRICA + VI. MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME + VII. COUNT MARESCOTTI + VIII. THE CABINET COUNCIL + IX. THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL + + +PART II. + + I. CALUMNY + II. CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO + III. THE GUINIGI TOWER + IV. COUNT NOBILI + V. NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL + VI. A NEW PHILOSOPHY + VII. THE MARCHESA'S PASSION + VIII. ENRICA'S TRIAL + IX. WHAT CAME OF IT + + +PART III. + + + I. A LONELY TOWN + II. WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS + III. WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCHESA'S PAPERS + IV. WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE + V. "SAY NOT TOO MUCH" + VI. THE CONTRACT + VII. THE CLUB AT LUCCA + VIII. COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS + IX. NERA + + +PART IV. + + + I. WAITING AND LONGING + II. A STORM AT THE VILLA + III. BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH + IV. FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA + V. TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? + VI. THE CHURCH AND THE LAW + VII. THE HOUR STRIKES + VIII. FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME + IX. HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE + X. THE LAWYER BAFFLED + XI. FACE TO FACE + XII. OH BELLO! + + + + + + + +PART I. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +LUCCA. + + +We are at Lucca. It is the 13th of September, 1870--the anniversary of +the festival of the Volto Santo--a notable day, both in city, suburb, +and province. Lucca dearly loves its festivals--no city more; and of +all the festivals of the year that of the Volto Santo best. Now the +Volto Santo (_Anglicè_, Holy Countenance) is a miraculous crucifix, +which hangs, as may be seen, all by itself in a gorgeous chapel--more +like a pagoda than a chapel, and more like a glorified bird-cage than +either--built expressly for it among the stout Lombard pillars in the +nave of the cathedral. The crucifix is of cedar-wood, very black, and +very ugly, and it was carved by Nicodemus; of this fact no orthodox +Catholic entertains a doubt. But on what authority I cannot tell, nor +why, nor how, the Holy Countenance reached the snug little city of +Lucca, except by flying through the air like the Loretto house, or +springing out of the earth like the Madonna of Feltri. But here it is, +and here it has been for many a long year; and here it will remain +as a miraculous relic, bringing with it blessings and immunities +innumerable to the grateful city. + +What a glorious morning it is! The sun rose without a cloud. Now there +is a golden haze hanging over the plain, and glints as of living flame +on the flanks of the mountains. From all sides crowds are pressing +toward Lucca. Before six o'clock every high-road is alive. Down from +the highest mountain-top of Pizzorna, overlooking Florence and its +vine-garlanded campagna, comes the hermit, brown-draped, in hood and +mantle; staff in hand, he trudges along the dusty road. And down, +too, from his native lair among the pigs and the poultry, comes the +black-eyed, black-skinned, matted-haired urchin, who makes mud pies +under the tufted ilex-trees at Ponte a Moriano, and swears at the +hermit. + +They come! they come! From mountain-sides bordering the broad road +along the Serchio--mountains dotted with bright homesteads, each +gleaming out of its own cypress-grove, olive-patch, canebrake, and +vine-arbor, under which the children play--they come from solitary +hovels, hung up, as it were, in mid-air, over gloomy ravines, scored +and furrowed with red earth, down which dark torrents dash and spray. + +They come! they come! these Tuscan peasants, a trifle too fond of +holiday-keeping, like their betters--but what would you have? The land +is fertile, and corn and wine and oil and rosy flowering almonds grow +almost as of themselves. They come--tens and tens of miles away, from +out the deep shadows of primeval chestnut-woods, clothing the flanks +of rugged Apennines with emerald draperies. They come--through parting +rocks, bordering nameless streams--cool, delicious waters, over which +bend fig, peach, and plum, delicate ferns and unknown flowers. They +come--from hamlets and little burghs, gathered beside lush pastures, +where tiny rivulets trickle over fresh turf and fragrant herbs, +lulling the ear with softest echoes. + +They come--dark-eyed mothers and smiling daughters, decked with +gold pins, flapping Leghorn hats, lace veils or snowy handkerchiefs +gathered about their heads, coral beads, and golden crosses as big as +shields, upon their necks--escorted by lover, husband, or father--a +flower behind his ear, a slouch hat on his head, a jacket thrown over +one arm, every man shouldering a red umbrella, although to doubt the +weather to-day is absolute sacrilege! + +Carts clatter by every moment, drawn by swift Maremma nags, gay with +brass harness, tinkling bells, and tassels of crimson on reins and +frontlet. + +The carts are laden with peasants (nine, perhaps, ranged three +abreast)--treason to the gallant animal that, tossing its little head, +bravely struggles with the cruel load. A priest is stuck in bodkin +among his flock--a priest who leers and jests between pinches of +snuff, and who, save for his seedy black coat, knee-breeches, worsted +stockings, shoe-buckles, clerical hat, and smoothly-shaven chin, is +rougher than a peasant himself. + +Riders on Elba ponies, with heavy cloaks (for the early morning, spite +of its glories, is chill), spur by, adding to the dust raised by the +carts. + +Genteel flies and hired carriages with two horses, and hood and +foot-board--pass, repass, and out-race each other. These flies and +carriages are crammed with bailiffs from the neighboring villas, +shopkeepers, farmers, and small proprietors. Donkeys, too, there are +in plenty, carrying men bigger than themselves (under protest, be it +observed, for here, as in all countries, your donkey, though marked +for persecution, suffers neither willingly nor in silence). Begging +friars, tanned like red Indians, glide by, hot and grimy (thank +Heaven! not many now, for "New Italy" has sacked most of the convent +rookeries and dispersed the rooks), with wallets on their shoulders, +to carry back such plunder as can be secured, to far-off convents and +lonely churches, folded up tightly in forest fastnesses. + +All are hurrying onward with what haste they may, to reach the city +of Lucca, while broad shadows from the tall mountains on either hand +still fall athwart the roads, and cool morning air breathes up from +the rushing Serchio. + +The Serchio--a noble river, yet willful as a mountain-torrent--flows +round the embattled walls of Lucca, and falls into the Mediterranean +below Pisa. It is calm now, on this day of the great festival, +sweeping serenely by rocky capes, and rounding into fragrant bays, +where overarching boughs droop and feather. But there is a sullen +look about its current, that tells how wicked it can be, this Serchio, +lashed into madness by winter storms, and the overflowing of the +water-gates above, among the high Apennines--at the Abbetone at San +Marcello, or at windy, ice-bound Pracchia. + +How fair are thy banks, O mountain-bordered Serchio! How verdant +with near wood and neighboring forest! How gay with cottage +groups--open-galleried and garlanded with bunches of golden maize and +vine-branches--all laughing in the sun! The wine-shops, too, along the +road, how tempting, with snowy table-cloths spread upon dressers under +shady arbors of lemon--trees; pleasant odors from the fry cooking in +the stove, mixing with the perfume of the waxy flowers! Dear to +the nostrils of the passers-by are these odors. They snuff them +up--onions, fat, and macaroni, with delight. They can scarcely resist +stopping once for all here, instead of waiting for their journey's end +to eat at Lucca. + +But the butterflies--and they are many--are wiser in their generation. +The butterflies have a festival of their own to-day. They do not wait +for any city. They are fixed to no spot. They can hold their festival +anywhere under the blue sky, in the broad sunshine. + +See how they dance among the flowers! Be it spikes of wild-lavender, +or yellow down within the Canterbury bell, or horn of purple +cyclamens, or calyx of snowy myrtle, the soft bosom of tall lilies or +glowing petals of red cloves--nothing comes amiss to the butterflies. +They are citizens of the world, and can feast wherever fancy leads +them. + +Meanwhile, on comes the crowd, nearer and nearer to the city of their +pilgrimage, laughing, singing, talking, smoking. Your Italian peasant +must sleep or smoke, excepting when he plays at _morra_ (one, two, +three, and away!). Then he puts his pipe into his pocket. The +women are conversing in deep voices, in the _patois_ of the various +villages. The men, more silent, search out who is fairest--to lead +her on the way, to kneel beside her at the shrine, and, most prized of +all, to conduct her home. Each village has its belle, each belle her +circle of admirers. Belles and beaux all have their own particular +plan of diversion for the day. For is it not a great day? And is it +not stipulated in many of the marriage contracts among the mountain +tribes that the husband must, under a money penalty, conduct his wife +to the festival of the Holy Countenance once at least in four years? +The programme is this: First, they enter the cathedral, kneel at the +glistening shrine of the black crucifix, kiss its golden slipper, and +hear mass. Then they will grasp such goods as the gods provide them, +in street, _café_, eating-house, or day theatre; make purchases in the +shops and booths, and stroll upon the ramparts. Later, when the sun +sinks westward over the mountains, and the deep canopy of twilight +falls, they will return by the way that they have come, until the +coming year. + + * * * * * + +Within the city, from before daybreak, church-bells--and Lucca abounds +in belfries fretted tier upon tier, with galleries of delicate marble +colonnettes, all ablaze in the sunshine--have pealed out merrily. + +Every church-door, draped with gold tissue and silken stuffs, more +or less splendid, is thrown wide open. Every shop is closed, save +_cafés_, hotels, and tobacco-shops (where, by command of the King of +New Italy, infamous cigars are sold). Eating-tables are spread at the +corners of the streets and under the trees in the piazza, benches are +ranged everywhere where benches can stand. The streets are filling +every moment as fresh multitudes press through the city gates--those +grand old gates, where the marble lions of Lucca keep guard, looking +toward the mountains. + +For a carriage to pass anywhere in the streets would be impossible, so +tightly are flapping Leghorn hats, and veils, snowy handkerchiefs, and +red caps and brigand hats, packed together. Bells ring, and there are +waftings of military music borne through the air. Trumpet-calls at the +different barracks answer to each other. Cannons are fired. Each +man, woman, and child shouts, screams, and laughs. All down the dark, +cavernous streets, in the great piazza, at the sindaco's, at college, +at club, public offices, and hotels, at the grand old palaces, +untouched since the middle ages--the glory of the city--at every +house, great and small--flutter gaudy draperies; crimson, amber, +violet, and gold, according to purse and condition, either of richest +brocade, or of Eastern stuffs wrought in gold and needle-work, or--the +family carpet or bed-furniture hung out for show. Banners wave from +every house-top and tower, the Italian tricolor and the Savoy cross, +white, on a red ground; flowers and garlands are wreathed on the +fronts of the stern old walls. If peasants, and shopkeepers, and +monks, priests, beggars, and _hoi polloi_ generally, possess the +pavement, overhead every balcony, gallery, terrace, and casement, +is filled with company, representatives of the historic families of +Lucca, the Manfredi, Possenti, Navascoes, Bernardini, dal Portico, +Bocella, Manzi, da Gia, Orsetti, Ruspoli--feudal names dear to native +ears. The noble marquis, or his excellency the count, lord of broad +acres on the plains, or principalities in the mountains, or of hoarded +wealth at the National Bank--is he not Lucchese also to the backbone? +And does he not delight in the festival as keenly as that half-naked +beggar, who rattles his box for alms, with a broad grin on his dirty +face? + +Resplendent are the ladies in the balconies, dressed in their +best--like bands of fluttering ribbon stretched across the +sombre-fronted palaces; aristocratic daughters, and dainty consorts. +They are not chary of their charms. They laugh, fan themselves, lean +over sculptured balustrades, and eye the crowded streets, talking with +lip and fan, eye and gesture. + +In the long, narrow street of San Simone, behind the cathedral of San +Martino, stand the two Guinigi Palaces. They are face to face. One is +ditto of the other. Each is in the florid style of Venetian-Gothic, +dating from the beginning of the fourteenth century. Both were built +by Paolo Guinigi, head of the illustrious house of that name, for +forty years general and tyrant of the Republic of Lucca. Both palaces +bear his arms, graven on marble tablets beside the entrance. Both +are of brick, now dulled and mellowed into a reddish white. Both +have walls of enormous thickness. The windows of the upper +stories--quadruple casements divided, Venetian-like, by twisted +pillarettes richly carved--are faced and mullioned with marble. + +The lower windows (mere square apertures) are barred with iron. The +arched portals opening to the streets are low, dark, and narrow. The +inner courts gloomy, damp, and prison-like. Brass ornaments, sockets, +rings, and torch-holders of iron, sculptured emblems, crests, and +cognizances in colored marble, are let into the outer walls. In all +else, ornamentation is made subservient to defense. These are city +fortresses rather than ancestral palaces. They were constructed to +resist either attack or siege. + +Rising out of the overhanging roof (supported on wooden rafters) of +the largest and most stately of the two palaces, where twenty-three +groups of clustered casements, linked by slender pillars, extend in a +line along a single story--rises a mediaeval tower of defense of +many stories. Each story is pierced by loop-holes for firing into the +street below. On the machicolated summit is a square platform, where +in the course of many peaceful ages a bay-tree has come to grow of a +goodly size. About this bay-tree tangled weeds and tufted grasses +wave in the wind. Below, here and there, patches of blackened moss +or yellow lichen, a branch of mistletoe or a bunch of fern, break +the lines of the mediaeval brickwork. Sprays of wild-ivy cling to the +empty loop-holes, through which the blue sky peeps. + +The lesser of the two palaces--the one on the right hand as you ascend +the street of San Simone coming from the cathedral--is more decorated +to-day than any other in Lucca. A heavy sea of Leghorn hats and black +veils, with male accompaniments, is crowded beneath. They stare upward +and murmur with delight. Gold and silver stuffs, satin and taffeta, +striped brocades, and rich embroideries, flutter from the clustered +casement up to the overhanging roof. There are many flags (one with +a coat-of-arms, amber and purple on a gold ground) blazing in +the sunshine. The grim brick façade is festooned with wreaths of +freshly-plucked roses. Before the low-arched entrance on the pavement +there is a carpet of flower-petals fashioned into a monogram, bearing +the letters "M.N." Just within the entrance stands a porter, leaning +on a gold staff, as immovable in aspect as are the mediaeval walls +that close in behind him. A badge or baldric is passed across his +chest; he is otherwise so enveloped with gold-lace, embroidery, +buttons, trencher, and cocked-hat, that the whole inner man is +absorbed, not to say invisible. Beside him, in the livery of the +house, tall valets grin, lounge, and ogle the passers-by (wearers +of Leghorn hats, and veils, and white head-gear generally). This +particular Guinigi Palace belongs to Count Mario Nobili. He bought +it of the Marchesa Guinigi, who lives opposite. Nobili is the richest +young man in Lucca. No one calls upon him for help in vain; but, let +it be added, no one offends him with impunity. When Nobili first came +to Lucca, the old families looked coldly at him, his nobility being +of very recent date. It was bestowed on his father, a successful +banker--some said usurer, some said worse--by the Grand-duke Leopold, +for substantial assistance toward his pet hobby--the magnificent road +that zigzags up the mountain-side to Fiesole from Florence. + +But young Nobili soon conquered Lucchese prejudice. Now he is well +received by all--_all_ save the Marchesa Guinigi. She was, and is at +this time, still irreconcilable. Nobili stands in the central window +of his palace. He leans out over the street, a cigar in his mouth. +A servant beside him flings down from time to time some silver +coin among Leghorn hats and the beggars, who scramble for it on the +pavement. Nobili's eyes beam as the populace look up and cheer him: +"Long live Count Nobili! Evviva!" He takes off his hat and bows; more +silver coin comes clattering down on the pavement; there are fresh +evvivas, fresh bows, and more scramblers cover the street. "No one +like Nobili," the people say; "so affable, so open-handed--yes, and so +clever, too, for has he not traveled, and does he not know the world?" + +Beside Count Nobili some _jeunesse dorée_ of his own age (sons of the +best houses in Lucca) also lean over the Venetian casements. Like +the liveried giants at the entrance, these laugh, ogle, chaff, +and criticise the wearers of Leghorn hats, black veils, and white +head-gear, freely. They smoke, and drink _liqueurs_ and sherbet, and +crack sugar-plums out of crystal cup on silver plates, set on embossed +trays placed beside them. + +The profession of these young men is idleness. They excel in it. Let +us pause for a moment and ask what they do--this _jeunesse dorée_, to +whom the sacred mission is committed of regenerating an heroic people? +They could teach Ovid "the art of love." It comes to them in the air +they breathe. They do not love their neighbor as themselves, but they +love their neighbor's wives. Nothing is holy to them. "All for love, +and the world well lost," is their motto. They can smile in their best +friend's face, weep with him, rejoice with him, eat with him, drink +with him, and--betray him; they do this every day, and do it well. +They can also lie artistically, dressing up imaginary details with +great skill, gamble and sing, swear, and talk scandal. They can lead +a graceful, dissolute, _far niente_ life, loll in carriages, and be +whirled round for hours, say the Florence Cascine, the Roman Pincio, +and the park at Milan--smoking the while, and raising their hats to +the ladies. They can trot a well-broken horse--not too fresh, on a +hard road, and are wonderful in ruining his legs. A very few can +drive what they call a _stage_ (_Anglicè_, drag) with grave and +well-educated wheelers, on a very straight road--such as do this +are looked upon as heroes--shoot a hare sitting, also tom-tits and +sparrows. But they can neither hunt, nor fish, nor row. They are ready +of tongue and easy of offense. They can fight duels (with swords), +generally a harmless exercise. They can dance. They can hold strong +opinions on subjects on which they are crassly ignorant, and yield +neither to fact nor argument where their mediaeval usages are +concerned. All this the golden youths of Young Italy can do, and do it +well. + +Yet from such stuff as this are to come the future ministers, +prefects, deputies, financiers, diplomatists, and senators, who are to +regenerate the world's old mistress! Alas, poor Italy! + +The Guinigi Palace opposite forms a striking contrast to Count +Nobili's abode. It is as silent as the grave. Every shutter is closed. +The great wooden door to the street is locked; a heavy chain is drawn +across it. The Marchesa Guinigi has strictly commanded that it should +be so. She will have nothing to do with the festival of the Holy +Countenance. She will take no part in it whatever. Indeed, she has +come to Lucca on purpose to see that her orders are obeyed to the very +letter, else that rascal of a secretary might have hung out something +in spite of her. The marchesa, who has been for many years a widow, +and is absolute possessor of the palace and lands, calls herself a +liberal. But she is in practice the most thorough-going aristocrat +alive. In one respect she is a liberal. She despises priests, laughs +at miracles, and detests festivals. "A loss of time, and, if of time, +of money," she says. If the peasants and the people complain of the +taxes, and won't work six days in the week, "Let them starve," says +the marchesa--"let them starve; so much the better!" + +In her opinion, the legend of the Holy Countenance is a lie, got up by +priests for money; so she comes into the city from Corellia, and +shuts up her palace, publicly to show her opinion. As far as she is +concerned, she believes neither in St. Nicodemus nor in idleness. + +A good deal of this, be it said, _en passant_, is sheer obstinacy. The +marchesa is obstinate to folly, and full of contradictions. Besides, +there is another powerful motive that influences her--she hates Count +Nobili. Not that he has ever done any thing personally to offend her; +of this he is incapable--indeed, he has his own reasons for desiring +passionately to be on good terms with her--but he has, in her opinion, +injured her by purchasing the second Guinigi Palace. That she should +have been obliged to sell one of her ancestral palaces at all is to +her a bitter misfortune; but that any one connected with trade should +possess what had been inherited generation after generation by the +Guinigi, is intolerable. + +That a _parvenu_, the son of a banker, should live opposite to her, +that he should abound in money, which he flings about recklessly, +while she can with difficulty eke out the slender rents from the +greatly-reduced patrimony of the Guinigi, is more than she can bear. +His popularity and his liberality (and she cannot come to Lucca +without hearing of both), even that comely young face of his, which +she sees when she passes the club on the way to her afternoon drive +on the ramparts, are dire offenses in her eyes. Whatever Count Nobili +does, she (the Marchesa Guinigi) will do the reverse. He has opened +his house for the festival. Hers shall be closed. She is thoroughly +exceptional, however, in such conduct. Every one in Lucca save +herself, rich and poor, noble and villain, join heart and soul in +the national festival. Every one lays aside on this auspicious day +differences of politics, family feuds, and social animosities. Even +enemies join hands and kneel side by side at the same altar. It is the +mediaeval "God's truce" celebrated in the nineteenth century. + + * * * * * + +It is now eleven o'clock. A great deal of sausage and garlic, washed +down by new wine and light beer, has been by this time consumed in +eating-shops and on street tables; much coffee, _liqueurs_, cake, and +bonbons, inside the palaces. + +Suddenly all the church-bells, which have rung out since daybreak like +mad, stop; only the deep-toned cathedral-bell booms out from its snowy +campanile in half-minute strokes. There is an instant lull, the din +and clatter of the streets cease, the crowd surges, separates, and +disappears, the palace windows and balconies empty themselves, +the street forms are vacant. The procession in honor of the Holy +Countenance is forming; every one has rushed off to the cathedral. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA. + + +Martino, the cathedral of Lucca, stands on one side of a small piazza +behind the principal square. At the first glance, its venerable +aspect, vast proportions, and dignity of outline, do not sufficiently +seize upon the imagination; but, as the eye travels over the elaborate +façade, formed by successive galleries supported by truncated pillars, +these galleries in their turn resting on clustered columns of richest +sculpture forming the triple portals--the fine inlaid work, statues, +bass-relief, arabesques of fruit, foliage, and quaint animals--the +dome, and, above all, the campanile--light and airy as a dream, +springing upward on open arches where the sun burns hotly--the eye +comes to understand what a glorious Gothic monument it is. + +The three portals are now open. From the lofty atrium raised on broad +marble steps, with painted ceiling and sculptured walls--at one end a +bubbling fountain falling into a marble basin, at the other an arched +gate-way leading into grass-grown cloisters--the vast nave is visible +from end to end. This nave is absolutely empty. Every thing tells of +expectation, of anticipation. The mighty Lombard pillars on either +side--supporting a triforium gallery of circular arches and slender +pillars of marble fretwork, delicate as lace--are wreathed and +twined with red taffetas bound with golden bands. The gallery of the +triforium itself is draped with arras and rich draperies. Each dainty +column is decked with flags and pennons. The aisles and transepts +blaze with gorgeous hangings. Overhead saints, prophets, and martyrs, +standing immovable in the tinted glories of the stained windows, +fling broad patches of purple, emerald, and yellow, upon the intaglio +pavement. + +Along the nave (a hedge, as it were, on either side) are hung curtains +of cloth of gold. + +The high altar, inclosed by a balustrade of colored marble raised +on steps richly carpeted, glitters with gemmed chalices and crosses. +Behind, countless wax-lights illuminate the rich frescoes of the +tribune. The Chapel of the Holy Countenance (midway up the nave), +inclosed by a gilded net-work, is a dazzling mountain of light flung +from a thousand golden sconces. A black figure as large as life rests +upon the altar. It is stretched upon a cross. The eyes are white +and glassy; the thorn-crowned head leans on one side. The body +is enveloped in a damascened robe spangled with jewels. This robe +descends to the feet, which are cased in shoes of solid gold. The +right foot rests on a sacramental cup glittering with gems. On either +side are angels, with arms extended. One holds a massive sceptre, the +other the silver keys of the city of Lucca. + +All waits. The bride, glorious in her garment of needle-work, waits. +The bridegroom waits. The sacramental banquet is spread; the guests +are bidden. All waits the moment when the multitude, already buzzing +without at the western entrance, shall spread themselves over +the mosaic floor, and throng each chapel, altar, gallery, and +transept--when anthems of praise shall peal from the double doors of +the painted organ, and holy rites give a mystic language to the sacred +symbols around. + +Meanwhile the procession flashes from street to street. Banners +flutter in the hot mid-day air, tall crucifixes and golden crosses +reach to the upper stories. In the pauses the low hum of the chanted +canticles is caught up here and there along the line--now the +monks--then the canons with a nasal twang--then the laity. + +There are the judges, twelve in number, robed in black, scarlet, +and ermine, their broad crimson sashes sweeping the pavement. The +_gonfaloniere_--that ancient title of republican freedom still +remaining--walks behind, attired in antique robes. Next appear the +municipality--wealthy, oily-faced citizens, at this moment much +overcome by the heat. Following these are the Lucchese nobles, walking +two-and-two, in a precedence not prescribed by length of pedigree, but +of age. Next comes the prefect of the city; at his side the general in +command of the garrison of Lucca, escorted by a brilliant staff. Each +bears a tall lighted torch. + +The law and the army are closely followed by the church. All are +there, two-and-two--from the youngest deacon to the oldest canon--in +his robe of purple silk edged with gold--wearing a white mitre. The +church is generally corpulent; these dignitaries are no exception. + +Amid a cloud of incense walks the archbishop--a tall, stately man, +in the prime of life--under a canopy of crimson silk resting on gold +staves, borne over him by four canons habited in purple. He moves +along, a perfect mass of brocade, lace, and gold--literally aflame +in the sunshine. His mitred head is bent downward; his eyes are half +closed; his lips move. In his hands--which are raised almost level +with his face, and reverently covered by his vestments--he bears a +gemmed vessel containing the Host, to be laid by-and-by on the +altar of the Holy Countenance. All the church-bells are now ringing +furiously. Cannons fire, and military bands drown the low hum of +the chanting. Every head is uncovered--many, specially women, are +prostrate on the stones. + +Arrived at the basilica of San Frediano, the procession halts under +the Byzantine mosaic on a gold ground, over the entrance. The entire +chapter is assembled before the open doors. They kneel before the +archbishop carrying the Host. Again there is a halt before the snowy +façade of the church of San Michele, pillared to the summit with +slender columns of Carrara marble--on the topmost pinnacle a colossal +statue of the archangel, in golden bronze, the outstretched wings +glistening against the turquoise sky. Here the same ceremonies are +repeated as at the church of San Frediano. The archbishop halts, the +chanting ceases, the Host is elevated, the assembled priests adore it, +kneeling without the portal. + +It is one o'clock before the archbishop is enthroned within the +cathedral. The chapter, robed in red and purple, are ranged behind him +in the tribune at the back of the high altar, the grand old frescoes +hovering over them. The secular dignitaries are seated on benches +below the altar-steps. _Palchi_ (boxes), on either side of the +nave, are filled with Lucchese ladies, dark-haired, dark-eyed, +olive-skinned, backed by the crimson draperies with which the nave is +dressed. + +A soft fluttering of fans agitates feathers, lace, and ribbons. Fumes +of incense mix with the scent of strong perfumes. Not the smallest +attention is paid by the ladies to the mass which is celebrating at +the high altar and the altar of the Holy Countenance. Their jeweled +hands hold no missal, their knees are unbent, their lips utter no +prayer. Instead, there are bright glances from lustrous eyes, and +whispered words to favored golden youths (without religion, of +course--what has a golden youth to do with religion?) who have +insinuated themselves within the ladies seats, or lean over, gazing at +them with upturned faces. + +Peal after peal of musical thunder rolls from the double organs. It +is caught up by the two orchestras placed in gilt galleries on either +side of the nave. A vocal chorus on this side responds to exquisite +voices on that. Now a flute warbles a luscious solo, then a flageolet. +A grand barytone bursts forth, followed by a tenor soft as the notes +of a nightingale, accompanied by a boy on the violin. Then there is +the crash of many hundred voices, with the muffled roar of two organs. +It is the _Gloria in Excelsis_. As the music rolls down the pillared +nave out into the crowded piazza, where it dies away in harmonious +murmurs, an iron cresset, suspended from the vaulted ceiling of the +nave, filled with a bundle of flax, is fired. The flax blazes for a +moment, then passes away in a shower of glittering sparks that glitter +upon the inlaid floor. _Sic transit gloria mundi_ is the motto. (Now +the lighting of this flax is a special privilege accorded to the +Archbishop of Lucca by the pope, and jealously guarded by him.) + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE THREE WITCHES. + + +Many carriages wait outside the cathedral, in the shade near the +fountain. The fountain--gushing upward joyously in the beaming +sunshine out of a red-marble basin--is just beyond the atrium, +and visible through the arches on that side. Beyond the fountain, +terminating the piazza, there is a high wall. This wall supports a +broad marble terrace, with heavy balustrades, extending from the +back of a mediaeval palace. Over the wall green vine-branches trail, +sweeping the pavement, like ringlets that have fallen out of curl. +This wall and terrace communicate with the church of San Giovanni, an +ancient Lombard basilica on that side. Under the shadow of the heavy +roof some girls are trying to waltz to the sacred music from the +cathedral. After a few turns they find it difficult, and leave off. +The men in livery, waiting along with the carriages, laugh at them +lazily. The girls retreat, and group themselves on the steps of a +deeply-arched doorway with a bass-relief of the Virgin and angels, +leading into the church, and talk in low voices. + +A ragged boy from the Garfagnana, with a tray of plaster heads of +Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi, has put down his wares, and is turning +wheels upon the pavement, before the servants, for a penny. An old man +pulls out from under his cloak a dancing dog, with crimson collar and +bells, and collects a little crowd under the atrium of the cathedral. +A soldier, touched with compassion, takes a crust from his pocket to +reward the dancing dog, which, overcome by the temptation, drops on +his four legs, runs to him, and devours it, for which delinquency the +old man beats him severely. His yells echo loudly among the pillars, +and drown the rich tide of harmony that ebbs and flows through the +open portals. The beggars have betaken themselves to their accustomed +seats on the marble steps of the cathedral, San Martin of +Tours, parting his cloak--carved in alt-relief, over the central +entrance--looking down upon them encouragingly. These beggars clink +their metal boxes languidly, or sleep, lying flat on the stones. +A group of women have jammed themselves into a corner between the +cathedral and the hospital adjoining it on that side. They are waiting +to see the company pass out. Two of them standing close together are +talking eagerly. + +"My gracious! who would have thought that old witch, the Guinigi," +whispers Carlotta--Carlotta owned a little mercery-shop in a +side-street running by the palace, right under the tower--to her +gossip Brigitta, an occasional customer for cotton and buttons, "who +would have thought that she--gracious! who would have thought she +dared to shut up her palace the day of the festival? Did you see?" + +"Yes, I did," answers Brigitta. + +"Curses on her!" hisses out Carlotta, showing her black teeth. "Listen +to me, she will have a great misfortune--mark my words--a great +misfortune soon--the stingy old devil!" + +Hearing the organ at that instant, Brigitta kneels on the stones, and +crosses herself; then rises and looks at Carlotta. "St. Nicodemus will +have his revenge, never fear." + +Carlotta is still speaking. Brigitta shakes her head prophetically, +again looking at Carlotta, whose deep-sunk eyes are fixed upon her. + +"Checco says--Checco is a shoemaker, and he knows the daughter of the +man who helps the butler in Casa Guinigi--Checco says she laughs at +the Holy Countenance. Domine Dio! what an infamy!" cries Carlotta, in +a cracked voice, raising her skinny hands and shaking them in the air. +"I hate the Guinigi! I hate her! I spit on her, I curse her!" + +There is such venom in Carlotta's looks and in Carlotta's words that +Brigitta suddenly takes her eyes off a man with a red waistcoat whom +she is ogling, but who by no means reciprocates her attention, and +asks Carlotta sharply, "Why she hates the marchesa?" + +"Listen," answers Carlotta, holding up her finger. "One day, as I came +out of my little shop, _she_"--and Carlotta points with her thumb +over her shoulder toward the street of San Simone and the Guinigi +Palace--"_she_ was driving along the street in her old Noah's Ark of +a carriage. Alas! I am old and feeble, and the horses came along +quickly. I had no time to get into the little square of San Barnabo, +out of the way; the wheel struck me on the shoulder, I fell down. Yes, +I fell down on the hard pavement, Brigitta." And Carlotta sways her +grizzly head from side to side, and grasps the other's arm so tightly +that Brigitta screams. "Brigitta, the marchesa saw me. She saw me +lying there, but she never stopped nor turned her head. I lay on the +stones, sick and very sore, till a neighbor, Antonio the carpenter, +who works in the little square, a good lad, picked me up and carried +me home." + +As she speaks, Carlotta's eyes glitter like a serpent's. She shakes +all over. + +"Lord have mercy!" exclaims Brigitta, looking hard at her; "that was +bad!" Carlotta was over eighty; her face was like tanned leather, her +skin loose and shriveled; a handful of gray hair grew on the top of +her head, and was twisted up with a silver pin. Brigitta was also of a +goodly age, but younger than Carlotta, fat and portly, and round as +a barrel. She was pitted by the small-pox, and had but one eye; but, +being a widow, and well-to-do in the world, is not without certain +pretensions. She wears a yellow petticoat and a jacket trimmed with +black lace. In her hair, black and frizzly as a negro's, a rose +is stuck on one side.--The hair had been dressed that morning by a +barber, to whom she paid five francs a month for this adornment.--Some +rows of dirty seed-pearl are fastened round her fat throat; long gold +ear-rings bob in her ears, and in her hand is a bright paper fan, with +which she never ceases fanning herself. + +"She's never spent so much as a penny at my shop," Carlotta goes on to +say. "Not a penny. She'd not spare a flask of wine to a beggar +dying at her door. Stuck-up old devil! But she's ruined, ruined with +lawsuits. Ruined, I say. Ha! ha! Her time will come." + +Finding Carlotta wearisome, Brigitta's one eye has again wandered off +to the man with the red waistcoat. Carlotta sees this, watching her +out of her deep-set, glassy eyes. Speak Carlotta will, and Brigitta +shall listen, she was determined. + +"I could tell you things"--she lowers her voice and speaks into the +other's ear--"things--horrors--about Casa Guinigi!" + +Brigitta starts. "Gracious! You frighten me! What things?" + +"Ah, things that would make your hair stand on end. It is I who say +it," and Carlotta snaps her fingers and nods. + +"_You_ know things, Carlotta? You pretend to know what happens in Casa +Guinigi? Nonsense! You are mad!" + +"Am I?" retorts the other. "We shall see. Who wins boasts. I'm not so +mad, anyhow, as the marchesa, who shuts up her palace on the festival, +and offends St. Nicodemus and all the saints and martyrs," and +Carlotta's eyes flash, and her white eyebrows twitch. + +"However"--and again she lays her bony hand heavily on Brigitta's fat +arm--"if you don't want to hear what I know about Casa Guinigi, I will +not tell you." Carlotta shuts up her mouth and nods defiantly. + +This was not at all what Brigitta desired. If there was any thing to +be told, she would like to hear it. + +"Come, come, Carlotta, don't be angry. You may know much more than +I do; you are always in your shop, except on festivals. The door is +open, and you can see into the street of San Simone, up and down. But +speak low; for there are Lisa and Cassandra close behind, and they +will hear. Tell me, Carlotta, what is it?" + +Brigitta speaks very coaxingly. + +"Yes," replies the old woman, "I can see both the Guinigi palaces from +my door--both the palaces. If the marchesa knew--" + +"Go on, go on!" says Brigitta, nudging her. She leans forward to +listen. "Go on. People are coming out of the cathedral." + +Carlotta raises her head and grins, showing the few black teeth left +in her mouth. "Are they? Well, answer me. Who lives in the street +there--the street of San Simone--as well as the marchesa? Who has +a fine palace that the marchesa sold him, a palace on which he has +spent--ah! so much, so much? Who keeps open house, and has a French +cook, and fine furniture, and new clothes, and horses in his stable, +and six carriages? Who?--who?" As old Carlotta puts these questions +she sways her body to and fro, and raises her finger to her nose. + +"Who is strong, and square, and fair, and smooth?" "Who goes in and +out with a smile on his face? Who?--who?" + +"Why, Nobili, of course--Count Nobili. We all know that," answered +Brigitta, impatiently. "That's no news. But what has Nobili to do with +the marchesa?" + +"What has he to do with the marchesa? Listen, Madama Brigitta. I will +tell you. Do you know that, of all gentlemen in Lucca, the marchesa +hates Nobili?" + +"Well, and what then?" + +"She hates him because he is rich and spends his money freely, and +because she--the Guinigi--lives in the same street and sees it. It +turns sour upon her stomach, like milk in a thunder-storm. She hates +him." + +"Well, is that all?" interrupts Brigitta. + +Carlotta puts up her chin close to Brigitta's face, and clasps her +tightly by the shoulder with both her skinny hands. "That is not all. +The marchesa has her own niece, who lives with her--a doll of a girl, +with a white face--puff! not worth a feather to look at; only a cousin +of the marchesa's husband; but, she's the only one left, all the same. +They are so thin-blooded, the Guinigi, they have come to an end. The +old woman never had a child; she would have starved it." + +Carlotta lowers her voice, and speaks into Brigitta's ear. "Nobili +loves the niece. The marchesa would have the carbineers out if she +knew it." + +"Oh!" breaks from Brigitta, under her breath. "This is fine! splendid! +Are you sure of this, Carlotta? quite sure?" + +"As sure as that I like meat, and only get it on Sundays.--Sure?--I +have seen it with my own eyes. Checco knows the granddaughter of the +man who helps the cook--Nobili pays like a lord, as he is!--He spends +his money, he does!--Nobili writes to the niece, and she answers. +Listen. To-day, the marchesa shut up her palace and put a chain on +the door. But chains can be unloosed, locks broken. Enrica (that's the +niece) at daybreak comes out to the arched gate-way that opens +from the street into the Moorish garden at the farther side of the +palace--she comes out and talks to Nobili for half an hour, under +cover of the ivy that hangs over the wall on that side. Teresa, the +maid, was there too, but she stood behind. Nobili wore a long cloak +that covered him all over; Enrica had a thick veil fastened round +her head and face. They didn't see me, but I watched them from behind +Pietro's house, at the corner of the street opposite. First of all, +Enrica puts her head out of the gate-way. Teresa puts hers out next. +Then Enrica waves her hand toward the palace opposite, a side-door +opens piano, Nobili appears, and watches all round to see that no one +is near--ha! ha! his young eyes didn't spy out my old ones though, for +all that--Nobili appears, I say, then he puts his hand to his heart, +and gives such a look across the street!--Ahi! it makes my old blood +boil to see it. I was pretty once, and liked such looks.--You may +think my eyes are dim, but I can see as far as another." + +And the old hag chuckles spitefully, and winks at Brigitta, enjoying +her surprise. + +"Madre di Dio!" exclaims this one. "There will be fine work." + +"Yes, truly, very fine work. The marchesa shall know it; all Lucca +shall know it too--mark my words, all Lucca! Curses on the Guinigi +root and branch! I will humble them! Curses on them!" mumbles +Carlotta. + +"And what did Nobili do?" asks Brigitta. + +"Do?--Why, seeing no one, he came across and kissed Enrica's hand; I +saw it. He made as if he would have knelt upon the stones, only she +would not let him. Then they whispered for, as near as I can guess, +half an hour--Teresa standing apart. There was the sound of a cart +then coming along the street, and presto!--Enrica was within the +garden in an instant, the gate was closed, and Nobili disappeared." + +Any further talk is now cut short by the approach of Cassandra, +a friend of Brigitta's. Cassandra is a servant in a neighboring +eating-house, a tall, large-boned woman, a colored handkerchief tied +over her head, and much tawdry jewelry about her hands and neck. + +"What are you two chattering about?" asks Cassandra sharply. "It seems +entertaining. What's the news? I get paid for news at my shop. Tell me +directly." + +"Lotta here was only relating to me all about her grandchild," answers +Brigitta, with a whine.--Brigitta was rather in dread of Cassandra, +whose temper was fierce, and who, being strong, knocked people down +occasionally if they offended her. + +"Lotta was telling me, too, that she wants fresh stores for her shop, +but all her money is gone to the grandchild in the hospital, who is +ill, very ill!" and Brigitta sighs and turns up the whites of her +eyes. + +"Yes, yes," joins in Carlotta, a dismal look upon her shriveled old +face. "Yes--it is just that. All the money gone to the grandchild, +the son of my Beppo--that's the soldier who is with the king's +army.--Alas! all gone; my money, my son, and all." + +Here Carlotta affects to groan and wring her hands despairingly. + +The mass was now nearly over; many people were already leaving the +cathedral; but the swell of the organs and the sweet tones of voices +still burst forth from time to time. Festive masses are always +long. It might not seem so to the pretty ladies in the boxes, still +perseveringly fanning themselves, nor to the golden youths who +were diverting them; but the prospect of dinner and a siesta was a +temptation stronger than the older portion of the congregation could +resist. By twos and threes they slipped out. + +This is the moment for the three women to use their eyes and their +tongues--very softly indeed--for they were now elbowed by some of the +best people in Lucca--but to use them. + +"There's Baldassare, the chemist's son," whispers Brigitta, who was +using her one eye diligently. + +"Mercy! That new coat was never cut in Lucca. They need sell many +drugs at papa-chemist's to pay for Baldassare's clothes. Why, he's +combed and scented like a spice-tree. He's a good-looking fellow; +the great ladies like him." This was said with a knock-me-down air by +Cassandra. "He dines at our place every day. It's a pleasure to see +his black curls and smell his scented handkerchief." + +A cluster of listeners had now gathered round Cassandra, who, +conscious of an audience, thought it worth her while to hold forth. +Shaking out the folds of her gown, she leaned her back against the +wall, and pointed with a finger on which were some trumpery rings. +Cassandra knew everybody, and was determined to make those about her +aware of it. "That's young Count Orsetti and his mamma; they give a +grand ball to-night." (Cassandra is standing on tiptoe now, the better +to observe those who pass.) "There she goes to her carriage. Ahi! how +grand! The coachman and the valet with gold-lace and silk stockings. +I would fast for a week to ride once in such a carriage. Oh! I would +give any thing to splash the mud in people's faces. She's a fine +woman--the Orsetti. Observe her light hair. Madonna mia! What a +train of silk! Twelve shillings a yard--not a penny less. She's got a +cavaliere still.--He! he! a cavaliere!" + +Carlotta grins, and winks her wicked old eyes. "She wants to marry +her son to Teresa Ottolini. He's a poor silly little fellow; but +rich--very rich." + +"Who's that fat man in a brown coat?" asks Brigitta. "He's like a +maggot in a fresh nut!" + +"That's my master--a fine-made man," answers Cassandra, frowning and +pinching in her lips, with an affronted air, "Take care what you say +about my master, Brigitta; I shall allow no observations." + +Brigitta turns aside, puts her tongue in her cheek, and glances +maliciously at Carlotta, who nods. + +"How do you know how your master is made, Cassandra mia?" asks +Brigitta, looking round, with a short laugh. + +"Because I have eyes in my head," replies Cassandra, defiantly. "My +master, the padrone of the Pelican Hotel, is not a man one sees every +day in the week!" + +A tall priest now appears from within the church, coming down the +nave, in company with a rosy-faced old gentleman, who, although using +a stick, walks briskly and firmly. He has a calm and pleasant face, +and his hair, which lies in neat little curls upon his forehead, is +as white as snow. One moment the rosy old gentleman talks eagerly +with the priest; the next he sinks upon his knees on the pavement, +and murmurs prayers at a side altar. He does this so abruptly that +the tall priest stumbles over him. There are many apologies, and many +bows. Then the old gentleman rises, dusts his clothes carefully with +a white handkerchief, and walks on, talking eagerly as before. Both +he and the priest bend low to the high altar, dip their fingers in the +holy-water, cross themselves, bend again to the altar, turning right +and left--before leaving the cathedral. + +"That's Fra Pacifico," cries Carlotta, greatly excited--"Fra Pacifico, +the Marchesa Guinigi's chaplain. He's come down from Corellia for the +festival."--Carlotta is proud to show that she knows somebody, as well +as Cassandra. "When he is in Lucca, Fra Pacifico passes my shop every +morning to say mass in the marchesa's private chapel. He knows all her +sins." + +"And the old gentleman with him," puts in Cassandra, twitching her +hook nose, "is old Trenta--Cesare Trenta, the cavaliere. Bless his +dear old face! The duke loved him well. He was chamberlain at the +palace. He's a gentleman all over, is Cavaliere Trenta. There--there. +Look!"--and she points eagerly--"that's the Red count, Count +Marescotti, the republican." + +Cassandra lowers her voice, afraid to be overheard, and fixes her eyes +on a man whose every feature and gesture proclaimed him an aristocrat. + +Excited by the grandeur of the service, Marescotti's usually pale face +is suffused with color; his large black eyes shine with inner lights. +Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he walks through the +atrium, straight down the marble steps, into the piazza. As he passes +the three women they draw back against the wall. There is a dignity +about Marescotti that involuntarily awes them. + +"That's the man for the people!"--Cassandra still speaks under her +breath.--"He'll give us a republic yet." + +Following close on Count Marescotti comes Count Nobili. There are ease +and conscious strength and freedom in his every movement. He pauses +for a moment on the uppermost step under the central arch of the +atrium and gazes round. The sun strikes upon his fresh-complexioned +face and lights up his fair hair and restless eyes.--It is clear +to see no care has yet troubled that curly head of his.--Nobili +is closely followed by a lady of mature age, dark, thin, and +sharp-featured. She has a glass in her eye, with which she peers at +every thing and everybody. This is the Marchesa Boccarini. She is +followed by her three daughters; two of them of no special attraction, +but the youngest, Nera, dark and strikingly handsome. These three +young ladies, all matrimonially inclined, but Nera specially, had +carefully watched the instant when Nobili left his seat. Then they had +followed him closely. It was intended that he should escort them home. +Nera has already decided what she will say to him touching the Orsetti +ball that evening and the cotillon, which she means to dance with +him if she can. But Nobili, with whom they come up under the portico, +merely responds to their salutation with a low bow, raises his hat, +and stands aside to make way for them. He does not even offer to hand +them to their carriage. They pass, and are gone. + +As Count Nobili descends the three steps into the piazza, he is +conscious that all eyes are fixed upon him; that every head is +uncovered. He pauses, casts his eyes round at the upturned faces, +raises his hat and smiles, then puts his hand into his pocket, and +takes out a gold-piece, which he gives to the nearest beggar. The +beggar, seizing the gold-piece, blesses him, and hopes that "Heaven +will render to him according to his merits." Other beggars, from every +corner, are about to rush upon him; but Nobili deftly escapes from +these as he had escaped from the Marchesa Boccarini and her daughters, +and is gone. + +"A lucky face," mumbles old Carlotta, working her under lip, as she +fixes her bleared eyes on him--"a lucky face! He will choose the +winning number in the lottery, and the evil eye will never harm him." + +The music had now ceased. The mass was over. The vast congregation +poured through the triple doors into the piazza, and mingled with +the outer crowd. For a while both waved to and fro, like billows on +a rolling sea, then settled down into one compact current, which, +flowing onward, divided and dispersed itself through the openings into +the various streets abutting on the piazza. + +Last of all, Carlotta, Brigitta, and Cassandra, leave their corner. +They are speedily engulfed in the shadows of a neighboring alley, and +are seen no more. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MARCHESA GUINIGI. + + +The stern and repulsive aspect of the exterior of the Marchesa +Guinigi's palace belied the antique magnificence within. + +Turning to the right under an archway from the damp, moss-grown court +over which the tower throws a perpetual shadow, a broad staircase, +closed by a door of open ironwork, leads to the first story (the +_piano nobile_). Here an anteroom, with Etruscan urns and fragments +of mediaeval sculpture let into the walls, gives access to a great +_sala_, or hall, where Paolo Guinigi entertained the citizens and +magnates of Lucca with sumptuous hospitality. + +The vaulted ceiling, divided into compartments by heavy panels, is +profusely gilt, and painted in fresco by Venetian masters; but the +gold is dulled by age, and the frescoes are but dingy patches of what +once was color. The walls, ornamented with Flemish tapestry, represent +the Seven Labors of Hercules--the bright colors all faded out +and blurred like the frescoes. Above, on the surface of polished +walnut-wood, between the tapestry and the ceiling, are hung suits of +mail, helmets, shields, swords, lances, and tattered banners. + +Every separate piece has its history. Each lance, in the hand of some +mediaeval hero of the name, has transfixed a foe, every sword has been +dyed in the life-blood of a Ghibelline. + +At the four corners of the hall are four doorways corresponding +to each other. Before each doorway hang curtains of Genoa velvet, +embroidered in gold with the Guinigi arms surmounted by a princely +coronet. Time has mellowed these once crimson curtains to dingy red. +From the hall, entered by these four doors, open out endless suites +of rooms, enriched with the spoils of war and the splendor of feudal +times. Not a chair, not a table, has been renewed, or even shifted +from its place, since the fourteenth century, when Paolo Guinigi +reigned absolute in Lucca. + +On first entering, it is difficult to distinguish any thing in the +half-light. The narrow Gothic casements of the whole floor are closed, +both those toward the street and those facing inward upon the inner +court. The outer wooden shutters are also closely fastened. The +marchesa would consider it a sacrilege to allow light or even outer +air to penetrate in these rooms, sacred to the memory of her great +ancestors. + +First in order after the great hall is a long gallery paneled with +dark marble. It has a painted ceiling, and a mosaic floor. Statues and +antique busts, presented by the emperor to Paolo Guinigi, are ranged +on either side. This gallery leads through various antechambers to +the retiring-room, where, in feudal times, the consort of the reigning +lord presided when the noble dames of Lucca visited her on state +occasions--a victory gained over the Pisans or Florentines--the +conquest of a rebellious city, Pistoia perhaps--the birth of a son; +or--the anniversary of national festivals. Pale-blue satin stuffs and +delicate brocades, crossed with what was once glittering threads of +gold, cover the walls. Rows of Venetian-glass chandeliers, tinted +in every shade of loveliest color, fashioned into colored knots, +pendants, and flowers, hang from the painted rafters. Mirrors, set +in ponderous frames of old Florentine gilding, dimly reflect every +object; narrow, high-backed chairs and carved wooden benches, +sculptured mosaic tables and ponderous sideboards covered with choice +pottery from Gubbio and Savona, and Lucca della Robbia ware. Sunk +in recesses there are dark cupboards filled with mediaeval salvers, +goblets, and flagons, gold dishes, and plates, and vessels of filigree +and silver. Ivory carvings hang on the walls beside dingy pictures, +or are ranged on tables of Sicilian agate and Oriental jasper. Against +the walls are also placed cabinets and caskets of carved walnut-wood +and ebony inlaid with lapis-lazuli, jasper, and precious stones; also +long, narrow coffers, richly carved, within which the _corredo_, or +_trousseau_, of rich brides who had matched with a Guinigi, was laid. + +Beyond the retiring-room is the presence-chamber. On a dais, raised +on three broad steps, stands a chair of state, surmounted by a +dark-velvet canopy. Above appear the Guinigi arms, worked in gold and +black, tarnished now, as is the glory of the illustrious house they +represent. Overhead are suspended two cardinal's hats, dropping to +pieces with moth and mildew. On the wall opposite the dais, between +two ranges of narrow Venetian windows, looking into the court-yard, +hangs the historic portrait of Castruccio Castracani degli Antimelli, +the Napoleon of the middle ages, whose rapid conquests raised Lucca to +a sovereign state. + +The name of the great Castruccio (whose mother was a Guinigi) is +the glory of the house, his portrait more precious than any other +possession. + +A gleam of ruddy light strikes through a crevice in a red curtain +opposite; it falls full upon the chair of state. That chair is +not empty; a tall, dark figure is seated there. It is the Marchesa +Guinigi. She is so thin and pale and motionless, she might pass for a +ghost herself, haunting the ghosts of her ancestors! + +It is her custom twice a year, on the anniversary of the birth and +death of Castruccio Castracani--to-day is the anniversary of +his death--to unlock the door leading from the hall into these +state-apartments, and to remain here alone for many hours. The key is +always about her person, attached to her girdle. No other foot but her +own is ever permitted to tread these floors. + +She sits in the half-light, lost in thought as in a dream. Her head is +raised, her arms are extended over the sides of the antique chair; her +long, white hands hang down listlessly. Her eyes wander vaguely along +the floor; gradually they raise themselves to the portrait of her +great ancestor opposite. How well she knows every line and feature of +that stern but heroic countenance, every dark curl upon that classic +head, wreathed with ivy-leaves; that full, expressive eye, +aquiline nose, open nostril, and chiseled lip; every fold in that +ermine-bordered mantle--a present from the emperor, after the victory +of Altopasso, and the triumph of the Ghibellines! Looking into the +calmness of that impressive face, in the mystery of the darkened +presence-chamber, she can forget that the greatness of her house is +fallen, the broad lands sold or mortgaged, the treasures granted +by the state lavished, one even of the ancestral palaces sold; nay, +worse, not only sold, but desecrated by commerce in the person of +Count Nobili. + +Seated there, on the seigneurial chair, under the regal canopy, she +can forget all this. For a few short hours she can live again in the +splendor of the past--the past, when a Guinigi was the equal of kings, +his word more absolute than law, his frown more terrible than death! + +Before the marchesa is a square table of dark marble, on which in old +time was laid the sword of state (a special insignia of office), +borne before the Lord of Lucca in public processions, embassies, and +tournaments. This table is now covered with small piled-up heaps of +gold and silver coin (the gold much less in quantity than the silver). +There are a few jewels, and some diamond pendants in antique settings, +a diamond necklace, crosses, medals, and orders, and a few uncut gems +and antique intaglios. + +The marchesa takes up each object and examines it. She counts the +gold-pieces, putting them back again one by one in rows, by tens and +twenties. She handles the crisp bank-notes. She does this over and +over again so slowly and so carefully, it would seem, as if she +expected the money to grow under her fingers. She has placed all in +order before her--the jewels on one side, the money and the notes on +the other. As she moves them to and fro on the smooth marble with the +points of her long fingers, she shakes her head and sighs. Then she +touches a secret spring, and a drawer opens from under the table. Into +this drawer she deposits all that lies before her, her fingers still +clinging to the gold. + +After a while she rises, and casting a parting glance at the portrait +of Castruccio--among all her ancestors Castruccio was the object of +her special reverence--she moves leisurely onward through the various +apartments lying beyond the presence-chamber. + +The doors, draped with heavy tapestry curtains, are all open. It is a +long, gloomy suite of rooms, where the sun never shines, looking into +the inner court. + +The marchesa's steps are noiseless, her countenance grave and pale. +Here and there she pauses to gaze into the face of a picture, or to +brush off the dust from some object specially dear to her. She pauses, +minutely observing every thing around her. + +There is a dark closet, with a carved wooden cornice and open raftered +roof, the walls covered with stamped leather. Here the family councils +assembled. Next comes a long, narrow, low-roofed gallery, where row +after row of portraits and pictures illustrate the defunct Guinigi. In +that centre panel hangs Francesco dei Guinigi, who, for courtesy and +riches, surpassed all others in Lucca. (Francesco was the first to +note the valor of his young cousin Castruccio, to whom he taught the +art of war.) Near him hangs the portrait of Ridolfo, who triumphantly +defeated Uguccione della Faggiola, the tyrant of Pisa, under the +very walls of that city. Farther on, at the top of the room, is the +likeness of the great Paolo himself--a dark, olive-skinned man, with +a hard-lipped mouth, and resolute eyes, clad in a complete suit of +gold-embossed armor. By Paolo's side appears Battista, who followed +the Crusades, and entered Jerusalem with Godfrey de Bouillon; also +Gianni, grand-master of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John--the +golden rose presented to him by the pope in the corner of the picture. + +After the gallery come the armory and the chapel. Beyond at the end +of the vaulted passage, lighted from above, there is a closed door of +dark walnut-wood. + +When the marchesa enters this vaulted passage, her firm, quick step +falters. As she approaches the door, she is visibly agitated. Her hand +trembles as she places it on the heavy outside lock. The lock yields; +the door opens with a creak. She draws aside a heavy curtain, then +stands motionless. + +There is such a mist of dust, such a blackness of shadow, that +at first nothing is visible. Gradually, as the daylight faintly +penetrates by the open door, the shadows form themselves into definite +shapes. + +Within a deep alcove, inclosed by a balustrade, stands a bed--its +gilt cornice reaching to the ceiling, heavily curtained. This is the +nuptial-chamber of the Guinigi. Within that alcove, and in that bed, +generation after generation have seen the light. Not to be born in the +nuptial-chamber, and in that bed within the ancestral palace, is not +to be a true Guinigi. + +The marchesa has taken a step or two forward into the room. There, +wrapped in the shadows, she stands still and trembles. A terrible look +has come into her face--sorrow, and longing, and remorse. The history +of her whole life rises up before her. + +"Is the end, then, come?" she asks herself--"and with me?" + +From pale she had turned ashy. The long shadows from the dark curtains +stretch out and engulf her. She feels their dark touch, like a visible +presence of evil, she shivers all over. The cold damp air of the chill +room comes to her like wafts of deadly poison. She cannot breathe; a +convulsive tremor passes over her. + +She totters to the door, and leans for support against the side. Yet +she will not go; she forces herself to remain. To stand here, in this +room, before that bed, is her penance. To stand here like a criminal! +Ah, God! is she not childless? Why has she (and her hands are +clinched, and her breath comes thick), why has she been stricken with +barrenness? + +"Why, why?" she asks herself now, as she has asked herself year after +year, each year with a fresh agony. Until she came, a son had never +failed under that roof. Why was she condemned to be alone? She had +done nothing to deserve it. Had she not been a blameless wife? Why, +why was she so punished? Her haughty spirit stirs within her. + +"God is unjust," she mutters, half aloud. "God is my enemy." + +As the impious words fall from her lips they ring round the dark bed, +and die away among the black draperies. The echo of her own voice +fills her with dread. She rushes out. The door closes heavily after +her. + +Once removed from that fatal chamber, with its death-like shadows, she +gradually collects herself. She has so long fortified herself against +all sign of outward emotion, she has so hardened herself in an inner +life of secret remorse, this is easy--at least to outward appearance. +The calm, frigid look natural to her face returns. Her eyes have again +their dark sparkle. Not a trace remains to tell what her self-imposed +penance has cost her. + +Again she is the proud marchesa, the mistress of the feudal palace and +all its glorious memories.--Yes; and she casts her eyes round where +she stands, back again in the retiring-room. Yes--all is yet her own. +True, she is impoverished--worse, she is laden with debt, harassed by +creditors. The lands that are left are heavily mortgaged; the money +received from Count Nobili, as the price of the palace, already spent +in law. The hoard she has just counted--her savings--destined to dower +her niece Enrica, in whose marriage lies the sole remaining hope of +the preservation of the name (and that depending on the will of a +husband, who may, or may not, add the name of Guinigi to his own) is +most slender. She has been able to add nothing to it during these last +years--not a farthing. But there is one consolation. While she lives, +all is safe from spoliation. While she lives, no creditor lives bold +enough to pass that threshold. While she lives--and then? + +Further she forbids her thoughts to wander. She will not admit, even +to herself, that there is danger--that even, during her own life, she +may be forced to sell what is dearer to her than life--the palace and +the heirlooms! + +Meanwhile the consciousness of wealth is pleasant to her. She opens +the cupboards in the wall, and handles the precious vessels of +Venetian glass, the silver plates and golden flagons, the jeweled +cups; she examines the ancient bronzes and ivory carvings; unlocks the +caskets and the inlaid cabinets, and turns over the gold guipure lace, +the rich mediaeval embroideries, the christening-robes--these she +flings quickly by--and the silver ornaments. She uncloses the carved +coffers, and passes through her long fingers the wedding garments of +brides turned to dust centuries ago--the silver veils, bridal crowns, +and quaintly-cut robes of taffetas and brocade, once white, now turned +to dingy yellow. She assures herself that all is in its place. + +As she moves to and fro she catches sight of herself reflected in one +of the many mirrors encased in what were once gorgeous frames hanging +on the wall. She stops and fixes her keen black eyes upon her own worn +face. "I am not old," she says aloud, "only fifty-five this year. I +may live many years yet. Much may happen before I die! Cesare Trenta +says I am ruined"--as she speaks, she turns her face toward the +streaks of light that penetrate the shutters.--"Not yet, not ruined +yet. Who knows? I may live to redeem all. Cesare said I was ruined +after that last suit with the chapter. He is a fool! The money was +well spent. I would do it again. While I live the name of Guinigi +shall be honored." She pauses, as if listening to the sound of her own +voice. Then her thoughts glance off to the future. "Who knows? Enrica +shall marry; that may set all right. She shall have all--all!" And she +turns and gazes earnestly through the open doors of the stately rooms +on either hand. "Enrica shall marry; marry as I please. She must have +no will in the matter." + +She stops suddenly, remembering certain indications of quiet self-well +which she thinks she has already detected in her niece. + +"If not"--(the mere supposition that her plans should be +thwarted--thwarted by her niece, Enrica--a child, a tool--brought up +almost upon her charity--rouses in her a tempest of passion; her face +darkens, her eyes flash; she clinches her fist with sudden vehemence, +she shakes it in the air)--"if not--let her die!" Her shrill voice +wakes the echoes. "Let her die!" resounds faintly through the gilded +rooms. + +At this moment the cathedral-clock strikes four. This is the first +sound that has reached the marchesa from the outer world since she has +entered these rooms. It rouses her from the thralldom of her thoughts. +It recalls her to the outer world. Four o'clock! Then she has been +shut up for five hours! She must go at once, or she may be missed by +her household. If she is missed, she may be followed--watched. Casting +a searching look round, to assure herself that all is in its place, +she takes from her girdle the key she always wears, and lets herself +out into the great hall. She relocks the door, drawing the velvet +curtains carefully over it. With greater caution she unfastens the +other door (the entrance) on the staircase. Peeping through the +curtains, she assures herself that no one is on the stairs. Then +she softly recloses it, and rapidly ascends the stairs to the second +story. + +That day six months, on the anniversary of Castruccio's birth, which +falls in the month of March, she will return again to the state-rooms. +No one has ever accompanied her on these strange vigils. Only her +friend, the Cavaliere Trenta, knows that she goes there. Even to him +she rarely alludes to it. It is her own secret. Her inner life is with +the past. Her thoughts rest with the dead. It is the living who are +but shadows. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ENRICA. + + +The marchesa was in a very bad humor. Not only did she stay at home +all the day of the festival of the Holy Countenance by reason of the +solemn anniversary which occurred at that time, but she shut herself +up the following day also. When the old servant (old inside and out) +in his shabby livery, who acted as butler, crept into her room, +and asked at what time "the eccellenza would take her airing on the +ramparts"--the usual drive of the Lucchese ladies--when they not only +drive, but draw up under the plane-trees, gossip, and eat sweetmeats +and ices--she had answered, in a tone she would have used to a +decrepit dog who troubled her, "Shut the door and begone!" + +She had been snappish to Enrica. She had twitted her with wanting to +go to the Orsetti ball, although Enrica had never been to any ball or +any assembly whatever in her life, and no word had been spoken about +it. Enrica never did speak; she had been disciplined into silence. + +Enrica, as has been said, was the marchesa's niece, and lived with +her. She was the only child of her sister, who died when she was +born. This sister (herself, as well as the marchesa, _born_ Guinigi +Ruscellai) had also married a Guinigi, a distant cousin of the +marchesa's husband, belonging to a third branch of the family, settled +at Mantua. Of this collateral branch, all had died out. Antonio +Guinigi, of Mantua, Enrica's father, in the prime of life, was killed +in a duel, resulting from one of those small social affronts that +so frequently do provoke duels in Italy. (I knew a certain T---- who +called out a certain G---- because G---- had said T----'s rooms were +not properly carpeted.) Generally these encounters with swords are +as trifling in their results as in their origin. But the duel in +question, fought by Antonio Guinigi, was unfortunately not so. He died +on the spot. Enrica, when two years old, was an orphan. Thus it came +that she had known no home but the home of her aunt. The marchesa had +never shown her any particular kindness. She had ordered her servants +to take care of her. That was all. Scarcely ever had she kissed her; +never passed her hand among the sunny curls that fell upon the quiet +child's face and neck. The marchesa, in fact, had not so much as +noticed her childish beauty and enticing ways. + +Enrica had grown up accustomed to bear with her aunt's haughty, +ungracious manners and capricious temper. She scarcely knew that there +was any thing to bear. She had been left to herself as long as she +could remember any thing. A peasant--Teresa, her foster-mother--had +come with her from Mantua, and from Teresa alone she received such +affection as she had ever known. A mere animal affection, however, +which lost its value as she grew into womanhood. + +Thus it was that Enrica came to accept the marchesa's rough tongue, +her arrogance, and her caprices, as a normal state of existence. She +never complained. If she suffered, it was in silence. To reason with +the marchesa, much more dispute with her, was worse than useless. She +was not accustomed to be talked to, certainly not by her niece. It +only exasperated her and fixed her more doggedly in whatever purpose +she might have in hand. But there was a certain stern sense of justice +about her when left to herself--if only the demon of her family pride +were not aroused, then she was inexorable--that would sometimes come +to the rescue. Yet, under all the tyranny of this neutral life which +circumstances had imposed on her, Enrica, unknown to herself--for +how should she, who knew so little, know herself?--grew up to have a +strong will. She might be bent, but she would never break. In this she +resembled the marchesa. Gentle, loving, and outwardly submissive, +she was yet passively determined. Even the marchesa came to be dimly +conscious of this, although she considered it as utterly unimportant, +otherwise than to punish and to repress. + +Shut up within the dreary palace at Lucca, or in the mountain solitude +of Corellia, Enrica yearned for freedom. She was like a young bird, +full-fledged and strong, that longs to leave the parent-nest--to +stretch its stout wings on the warm air--to soar upward into the +light! + +Now the light had come to Enrica. It came when she first saw Count +Nobili. It shone in her eyes, it dazzled her, it intoxicated her. On +that day a new world opened before her--a fair and pleasant world, +light with the dawn of love--a world as different as golden summer +to the winter of her home. How she gloried in Nobili! How she loved +him!--his comely looks, his kindling smile (like sunshine everywhere), +his lordly ways, his triumphant prosperity! He had come to her, she +knew not how. She had never sought him. He had come--come like fate. +She never asked herself if it was wrong or right to love him. How +could she help it? Was he not born to be loved? Was he not her own--a +thousand times her own--as he told her--"forever?" She believed in +him as she believed in God. She neither knew nor cared whither she was +drifting, so that it was with him! She was as one sailing with a fair +wind on an endless sea--a sea full of sunlight--sailing she knew +not where! Think no evil of her, I pray you. She was not wicked nor +deceitful--only ignorant, with such ignorance as made the angels fall. + +As yet Nobili and Enrica had only met in such manner as has been told +by old Carlotta to her gossip Brigitta. Letters, glances, sighs, +had passed across the street, from palace to palace at the Venetian +casements--under the darkly-ivied archway of the Moorish garden--at +the cathedral in the gray evening light, or in the earliest glow of +summer mornings--and this, so seldom! Every time they had met Nobili +implored Enrica, passionately, to escape from the thralldom of her +life, implored her to become his wife. With his pleading eyes fixed +upon her, he asked her "why she should sacrifice him to the senseless +pride of her aunt? He whose whole life was hers?" + +But Enrica shrank from compliance, with a secret sense that she had +no right to do what he asked; no right to marry without her aunt's +consent. Her love was her own to give. She had thought it all out +for herself, pacing up and down under the cool marble arcades of the +Moorish garden, the splash of the fountain in her ears--Teresa had +told her the same--her love was her own to give. What had her aunt +done for her, her sister's child, but feed and clothe her? Indeed, +as Teresa said, the marchesa had done but little else. Enrica was +as unconscious as Teresa of those marriage schemes of her aunt which +centred in herself. Had she known what was reserved for her, she would +better have understood the marchesa's nature; then she might have +acted differently. But heretofore there had been no question of her +marriage. Although she was seventeen, she had always been treated as a +mere child. She scarcely dared to speak in her aunt's presence, or to +address a question to her. Her love, then, she thought, was her own to +bestow; but more?--No, no even to Nobili. He urged, he entreated, he +reproached her, but in vain. He implored her to inform the marchesa +of their engagement. (Nobili could not offer to do this himself; the +marchesa would have refused to admit him within her door.) But Enrica +would not consent to do even this. She knew her aunt too well to trust +her with her secret. She knew that she was both subtle, and, where her +own plans were concerned, or her will thwarted, treacherous also. + +Enrica had been taught not only to obey the marchesa implicitly, but +never to dispute her will. Hitherto she had had no will but hers. +How, then, could she all at once shake off the feeling of awe, almost +terror, with which her aunt inspired her? Besides, was not the very +sound of Nobili's name abhorrent to her? Why the marchesa should +abhor him or his name, Enrica could not tell. It was a mystery to her +altogether beyond her small experience of life. But it was so. No, she +would say nothing; that was safest. The marchesa, if displeased, was +quite capable of carrying her away from Lucca to Corellia--perhaps +leaving her there alone in the mountains. She might even shut her up +in a convent for life!--Then she should die! + +No, she would say nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME. + + +The marchesa was, as I have said, in a very bad humor. She had by no +means recovered from what she conceived to be the affront put upon her +by the brilliant display made by Count Nobili, at the festival of the +Holy Countenance, nor, indeed, from the festival itself. + +She had had the satisfaction of shutting up her palace, it is true; +but she was not quite sure if this had impressed the public mind of +Lucca as she had intended. She felt painful doubts as to whether the +splendors opposite had not so entirely engrossed public attention that +no eye was left to observe any thing else--at least, in that street. +It was possible, she thought, that another year it might be wiser not +to shut up her palace at all, but so far to overcome her feelings as +to exhibit the superb hangings, the banners, the damask, and cloth of +gold, used in the mediaeval festivals and processions, and thus outdo +the modern tinsel of Count Nobili. + +Besides the festival, and Count Nobili's audacity, the marchesa had a +further cause for ill-humor. No one had come on that evening to play +her usual game of whist. Even Trenta had deserted her. She had said +to herself that when she--the Marchesa Guinigi--"received," no other +company, no other engagement whatever, ought to interfere with the +honor that her company conferred. These were valid causes of ill-humor +to any lady of the marchesa's humor. + +She was seated now in the sitting-room of her own particular suite, +one of three small and rather stuffy rooms, on the second floor. These +rooms consisted of an anteroom, covered with a cretonne paper of blue +and brown, a carpetless floor, a table, and some common, straw chairs +placed against the wall. From the anteroom two doors led into two +bedrooms, one on either side. Another door, opposite the entrance, +opened into the sitting-room. + +All the windows this way faced toward the garden, the wall of which +ran parallel to the palace and to the street. The marchesa's room +had flaunting green walls with a red border; the ceiling was gaudily +painted with angels, flowers, and festoons. Some colored prints hung +on the walls--a portrait of the Empress Eugénie on horseback, in a +Spanish dress, and four glaring views of Vesuvius in full eruption. A +divan, covered with well-worn chintz, ran round two sides of the +room. Between the ranges of the graceful casements stood a marble +console-table, with a mirror in a black frame. An open card-table +was placed near the marchesa. On the table there was a pack of not +over-clean cards, some markers, and a pair of candles (the candles +still unlighted, for the days are long, and it is only six o'clock). +There was not a single ornament in the whole room, nor any object +whatever on which the eye could rest with pleasure. White-cotton +curtains concealed the delicate tracery and the interlacing columns of +the Venetian windows. Beneath lay the Moorish garden, entered from +the street by an arched gate-way, over which long trails of ivy hung. +Beautiful in itself, the Moorish garden was an incongruous appendage +to a Gothic palace. One of the Guinigi, commanding for the Emperor +Charles V. in Spain, saw Granada and the Alhambra. On his return to +Lucca, he built this architectural plaisance on a bare plot of ground, +used for jousts and tilting. That is its history. There it has been +since. It is small--a city garden--belted inside by a pointed arcade +of black-and-white marble. + +In the centre is a fountain. The glistening waters shoot upward +refreshingly in the warm evening air, to fall back on the heads of +four marble lions, supporting a marble basin. Fine white gravel covers +the ground, broken by statues and vases, and tufts of flowering shrubs +growing luxuriantly under the shelter of the arcade--many-colored +altheas, flaming pomegranates, graceful pepper-trees with bright, +beady seeds, and magnolias, as stalwart as oaks, hanging over the +fountain. + +The strong perfume of the magnolia-blossoms, still white upon +the boughs, is wafted upward to the open window of the marchesa's +sitting-room; the sun is low, and the shadows of the pointed arches +double themselves upon the ground. Shadows, too, high up the horizon, +penetrate into the room, and strike across the variegated scagliola +floor, and upon a table in the centre, on which a silver tray is +placed, with glasses of lemonade. Round the table are ranged chairs of +tarnished gilding, and a small settee with spindle-legs. + +In her present phase of life, the squalor of these rooms is congenial +to the marchesa. Hitherto reckless of expense, especially in law, she +has all at once grown parsimonious to excess. As to the effect this +change may produce on others, and whether this mode of life is in +keeping with the stately palace she inhabits, the marchesa does not +care in the least; it pleases her, that is enough. All her life she +has been quite clear on two points--her belief in herself, and her +belief in the name she bears. + +The marchesa leans back on a high-backed chair and frowns. To frown is +so habitual to her that the wrinkles on her forehead and between her +eyebrows are prematurely deepened. She has a long, sallow face, a +straight nose, keen black eyes, a high forehead, and a thin-lipped +mouth. She is upright, and well made; and the folds of her plain black +dress hang about her tall figure with a certain dignity. Her dark +hair, now sprinkled with white, is fully dressed, the bands combed low +on her forehead. She wears no ornament, except the golden cross of a +_chanoinesse._ + +As she leans back on her high-backed chair she silently observes her +niece, seated near the open window, knitting. + +"If she had been my child!" was the marchesa's thought. "Why was I +denied a child?" And she sighed. + +The rays of the setting sun dance among the ripples of Enrica's blond +hair, and light up the dazzling whiteness of her skin. Seen thus in +profile, although her features are regular, and her expression full +of sweetness, it is rather the promise than the perfection of actual +beauty--the rose-bud--by-and-by to expand into the perfect flower. + +There was a knock at the door, and a ruddy old face looked in. It +is the Cavaliere Trenta, in his official blue coat and gold buttons, +nankeen inexpressibles, a broad-brimmed white hat and a gold-headed +cane in his hand. Whatever speck of dust might have had the audacity +to venture to settle itself upon any part of the cavaliere's official +blue coat, must at once have hidden its diminished head after peeping +at the cavaliere's beaming countenance, so scrubbed and shiny, the +white hair so symmetrically arranged upon his forehead in little +curls--his whole appearance so neat and trim. + +"Is it permitted to enter?" he asked, smiling blandly at the marchesa, +as, leaning upon his stick, he made her a ceremonious bow. + +"Yes, Cesarino, yes, you may enter," she replied, stiffly. "I cannot +very well send you away now--but you deserve it." + +"Why, most distinguished lady?" again asked Trenta, submissively, +closing the door, and advancing to where she sat. He bent down his +head and kissed her hand, then smiled at Enrica. "What have I done?" + +"Done? You know you never came last night at all. I missed my game of +whist. I do not sleep well without it." + +"But, marchesa," pleaded Trenta, in the gentlest voice, "I am +desolated, as you can conceive--desolated; but what could I do? +Yesterday was the festival of the Holy Countenance, that solemn +anniversary that brings prosperity to our dear city!" And the +cavaliere cast up his mild blue eyes, and crossed himself upon the +breast. "I was most of the day in the cathedral. Such a service! +Better music than last year. In the evening I had promised to arrange +the cotillon at Countess Orsetti's ball. As chamberlain to his late +highness the Duke of Lucca, it is expected of me to organize every +thing. One can leave nothing to that animal Baldassare--he has no +head, no system; he dances well, but like a machine. The ball was +magnificent--a great success," he continued, speaking rapidly, for +he saw that a storm was gathering on the marchesa's brow, by the +deepening of the wrinkles between her eyes. "A great success. I took a +few turns myself with Teresa Ottolini--tra la la la la," and he swayed +his head and shoulders to and fro as he hummed a waltz-tune. + +"_You_!" exclaimed the marchesa, staring at him with a look of +contempt--"_you_!" + +"Yes. Why not? I am as young as ever, dear marchesa--eighty, the prime +of life!" + +"The festival of the Holy Countenance and the cotillon!" cried the +marchesa, with great indignation. "Tell me nothing about the Orsetti +ball. I won't listen to it. Good Heavens!" she continued, reddening, +"I am thirty years younger than you are, but I left off dancing +fifteen years ago. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cesarino!" + +Cesarino only smiled at her benignantly in reply. She had called him +a fool so often! He seated himself beside her without speaking. He had +come prepared to entertain her with an account of every detail of the +ball; but seeing the temper she was in, he deemed it more prudent to +be silent--to be silent specially about Count Nobili. The mention of +his name would, he knew, put her in a fury, so, being a prudent man, +and a courtier, he entirely dropped the subject of the ball. Yet +Trenta was a privileged person. He never voluntarily contradicted the +marchesa, but when occasion arose he always spoke his mind, fearless +of consequences. As he and the marchesa disagreed on almost every +possible subject, disputes often arose between them; but, thanks to +Trenta's pliant temper and perfect good-breeding, they were always +amicably settled. + +"Count Marescotti and Baldassare are outside," continued Trenta, +looking at her inquiringly, as the marchesa had not spoken. "They are +waiting to know if the illustrious lady receives this evening, and if +she will permit them to join her usual whist-party." + +"Marescotti!--where may he come from?--the clouds, perhaps--or the +last balloon?" asked the marchesa, looking up. + +"From Rome; he arrived two days ago. He is no longer so erratic. Will +you allow him to join us?" + +"I shall certainly play my rubber if I am permitted," answered the +marchesa, drawing herself up. + +This was intended as a sarcastic reminder of the disregard shown to +her by the cavaliere the evening before; but the sarcasm was quite +thrown away upon Trenta; he was very simple and straightforward. + +"The marchesa has only to command me," was his polite reply. "I wonder +Marescotti and Baldassare are not here already," he added, looking +toward the door. "I left them both in the street; they were to follow +me up-stairs immediately." + +"Ah!" said the marchesa, smiling sarcastically, "Count Marescotti is +not to be trusted. He is a genius--he may be back on his way to Rome +by this time." + +"No, no," answered Trenta, rising and walking toward the door, which +he opened and held in his hand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the +staircase; "Marescotti is disgusted with Rome--with the Parliament, +with the Government--with every thing. He abuses the municipality +because a secret republican committee which he headed, in +correspondence with Paris, has been discovered by the police and +denounced. He had to escape in disguise." + +"Well, well, I rejoice to hear it!" broke in the marchesa. "It is a +good Government; let him find a better. Why has he come to Lucca? We +want no _sans-culottes_ here." + +"Marescotti declares," continued the cavaliere, "that even now Rome is +still in bondage, and sunk in superstition. He calls it superstition. +He would like to shut up all the churches. He believes in nothing +but poetry and Red republicans. Any kind of Christian belief he calls +superstition." + +"Marescotti is quite right," said the marchesa, angrily; she was +determined to contradict the cavaliere. "You are a bigot, Trenta--an +old bigot. You believe every thing a priest tells you. A fine +exhibition we had yesterday of what that comes to! The Holy +Countenance! Do you think any educated person in Lucca believes in +the Holy Countenance? I do not. It is only an excuse for idleness--for +idleness, I say. Priests love idleness; they go into the Church +because they are too idle to work." She raised her voice, and +looked defiantly at Trenta, who stood before her the picture of meek +endurance--holding the door-handle. "I hope I shall live to see all +festivals abolished. Why didn't the Government do it altogether when +they were about it?--no convents, no monks, no holidays, except on +Sunday! Make the people work--work for their bread! We should have +fewer taxes, and no beggars." + +Trenta's benignant face had gradually assumed as severe an aspect as +it was capable of bearing. He pointed to Enrica, of whom he had up to +this time taken no notice beyond a friendly smile--the marchesa did +not like Enrica to be noticed--now he pointed to her, and shook his +head deprecatingly. Could he have read Enrica's thoughts, he need have +feared no contamination to her from the marchesa; her thoughts were +far away--she had not listened to a single word. + +"Dio Santo!" he exclaimed at last, clasping his hands together and +speaking low, so as not to be overheard by Enrica--"that I should live +to hear a Guinigi talk so! Do you forget, marchesa, that it was under +the banner of the blessed Holy Countenance (_Vulturum di Lucca_), +miraculously cast on the shores of the Ligurian Sea, that your +great ancestor Castruccio Castracani degli Antimelli overcame the +Florentines at Alto Passo?" + +"The banner didn't help him, nor St. Nicodemus either--I affirm +that," answered she, angrily. Her temper was rising. "I will not be +contradicted, cavaliere--don't attempt it. I never allow it. Even my +husband never contradicted me--and he was a Guinigi. Is the city to +go mad, eat, drink, and hang out old curtains because the priests +bid them? Did _you_ see Nobili's house?" She asked this question +so eagerly, she suddenly forgot her anger in the desire she felt to +relate her injuries. "A Guinigi palace dressed out like a booth at a +fair!--What a scandal! This comes of usury and banking. He will be a +deputy soon. Will no one tell him he is a presumptuous young idiot?" +she cried, with a burst of sudden rage, remembering the crowds that +filled the streets, and the admiration and display excited. Then, +turning round and looking Trenta full in the face, she added +spitefully, "You may worship painted dolls, and kiss black crucifixes, +if you like: I would not give them house-room." + +"Mercy!" cried poor Trenta, putting his hands to his ears. "For pity's +sake--the palace _will_ fall about your ears! Remember your niece is +present." + +And again he pointed to Enrica, whose head was bent down over her +work. + +"Ha! ha!" was all the reply vouchsafed by the marchesa, followed by +a scornful laugh. "I shall say what I please in my own house. Poor +Cesarino! You are very ignorant. I pity you!" + +But Trenta was not there--he had rushed down-stairs as quickly as his +old legs and his stick would carry him, and was out of hearing. At the +mention of Nobili's name Enrica looked stealthily from under her long +eyelashes, and turned very white. The sharp eyes of her aunt might +have detected it had she been less engrossed by her passage of arms +with the cavaliere. + +"Ha! ha!" she repeated, grimly laughing to herself. "He is gone! Poor +old soul! But I am going to have my rubber for all that.--Ring the +bell, Enrica. He must come back. Trenta takes too much upon himself; +he is always interfering." + +As Enrica rose to obey her aunt, the sound of feet was heard in the +anteroom. The marchesa made a sign to her to reseat herself, which she +did in the same place as before, behind the thick cotton curtains of +the Venetian casement. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +COUNT MARESCOTTI. + + +Count Marescotti, the Red count (the marchesa had said _sans-culotte_; +Trenta had spoken of him as an atheist), was, unhappily, something +of all this, but he was much more. He was a poet, an orator, and a +patriot. Nature had gifted him with qualities for each vocation. He +had a rich, melodious voice, with soft inflections; large dark eyes, +that kindled with the impress of every emotion; finely-cut features, +and a pale, bloodless face, that tells of a passionate nature. His +manners were gracious, and he had a commanding presence. He was born +to be a leader among men. Not only did he converse with ease and +readiness on every conceivable topic--not only did strophe after +strophe of musical verse flow from his lips with the facility of +an _improvisatore_, but he possessed the supreme art of moving the +multitude by an eloquence born of his own impassioned soul. While that +suave voice rung in men's ears, it was impossible not to be convinced +by his arguments. As a patriot, he worshiped Italy. His fervid +imagination reveled in her natural beauties--art, music, history, +poetry. He worshiped Italy, and he devoted his whole life to what he +conceived to be her good. + +Marescotti was no atheist; he was a religious reformer, sincerely and +profoundly pious, and conscientious to the point of honor. Indeed, his +conscience was so sensitive, that he had been known to confess two +and three times on the same day. The cavaliere called him an atheist +because he was a believer in Savonarola, and because he positively +refused to bind himself to any priestly dogma, or special form +of worship whatever. But he had never renounced the creed of his +ancestors. The precepts of Savonarola did, indeed, afford him infinite +consolation; they were to him a _via media_ between Protestant +latitude and dogmatic belief. + +The republican simplicity, stern morals, and sweeping reforms both in +Church and state preached by Savonarola (reforms, indeed, as radical +as were consistent with Catholicism), were the objects of his special +reverence. Savonarola had died at the stake for practising and for +teaching them; Marescotti declared, with characteristic enthusiasm, +that he was ready to do likewise. Wrong or right, he believed that, if +Savonarola had lived in the nineteenth century, he would have acted +as he himself had done. In the same manner, although an avowed +republican, he was no _sans-culotte._ His strong sense of personal +independence and of freedom, political and religious, caused him to +revolt against what he conceived tyranny or coercion of any kind. Even +constitutional monarchy was not sufficiently free for him. A king and +a court, the royal prerogative of ministers, patent places, pensions, +favors, the unacknowledged influence of a reigning house--represented +to his mind a modified system of tyranny--therefore of corruption. +Constant appeals to the sovereign people, a form of government +where the few yielded to the many, and the rich divided their riches +voluntarily with the poor--was in theory what he advocated. + +Yet with these lofty views, these grand aspirations, with unbounded +faith, and unbounded energy and generosity, Marescotti achieved +nothing. He wanted the power of concentration, of bringing his +energies to bear on any one particular object. His mind was like an +old cabinet, crowded with artistic rubbish--gems and rarities, jewels +of price and pearls of the purest water, hidden among faded flowers; +old letters, locks of hair, daggers, tinsel reliquaries, crosses, and +modern grimcracks--all that was incongruous, piled together pell-mell +in hopeless confusion. + +His countrymen, singularly timid and conventional, and always +unwilling to admit new ideas upon any subject unless imperatively +forced upon them, did not understand him. They did not appreciate +either his originality or the real strength of his character. He +differed from them and their mediaeval usages--therefore he must +be wrong. He was called eccentric by his friends, a lunatic by his +enemies. He was neither. But he lived much alone; he had dreamed +rather than reflected, and he had planned instead of acting. + +"Count Marescotti," said the marchesa, holding out her hand, "I salute +you.--Baldassare, you are welcome." + +The intonation of her voice, the change in her manner, gave the exact +degree of consideration proper to accord to the head of an ancient +Roman family, and the dandy son of a Lucca chemist. And, lest it +should be thought strange that the Marchesa Guinigi should admit +Baldassare at all to her presence, I must explain that Baldassare +was a _protégé_, almost a double, of the cavaliere, who insisted upon +taking him wherever he went. If you received the cavaliere, you must, +perforce, receive Baldassare also. No one could explain why this was +so. They were continually quarreling, yet they were always together. +Their intimacy had been the subject of many jokes and some gossip; but +the character of the cavaliere was immaculate, and Baldassare's mother +(now dead) had never lived at Lucca. Trenta, when spoken to on the +subject of his partiality, said he was "educating him" to fill his +place as master of the ceremonies in Lucchese society. Except when +specially bullied by the cavaliere--who greatly enjoyed tormenting him +in public--Baldassare was inoffensive and useful. + +Now he pressed forward to the front. + +"Signora Marchesa," he said, eagerly, "allow me to make my excuses to +you." + +The marchesa turned a surprised and distant gaze upon him; but +Baldassare was not to be discouraged. He had that tough skin of true +vulgarity which is impervious to any thing but downright hard blows. + +"Allow me to make my excuses," he continued. "The cavaliere here +has been scolding me all the way up-stairs for not bringing Count +Marescotti sooner to you. I could not." + +Marescotti bowed an acquiescence. + +"While we were standing in the street, waiting to know if the +noble lady received, an old beggar, known in Lucca as the Hermit of +Pizzorna, come down from the mountains for the festival, passed by." + +"Yes, it was a providence," broke in the count--"a real hermit, not +one of those fat friars, with shaven crowns, we have in Rome, but a +genuine recluse, a man whose life is one long act of practical piety." + +When Marescotti had entered, he seemed only the calm, high-bred +gentleman; now, as he spoke, his eye sparkled, and his pale cheeks +flushed. + +"Yes, I addressed the hermit," he continued, and he raised his fine +head and crossed his hands on his breast as if he were still before +him. "I kissed his bare feet, road-stained with errands of charity. +'My father,' I said to him, 'bless me'--" + +"Not only so," interrupted Baldassare, "but, would you believe it, +madame, the count cast himself down on the dusty street to receive his +blessing!" + +"And why not?" asked the count, looking at him severely. "It came to +me like a voice from heaven. The hermit is a holy man. Would I were +like him! I have heard of him for thirty years past. Winter after +winter, among those savage mountains, in roaring winds, in sweeping +storms, in frost and snow, and water-floods, he has assisted hundreds, +who, but for him, must infallibly have perished. What courage! what +devotion! It is a poem." Marescotti spoke hurriedly and in a low +voice. "Yes, I craved his blessing. I kissed his hands, his feet. +I would have kissed the ground on which he stood." As he proceeded, +Marescotti grew more and more abstracted. All that he described was +passing like a vision before him. "Those venerable hands--yes, I +kissed them." + +"How much money did you leave in them, count?" asked the marchesa, +with a sneer. + +"Great is the mercy of God!" ejaculated the count, earnestly, +not heeding her. "Sinner as I am, the touch of those hands--that +blessing--purified me. I feel it." + +"Incredible! Well," cried Baldassare, "the price of that blessing will +keep the good man in bread and meat for a year. Let the old beggar go +to the devil, count, his own way. He must soon appear there, anyhow. +A good-for-nothing old cheat! His blessing, indeed! I can get you a +dozen begging friars who will bless you all day for a few farthings." + +The count's brow darkened. + +"Baldassare," said he, very gravely, "you are young, and, like your +age, inconsiderate. I request that, in my presence, you speak with +becoming respect of this holy man." + +"Per Bacco!" exclaimed the cavaliere, advancing from where he had +been standing behind the marchesa's chair, and patting Baldassare +patronizingly on the shoulder, "I never heard you talk so much before +at one time, Baldassare. Now, you had better have held your tongue, +and listened to Count Marescotti. Leading the cotillon last night has +turned your head. Take my advice, however--an old man's advice--stick +to your dancing. You understand that. Every man has his _forte_--yours +is the ballroom." + +Baldassare smiled complaisantly at this allusion to the swiftness of +his heels. + +"Out of the ballroom," continued Trenta, eying him with quiet scorn, +"I advise caution--great caution. Out of the ballroom you are capable +of any imbecility." + +"Cavaliere!" cried Baldassare, turning very red and looking at him +reproachfully. + +"You have deserved this reproof, young man," said the marchesa, +harshly. "Learn your place in addressing the Count Marescotti." + +That the son of a shopkeeper should presume to dispute in her presence +with a Roman noble, was a thing so unsuitable that, even in her own +house, she must put it down authoritatively. She had never liked +Baldassare--never wanted to receive him, now she resolved never to see +him again; but, as she feared that Trenta would continue to bring him, +under pretext of making up her whist-table, she did not say so. + +The medical Adonis was forced to swallow his rage, but his cheeks +tingled. He dared not quarrel either with the marchesa, Trenta, or +the count, by whose joint support alone he could hope to plant himself +firmly in the realms of Lucchese fashionable life--a life which he +felt was his element. Utterly disconcerted, however, he turned down +his eyes, and stared at his boots, which were highly glazed, then +glanced up at his own face (as faultless and impassive as a Greek +mask) in a mirror opposite, hastily arranged his hair, and finally +collapsed into silence and a corner. + +At this moment Count Marescotti became suddenly aware of Enrica's +presence. She was, as I have said, sitting in the same place by +the casement, concealed by the curtain, her head bent down over her +knitting. She had only looked up once when Nobili's name had been +mentioned. No one had noticed her. It was not the usage of Casa +Guinigi to notice Enrica. Enrica was not the marchesa's daughter; +therefore, except in marriage, she was not entitled to enjoy +the honors of the house. She was never permitted to take part in +conversation. + +Marescotti, who had not seen her since she was fourteen, now bounded +across the room to where she sat, overshadowed by the curtain, bowed +to her formally, then touched the tips of her fingers with his lips. + +Enrica raised her eyes. And what eyes they were!--large, melancholy, +brooding, of no certain color, changing as she spoke, as the summer +sky changes the color of the sea. They were more gray than blue, yet +they were blue, with long, dark eyelashes that swept upon her cheeks. +As she looked up and smiled, there was an expression of the most +perfect innocence in her face. It was like a flower that opens its +bosom frankly to the sun. + +Marescotti's artistic nature was deeply stirred. He gazed at her in +silence for some minutes; he was seeking in his own mind in what type +of womanhood he should place her. Suddenly an idea struck him.--She +was the living image of the young Madonna--the young Madonna before +the visit of the archangel--pale, meditative, pathetic, but with no +shadow of the future upon her face. Marescotti was so engrossed by +this idea that he remained motionless before her. Each one present +observed his emotion, the marchesa specially; she frowned her +disapproval. + +Trenta laughed quietly to himself, then stroked his well-shaved chin. + +"Signorina," said the count, at length breaking silence, "permit me to +offer my excuses for not having sooner perceived you. Will you forgive +me?" + +"Mio Dio!" muttered the marchesa to herself, "he will turn the child's +head with his fine phrases." + +"I have nothing to forgive, count," answered Enrica simply. She spoke +low. Her voice matched the expression of her face; there was a natural +tone of plaintiveness in it. + +"When I last saw you," continued the count, standing as if spellbound +before her, "you were only a child. Now," and his kindling eyes +riveted themselves upon her, "you are a woman. Like the magic rose +that was the guerdon of the Troubadours, you have passed in an hour +from leaf to bud, from bud to fairest flower. You were, of course, at +the Orsetti ball last night?" He asked this question, trying to rouse +himself. "What ball in Lucca would be complete without you?" + +"I was not there," answered Enrica, blushing deeply and glancing +timidly at the marchesa, who, with a scowl on her face, was fanning +herself violently. + +"Not there!" ejaculated Marescotti, with wonder.--"Why, marchesa, is +it not barbarous to shut up your beautiful niece? Is it because you +deem her too precious to be gazed upon? If so, you are right." + +And again his eyes, full of ardent admiration, were bent on Enrica. + +Enrica dropped her head to hide her confusion, and resumed her +knitting. + +It was a golden sunset. The sun was sinking behind the delicate +arcades of the Moorish garden, and spreading broad patches of rosy +light upon the marble. The shrubs, with their bright flowers, were set +against a tawny orange sky. The air was full of light--the last gleams +of parting day. The splash of the fountain upon the lion's heads was +heard in the silence, the heavy perfume of the magnolia-flowers stole +in wafts through the sculptured casements, creeping upward in the soft +evening air. + +Still, motionless before Enrica, Marescotti was rapidly falling into a +poetic rapture. The marchesa broke the awkward silence. + +"Enrica is a child," she said, dryly. "She knows nothing about balls. +She has never been to one. Pray do not put such ideas into her head, +count," she added, looking at him angrily. + +"But, marchesa, your niece is no child--she is a lovely woman," +insisted the count, his eyes still riveted upon her. The marchesa did +not consider it necessary to answer him. + +Meanwhile the cavaliere, who had returned to his seat near her, had +watched the moment when no one was looking that way, had given her a +significant glance, and placed his finger warningly upon his lip. + +Not understanding what he meant by this action, the marchesa was at +first inclined to resent it as a liberty, and to rebuke him; but she +thought better of it, and only glanced at him haughtily. + +It was not the first time she had found it to her advantage to accept +Trenta's hints. Trenta was a man of the world, and he had his eyes +open. What he meant, however, she could not even guess. + +Meanwhile the count had drawn a chair beside Enrica. + +"Yes, yes, the Orsetti ball," he said, absently, passing his hand +through the masses of black curls that rested upon his forehead. + +He was following out, in his own mind, the notion of addressing an +ode to her in the character of the young Madonna--the uninstructed +Madonna--without that look of pensive suffering painters put into her +eyes. + +The Madonna figured prominently in Marescotti's creed, spite of his +belief in the stern precepts of Savonarola--the plastic creed of an +artist, made up of heavenly eyes, ravishing forms, melodious sounds, +rich color, sweeping rhythms, moonlight, and violent emotions. + +"I was not there myself--no, or I should have been aware you had +not honored the Countess Orsetti with your presence. But in the +morning--that glorious mass in the old cathedral--you were there?" + +Enrica answered that she had not left the house all day, at which the +count raised his eyebrows in astonishment. + +"That mass," he continued, "in celebration of a local miracle +(respectable from its antiquity), has haunted me ever since. The +gloomy splendor of the venerable cathedral overwhelmed me; the happy +faces that met me on every side, the spontaneous rejoicing of the +whole population, touched me deeply. I longed to make them free. They +deserve freedom; they shall have it!" A dark fire glistened in his +eye. "I have been lost in day-dreams ever since; I must give them +utterance." And he gazed steadfastly at Enrica.--"I have not left my +room, marchesa, ever since"--at last Marescotti left Enrica's side, +and approached the marchesa--"until an hour ago, when Baldassare"--and +the count bowed to Adonis, still seated sulky in a corner--"came +and carried me off in the hope that you would permit me to join your +rubber. Had I known"--he added, in a lower voice, bending his head +toward Enrica. Then he stopped, suddenly aware that every one was +listening to all he said (a fact which he had been far too much +absorbed to notice previously), colored, and retreated to the sofa +with the spindle-legs. + +"Per Bacco!" whispered the cavaliere to the marchesa, sitting near her +on the other side; "I am convinced poor Marescotti has never touched +a morsel of food since that mass--I am certain of it. He always lives +upon a poetical diet, poor devil!--rose-leaves and the beauties of +Nature, with a warm dish now and then in the way of a _ragoût_ of +conspiracy. God help him! he's a greater lunatic than ever." This was +spoken aside into the marchesa's ear. "If you have a soul of pity, +marchesa, order him a chicken before we begin playing, or he will +faint upon the floor." The marchesa smiled. + +"I don't like impressionable people at all," she responded, in the +same tone of voice. "In my opinion, feelings should be concealed, not +exhibited." And she sighed, recalling her own silent vigils on the +floor beneath, unknown to all save the cavaliere. + +"But--a thousand pardons!" cried Marescotti, gradually waking up to +some social energy, "I have been talking only of myself! Talking of +myself in your presence, ladies!--What can we do to amuse your niece, +marchesa? Lucca is horribly dull. If she is to go neither to festivals +nor to balls, it will not be possible for her to exist here." + +"It will be quite possible," answered the marchesa, greatly displeased +at the turn the conversation was taking. "Quite possible, if I choose +it. Enrica will exist where I please. You forget she has lived here +for seventeen years. You see she has not died of it. She stays at home +by my order, count." + +Enrica cast a pleading look at her aunt, as if to say, "Can I help all +this?" As for Count Marescotti, he was far too much engrossed with his +own thoughts to be aware that he was treading on delicate ground. + +"But, marchesa," he urged, "you can't really keep your niece any +longer shut up like the fairy princess in the tower. Let me be +permitted to act the part of the fairy prince and liberate her." + +Again he had turned, and again his glowing eyes fixed themselves on +Enrica, who had withdrawn as much as possible behind the curtains. Her +cheeks were dyed with blushes. She shrank from the count's too ardent +glances, as though those glances were an involuntary treason to +Nobili. + +"Something must be done," muttered the count, meditating. + +"Will you trust your niece with Cavaliere Trenta, and permit me to +accompany them on some little excursion in the city, to make up for +the loss of the cathedral and the ball?" + +The marchesa, who found the count decidedly troublesome, not to say +impertinent, had opened her lips to give an unqualified negative, but +another glance from Trenta checked her. + +"An excellent idea," put in the cavaliere, before she could +speak. "With _me_, marchesa--with _me_" he added, looking at her +deprecatingly. + +Trenta loved Enrica better than any thing in the world, but carefully +concealed it, the better to serve her with her aunt. + +"As for me, I am ready for any thing." And, to show his agility, he +rose, and, with the help of his stick, made a _glissade_ on the floor. + +Baldassare laughed out loud from the corner. It gratified his wounded +vanity to see his elder ridiculous. + +Marescotti, greatly alarmed, started forward and offered his arm, in +order to lead the cavaliere back to his seat, but Trenta indignantly +refused his assistance. The marchesa shook her head. + +"Calm yourself," she said, looking at him compassionately. "Calm +yourself, Cesarino, I should not like you to have a fit in my house." + +"Fit!--chè chè?" cried Trenta, angrily. "Not while I am in the +presence of the young and fair," he added, recovering himself. "It is +that which has kept me alive all this time. No, marchesa, I refuse +to sit down again. I refuse to sit down, or to take a hand at your +rubber, until something is settled." + +This was addressed to the marchesa, who had caught him by the tails of +his immaculate blue coat and forced him into a seat beside her. + +"_Vive la bagatelle_! Where shall we go? You cannot refuse the count," +he added, giving the marchesa a meaning look. "What shall we do? Let +us all propose something. Let me see. I propose to improve Enrica's +mind. She is young--the young have need of improvement. I propose to +take her to the church of San Frediano and to show her the ancient +fresco representing the discovery of the Holy Countenance; also +the Trenta chapel, containing the tombs of my family. I will try to +explain to her their names and history.--What do you say to this, my +child?" + +And the cavaliere turned to Enrica, who, little accustomed to be +noticed at all, much less to occupy the whole conversation, looked +supplicatingly at her aunt. She would gladly have run out of the room +if she had dared. + +"No, no," exclaimed the irrepressible Baldassare, from the corner. +"Never! What a ghastly idea! Tombs and a mouldy old church! You may +find satisfaction, Signore Trenta, in the contemplation of your tomb, +but the signorina is not eighty, nor am I, nor is the count. I propose +that after being shut up so many years the Guinigi Palace be thrown +open, and a ball given on the first floor in honor of the signorina. +There should be a band from Florence and presents from Paris for the +cotillon. What do you say to _that_, Signora Marchesa?" asked the +misguided young man, with unconscious self-satisfaction. + +If a mine had sprung under the marchesa's feet, she could not have +been more horrified. What she would have said to Baldassare is +difficult to guess, but fortunately for him, while she was struggling +for words in which she could suitably express her sense of his +presumption, Trenta, seeing what was coming, was beforehand. + +"Be silent, Baldassare," he exclaimed, "or, per Dio, I will never +bring you here again." + +Before Baldassare could offer his apologies, the count burst in-- + +"I propose that we shall show the signorina something that will amuse +her." He thought for a moment. "Have you ever ascended the old tower +of this palace?" he asked. + +Enrica shook her head. + +"Then I propose the Guinigi Tower--the stairs are rather rickety, but +they are not unsafe. I was there the last time I visited Lucca. The +view over the Apennines is superb. Will you trust yourself to us, +signorina?" + +Enrica raised her head and looked at him hesitatingly, glanced at +her aunt, then looked at him again. Until the marchesa had spoken she +dared not reply. She longed to go. If she ascended the tower, might +she not see Nobili? She had not set her eyes on him for a whole week. + +Marescotti saw her hesitation, but he misunderstood the cause. He +returned her look with an ardent glance. Where was the young Madonna +leading him? He did not stop to inquire, but surrendered himself to +the enchantment of her presence. + +"Is my proposal accepted?" Count Marescotti inquired, anxiously +turning toward the marchesa, who sat listening to them with a +deeply-offended air. + +"And mine too?" put in the cavaliere. "Both can be combined. I should +so much like to show Enrica the tombs of the Trenta. We have been a +famous family in our time. Do not refuse us, marchesa." + +All this was entirely out of the habits of Casa Guinigi. Hitherto +Enrica had been kept in absolute subjection. If she were present no +one spoke to her, or noticed her. Now all this was to be changed, +because Count Marescotti had come up from Rome. Enrica was not only to +be gazed at and flattered, but to engross attention. + +The marchesa showed evident tokens of serious displeasure. Had Count +Marescotti not been present, she would assuredly have expressed this +displeasure in very strong language. In all matters connected with her +niece, with her household, and with the management of her own affairs, +she could not tolerate remark, much less interference. Every kind of +interference was offensive to her. She believed in herself, as I have +said, blindly: never, up to that time, had that belief been shaken. +All this discussion was, to her mind, worse than interference--it was +absolute revolution. She inwardly resolved to shut up her house and +go into the country, rather than submit to it. She eyed the count, who +stood waiting for an answer, as if he were an enemy, and scowled at +the excellent Trenta. + +Enrica, too, had fixed her eyes upon her beseechingly; Enrica +evidently wanted to go. The marchesa had already opened her lips to +give an abrupt refusal, when she felt a warning hand laid upon her +arm. Again she was shaken in her purpose of refusal. She rose, and +approached the card-table. + +"I shall take time to consider," she replied to the inquiring eyes +awaiting her reply. + +The marchesa took up the pack of cards and examined the markers. +She was debating with herself what Trenta could possibly mean by his +extraordinary conduct, _twice_ repeated. + +"You had better retire now," she said to Enrica, with an expression of +hostility her niece knew too well. "You have listened to quite enough +folly for one night. Men are flatterers." + +"Not I! not I!" cried Marescotti. "I never say any thing but what I +mean." + +And he flew toward the door in order to open it before Enrica could +reach it. + +"All good angels guard you!" he whispered, with a tender voice, into +her ear, as, greatly confused, she passed by him, into the anteroom. +"May you find all men as true as I! Per Dio! she is the living +image of the young Madonna!" he added, half aloud, gazing after her. +"Countenance, manner, air--it is perfect!" + +A match was now produced out of Trenta's pocket. The candles were +lighted, and the casements closed. The party then sat down to whist. + +The marchesa was always specially irritable when at cards. The +previous conversation had not improved her temper. Moreover, the count +was her partner, and a worse one could hardly be conceived. Twice +he did not even take up the cards dealt to him, but sat immovable, +staring at the print of the Empress Eugénie in the Spanish dress on +the green wall opposite. Called to order peremptorily by the marchesa, +he took up his cards, shuffled them, then laid them down again on +the table, his eyes wandering off to the chair hitherto occupied by +Enrica. + +This was intolerable. The marchesa showed him that she thought so. He +apologized. He did take up his cards, and for a few deals attended +to the game. Again becoming abstracted, he forgot what were trumps, +losing thereby several tricks. Finally, he revoked. Both the marchesa +and the cavaliere rebuked him very sharply. Again he apologized, tried +to collect his thoughts, but still played abominably. + +Meanwhile, Trenta and Baldassare kept up a perpetual wrangle. The +cavaliere was cool, sardonic, smiling, and provoking--Baldassare hot +and flushed with a concentration of rage he dared not express. +The cavaliere, thanks to his court education, was an admirable +whist-player. His frequent observations to his young friend were +excellent as instruction, but were conveyed in somewhat contemptuous +language. Baldassare, having been told by the cavaliere that playing +a good hand at whist was as necessary to his future social success as +dancing, was much chagrined. + +Poor Baldassare!--his life was a continual conflict--a sacrifice to +his love of fine company. It might be doubted if he would not +have been infinitely happier in the atmosphere of the paternal +establishment, weighing out drugs, in shabby clothes, behind the +counter, than he was now, snubbed and affronted, and barely tolerated. + +After this the marchesa and Trenta became partners; but matters did +not improve. A violent altercation ensued as to who led a certain +crucial card, which decided the game. Once seated at the whist-table, +the cavaliere was a real autocrat. _There_ he did not affect even to +submit to the marchesa. Now, provoked beyond endurance, he plainly +told her "she never had played a good game, and, what was more, +that she never would--she was too impetuous." Upon hearing this the +marchesa threw down her cards in a rage, and rose from the table. +Trenta rose also. With an imperturbable countenance he offered her his +arm, to lead her back to her seat. + +The marchesa, extremely irate at what he had said, pushed him rudely +to one side and reseated herself. + +Baldassare and Marescotti rose also. The count, having continued +persistently absent up to the last, was utterly unconscious of the +little fracas that had taken place between the marchesa and the +cavaliere, and the consequent sudden conclusion of the game. He had +seen her rise, and it was a great relief to him. He had been debating +in his own mind whether he should adopt the Dante rhyme for his ode to +the young Madonna, or make it in strophes. He inclined to the latter +treatment as more picturesque, and therefore more suitable to the +subject. + +"May I," said he, suddenly roused to what was passing about him, and +advancing with a gracious smile upon his mobile face, lit up by the +pleasant musings of the whist-table--pleasant to him, but assuredly +not pleasant to his partner--"may I hope, marchesa, that you will +acquiesce in our little plan for to-morrow?" + +The marchesa had come by this time to look on the count as a bore, of +whom she was anxious to rid herself. She was so anxious, indeed, to +rid herself of him that she actually assented. + +"My niece, Signore Conte," she said, stiffly, "shall be ready with +her gouvernante and the Cavaliere Trenta, at eleven o'clock to-morrow. +Now--good-night!" + +Marescotti took the hint, bowed, and departed arm-in-arm with +Baldassare. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE CABINET COUNCIL. + + +When the count and Baldassare had left the room, Cavaliere Trenta made +no motion to follow them. On the contrary, he leaned back in the chair +on which he was seated, and nursed his leg with the nankeen trouser +meditatively. The expression of his face showed that his thoughts were +busy with some project he desired to communicate. Until he had done so +in his own way, and at his own time, he would continue to sit where he +was. It was this imperturbable self-possession and good-humor combined +which gave him so much influence over the irascible marchesa. They +were as iron to fire, only the iron was never heated. + +The marchesa, deeply resenting his remarks upon her whist playing, +tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, fanned herself, and glowered +at him out of the darkness which the single pair of candles did not +dispel. As he still made no motion to go, she took out her watch, +looked at it, and, with an exclamation of surprise, rose. Quite +useless. Trenta did not stir. + +"Marchesa," he said at last, abruptly, raising his head and looking at +her, "do me the favor to sit down. Spare me a few moments before you +retire." + +"I want to go to bed," she answered, rudely. "It is already past my +usual hour." + +"Marchesa--one moment. I permitted myself the liberty of an old friend +just now--to check your speech to Count Marescotti." + +"Yes," said she, drawing up her long throat, and throwing back her +head, an action habitual to her when displeased, "you did so. I did +not understand it. We have been acquainted quite long enough for you +to know I do not like interference." + +"Pardon me, noble lady"--(Trenta spoke very meekly--to soothe her +now was absolutely necessary)--"pardon me, for the sake of my good +intentions." + +"And pray what _were_ your good intentions, cavaliere?" she asked, in +a mocking tone, reseating herself. Her curiosity was rapidly getting +the better of her resentment. + +As she asked the question, the cavaliere left off nursing his leg with +the nankeen trouser, rose, drew his chair closer to hers, then sat +down again. The light from the single pair of candles was very dim, +and scarcely extended beyond the card-table. Both their heads were +therefore in shadow, but the marchesa's eyes gleamed nevertheless, as +she waited for Trenta's explanation. + +"Did you observe nothing this evening, my friend?" he +asked--"_nothing_?" His manner was unusually excited. + +"No," she answered, thoughtfully. She had been so exclusively occupied +with the slights put upon herself that every thing else had escaped +her. "I observed nothing except the impertinence of Count Marescotti, +and the audacity--the--" + +"Stop, marchesa," interrupted Trenta, holding up his hand. "We will +talk of all that another time. If Count Marescotti and Baldassare have +offended you, you can decline to receive them. You observed +nothing, you say? I did." He leaned forward, and spoke with +emphasis--"Marescotti is in love with Enrica." + +The marchesa started violently and raised herself bolt upright. + +"The Red count in love with a child like Enrica!" + +"Only a child in your eyes, Signora Marchesa," rejoined Trenta, +warmly. (He had warmed with his own convictions, his benevolent heart +was deeply interested in Enrica. He had known her since she had first +come to Casa Guinigi, a baby; from his soul he pitied her.) "In the +eyes of the world Enrica is not only a woman, but promises to be a +very lovely one. She is seventeen years old, and marriageable. Young +ladies of her name and position must have fortunes, or they do not +marry well. If they do, it is a chance--quite a chance. Under these +circumstances, it would be cruel to deprive her of so suitable an +alliance as Count Marescotti. Now, allow me to ask you, seriously, how +would this marriage suit you?" + +"Not at all," replied the marchesa, curtly. "The count is a +republican. I hate republicans. The Guinigi have always been +Ghibelline, and loyal. I dislike him, too, personally. I was about to +desire you never to bring him here again. Contact with low people has +spoiled him. His manners are detestable." + +"But, marchesa, che vuole?" Trenta shrugged his shoulders. "He belongs +to one of the oldest families in Rome; he is well off, handsome (he +reminds me of your ancestor, Castruccio Castracani); a wife might +improve him." The marchesa shook her head. + +"He like the great Castruccio!--I do not see it." + +"Permit me," resumed Trenta, "without entering into details which, as +a friend, you have confided to me, I must remind you that your affairs +are seriously embarrassed." + +The marchesa winced; she guessed what was coming. She knew that she +could not deny it. + +"You are embarrassed by lawsuits. Unfortunately, all have gone against +you." + +"I fought for the ancient privileges of the Guinigi!" burst out the +marchesa, imperiously. "I would do it again." + +"I do not in the least doubt you would do it again, exalted lady," +responded Trenta, with a quiet smile. "Indeed, I feel assured of it. +I merely state the fact. You have sacrificed large sums of money. You +have lost every suit. The costs have been enormous. Your income is +greatly reduced. Enrica is therefore portionless." + +"No, no, not altogether." The marchesa moved nervously in her chair, +carefully avoiding meeting Trenta's steely blue eyes. "I have saved +money, Cesarino--I have indeed," she repeated. The marchesa was +becoming quite affable. "I cannot touch the heirlooms. But Enrica will +have a small portion." + +"Well, well," replied Trenta. "But it is impossible you can have saved +much since the termination of that last long suit with the chapter +about your right to the second bench in the nave of the cathedral, the +bench awarded to Count Nobili when he bought the palace. The expense +was too great, and the trial too recent." + +She made no reply. + +"Then there was that other affair with the municipality about the +right of flying the flag from the Guinigi Tower. I do not mention +small affairs, such as disputes with your late steward at Corellia, +trials at Barga, nor litigation here at Lucca on a small scale. My +dear marchesa, you have found the law an expensive pastime." The +cavaliere's round eyes twinkled as he said this. "Enrica is therefore +virtually portionless. The choice lies between a husband who will wed +her for herself, or a convent. If I understand your views, a convent +would not suit you. Besides, you would not surely voluntarily condemn +a girl, without vocation, and brought up beside you, to the seclusion +of a convent?" + +"But Enrica is a child--I tell you she is too young to think about +marriage, cavaliere." + +The marchesa spoke with anger. She would stave off as long as possible +the principal question--that of marriage. Sudden proposals, +too, emanating from others, always nettled her; it narrowed her +prerogative. + +"Besides," objected the marchesa, still fencing with the real +question, "who can answer for Count Marescotti? He is so capricious! +Supposing he likes Enrica to-day, he may change before to-morrow. Do +you really think he can care enough about Enrica to marry her? Her +name would be nothing to him." + +"I think he does care for her," replied Trenta, reflectively; "but +that can be ascertained. Enrica is a fit consort for a far greater man +than Count Marescotti. Not that he, as you say, would care about her +name. Remember, she will be your heiress--that is something." + +"Yes, yes, my heiress," answered the marchesa, vaguely; for the +dreadful question rose up in her mind, "What would Enrica have to +inherit?" + +That very day she had received a most insolent letter from a creditor. +Under the influence of the painful thoughts, she turned her head aside +and said nothing. One of her hands was raised over her eyes to shade +them from the candles; the other rested on her dark dress. + +If a marriage were really in question, what could be more serious? +Was not Enrica's marriage to raise up heirs to the Guinigi--heirs to +inherit the palace and the heirlooms? If--the marchesa banished the +thought, but it would return, and haunt her like a spectre--if not the +palace, then at least the name--the historic name, revered throughout +Italy? Nothing could deprive Enrica of the name--that name was in +itself a dower. That Enrica should possess both name and palace, with +a husband of her--the marchesa's--own choosing, had been her dream, +but it had been a far-off dream--a dream to be realized in the course +of years. + +Taken thus aback, the proposal made by Trenta appeared to her hurried +and premature--totally wanting in the dignified and well-considered +action that should mark the conduct of the great. Besides, if an +immediate marriage were arranged between Count Marescotti and Enrica, +only a part of her plan could be realized. Enrica was, indeed, +now almost portionless; there would be no time to pile up those +gold-pieces, or to swell those rustling sheaves of notes that she +had--in imagination--accumulated. + +"Portionless!" the marchesa repeated to herself, half aloud. "What a +humiliation!--my own niece!" + +It will be observed that all this time the marchesa had never +considered what Enrica's feeling might be. She was to obey her--that +was all. + +But in this the marchesa was not to blame. She undoubtedly carried +her idea of Enrica's subserviency too far; but custom was on her side. +Marriages among persons of high rank are "arranged" in Italy--arranged +by families or by priests, acting as go-betweens. The lady leaves the +convent, and her marriage is arranged. She is unconscious that she has +a heart--she only discovers that unruly member afterward. To love a +husband is unnecessary; there are so many "golden youths" to choose +from. And the husband has his pastime too. Cosi fan tutti! It is a +round game! + +All this time the cavaliere had never taken his eyes off his friend. +To a certain extent he understood what was passing in her mind. A +portionless niece would reveal her poverty. + +"A good marriage is a good thing," he suggested, as a safe general +remark, after having waited in vain for some response. + +"In all I do," the marchesa answered, loftily, "I must first consider +what is due to the dignity of my position." Trenta bowed. + +"Decidedly, marchesa; that is your duty. But what then?" + +"No feeling _whatever_ but that will influence me _now_, or +hereafter--nothing." She dwelt upon the last word defiantly, as the +final expression of her mind. Spite of this defiance, there was, +however, a certain hesitation in her manner which did not escape the +cavaliere. As she spoke, she looked hard at him, and touched his arm +to arouse his attention. + +Trenta, who knew her so well, perfectly interpreted her meaning. His +ruddy cheeks flushed crimson; his kindly eyes kindled; he felt sure +that his advice would be accepted. She was yielding, but he must +be most cautious not to let his satisfaction appear. So strangely +contradictory was the marchesa that, although nothing could possibly +be more advantageous to her own schemes than this marriage, she might, +if indiscreetly pressed, veer round, and, in spite of her interest, +refuse to listen to another syllable on the subject. + +All this kept the cavaliere silent. Receiving no answer, she looked +suspiciously at him, then grasped his arm tightly. + +"And you, cavaliere--how long have you been so deeply interested in +Enrica? What is she to you? Her future can only signify to you as far +as it affects myself." + +She waited for a reply. What was the cavaliere to answer? He loved +Enrica dearly, but he dared not say so, lest he should offend the +marchesa. He feared that if he spoke he should assuredly say too much. +Well as he knew her, the marchesa's egotism horrified him. + +"Poor Enrica!" he muttered, involuntarily, half aloud. + +The marchesa caught at the name. + +"Enrica?--yes. From the time of my husband's death I have sacrificed +my life to the duties imposed on me by my position. So must Enrica. No +personal feeling for her shall bias me in the least." + +Her eyes were fixed on those of Trenta. She paused again, and passed +her white hand slowly one over the other. The cavaliere looked down; +he durst not meet her glance, lest she should read his thoughts. +Thinking of Enrica at that moment, he absolutely hated her! + +"What would you advise me to do?" she asked, at last. Her voice fell +as she put the question. + +Trenta had been waiting for this direct appeal. Now his tongue was +unloosed. + +"I will tell you, Signora Marchesa, plainly what I would advise you +to do," was his answer. "Let Enrica marry Marescotti. Put the whole +matter into my hands, if you have sufficient confidence in me." + +"Remember, Trenta, the humiliation!" + +"What humiliation?" asked the cavaliere, with surprise. + +"The humiliation involved in the confession that my niece is almost +portionless." The words seemed to choke her. "She will inherit all I +have to leave," and she glanced significantly at the cavaliere; "but +that is--you understand me?--uncertain." + +"Bagatella!--that will be all right," he rejoined, with alacrity. "The +idea of money will not sway Marescotti in the least. He is wealthy--a +fine fellow. Have no fear of that. Leave it all to me, Enrica, and +Marescotti. I am an old courtier. Many a royal marriage has passed +through my hands. Per Bacco--though no one but the duke knew +it--through my hands! You may trust me, marchesa." + +There was a proud consciousness of the past in the old man's face. He +showed such perfect confidence in himself that he imparted the same +confidence to the marchesa. + +"I would trust no one else, Cesarino," she said, rising from her +chair. "But be cautious; bind me to nothing until we meet again. I +must hear all that passes between you and the count, then judge for +myself." + +"I will obey you in all things, noble lady," replied Trenta, +submissively. + +How he dreaded betraying his secret exultation! To emancipate +Enrica from her miserable life by an honorable marriage, was, to his +benevolent heart, infinite happiness! + +"Good-night, marchesa. May you repose well!" + +"Good-night, Cesarino--a rivederci!" + +So they parted. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. + + +The ball at Casa Orsetti was much canvassed in Lucca. Hospitality is +by no means a cardinal virtue in Italy. Even in the greatest houses, +the bread and salt of the Arab is not offered to you--or, if offered +at all, appears in the shape of such dangerously acid lemonade or +such weak tea, it is best avoided. Every year there are dances at the +Casino dei Nobili, during the Carnival, and there are veglioni, or +balls, at the theatre, where ladies go masked and in dominoes, but +do not dance; but these annual dissipations are paid for by ticket. +A general reception, therefore, including dancing, supper, and +champagne, _gratis_, was an event. + +The Orsetti Palace, a huge square edifice of reddish-gray stone, with +overtopping roof, four tiers of lofty windows, and a broad arched +entrance, or portone, with dark-green doors, stands in the street +of San Michele. You pass it, going from the railway-station to the +city-gate (where the Lucchese lions keep guard), and the road leads +onward to the peaked mountains over Spezia. + +On the evening of the ball the entire street of San Michele was hung +with Chinese lanterns, arranged in festoons. Opposite the entrance +shone a gigantic star of gas. The palace itself was a blaze of +light. As the night was warm, every window was thrown open; +chandeliers--scintillating like jeweled fountains--hung from the +ceilings; wax-lights innumerable, in gilded sconces, were grouped upon +the walls; crimson-silk curtains cast a ruddy glare across the street, +and the sound of harps and violins floated through the night air. The +crowd of beggars and idlers, generally gathered in the street, saw so +much that they might be considered to "assist," in an independent +but festive capacity, at the entertainment from outside. Matches were +hawked about for the convenience of the male portion of this +extempore assembly, and fruit in baskets was on sale for the women. +"Cigars--cigars of quality!"--"Good fruit--ripe fruit!" were cries +audible even in the ballroom; and a fine aroma of coarse tobacco +mounted rapidly upward to the illuminated windows. + +Within the archway groups of servants were ranged in the Orsetti +livery. Also a magnificent personage, not to be classed with any of +the other domestics, wearing a silver chain with a key passed across +his breast. The personage called a major-domo, in the discharge of +his duty, divested the ladies of their shawls, and arranged their +draperies. + +All this was witnessed with much glee by the plebs outside--the men +smoking, the women eating and talking. As the guests arrived in rapid +succession, the plebs pressed more and more forward, until at last +some of the boldest stood within the threshold. The giants in +livery not only tolerated this, but might be said to observe them +individually with favor--seeing how much of their admiration was +bestowed on themselves and their fine clothes. The major-domo also, +with amiable condescension, affected not to notice them--no, not even +when one tall fellow, a butcher, with eyes as black as sloes, a pipe +in his mouth, and a coarse cloak wrapped round him, took off his +hat to the Princess Cardeneff, as she passed by him glittering with +diamonds, and cried in her face, "Oh! bella, bella!" + +When the major-domo had performed those mysteries intrusted to him, +attendant giants threw open folding doors at the farther end of the +court, and the bright visions disappeared into a long gallery on the +ground-floor, painted in brilliant frescoes, to the reception-room. +The suite of rooms on the ground-floor are the summer apartments, +specially arranged for air and coolness. Rustic chairs stand against +walls painted with fruit and flowers, the stems and leaves represented +as growing out of the floor, as at Pompeii. The whole saloon is like +a _parterre_. Settees, sofas, and cozy Paris chairs covered with rich +satins, are placed under arbors of light-gilt trellis-work, wreathed +with exquisite creepers in full flower. Palms, orange and lemon trees, +flowering cacti, and large-leaved cane-plants, are grouped about; +consoles and marble tables, covered with the loveliest cut flowers. + +Near the door, in the first of these floral saloons where sweet scents +made the air heavy, stands the Countess Orsetti. Although she had +certainly passed that great female climacteric, forty, a stately +presence, white skin, abundant hair, and good features treated +artistically, gave her still a certain claim to matronly beauty. She +greets each guest with compliments and phrases which would have been +deemed excessive out of Italy. Here in Lucca, where she met most of +her guests every day, these compliments and phrases were not only +excessive, but wearisome and out of place. Yet such is the custom of +the country, and to such fulsome flattery do the language and common +usage lend themselves. Countess Orsetti, therefore, is not responsible +for this absurdity. + +Her son is beside her. He is short, stout, and smiling, with a +hesitating manner, and a habit of referring every thing to his +magnificent mamma. Away from his mamma, he is frank, talkative, and +amusing. It is to be hoped that he will marry soon, and escape from +the leading-strings. If he marries Teresa Ottolini--and it is said +such a result is certain--no palace in Lucca would be big enough to +hold Teresa and the countess-mother at one time. + +Group after group enters, bows to the countess, and passes on among +the flowers: the Countess Navascoes (with her lord), pale, statuesque, +dark-eyed, raven-haired--a type of Italian womanhood; Marchesa +Manzi--born of the noble house of Buoncampagni--looking as if she +had walked out of a picture by Titian; the Da Gia, separated from +her husband--a little habit, this, of Italian ladies, consequent upon +intimacy with the _jeunesse dorée_, who prefer the wives of their best +friends to all other women--it saves trouble, and a "golden youth" +is essentially idle. This little habit, moreover, of separation from +husbands does not damage the lady in the least; no one inquires what +has happened, or who is in the wrong. Society receives and pets her +just the same, and, quite impartial, receives and pets the husband +also.--Luisa Bernardini, a glowing little countess, as plump as an +ortolan, dimpling with smiles, an ugly old husband at her side--comes +next. It is whispered, unless the ugly old husband is blind as well +as deaf, they will be separated, too, very shortly. Young Civilla, +a "golden youth," is so very pressing. He could live with Luisa +at Naples--a cheap place. They might have gone on for years as a +triangular household--but for Civilla's carelessness. Civilla would +always put out old Bernardini about the dinner. (Civilla dined at +Bernardini's house every day, as he would at a _café_.) Now, old +Bernardini did not care a button that his little wife had a lover; it +would not have been _en règle_ if she had not--nor did he care that +his wife's lover should dine with him every day--not a bit--but old +Bernardini is a gourmand, and he does care to be kept waiting for his +dinner. He has lately confided to a friend, that he should be sorry +to cause a scandal, but that he must separate from his wife if Civilla +will not reform in the matter of the dinner-hour. "He is getting old," +Bernardini says, "and his digestion suffers." No man keeps a French +cook to be kept waiting for his dinner. + +Luisa, who looks the picture of innocence, wears an unexceptionable +pink dress, with a train that bodes ill-luck, and many apologies, to +her partners. A long train is Luisa's little game. (Spite of Civilla, +she has many other little games.) Fragments of the train fly about the +room all the evening, and admirers take care that she shall see +these picked up, fervently kissed, and stowed away as relics in +breast-pockets. One enthusiast pinned his fragment to his shoulder, +like an order--a knight of San Luisa, he called himself. + +Teresa Ottolini, with her mother, has just arrived. Being single, +Teresa either is, or affects to be, excessively steady; no one would +marry her if she were not--not even the good-natured Orsetti. Your +Italian husband _in futuro_ will pardon nothing in his wife that +may be--not even that her dress should be conspicuous, much less +her manners. Neither is it expedient that she should be seen much +in society. That dangerous phalanx of "golden youth" are ever on the +watch, "gentlemen sportsmen," to a man; their sport, woman. If she +goes out much these "golden youth" might compromise her. Less than +a breath upon a maiden's name is social death. That name must not be +coupled with any man's--not coupled even in lightest parlance. So the +lady waits, waits until she has a husband--it is more piquant to be +a naughty wife than a fast miss--then she makes her choice--one, or +a dozen--it is a matter of taste. Danger is added to vice; and that +element of intrigue dear to the Italian soul, both male and female. +The _jeunesse dorée_ delight in mild danger--a duel with swords, +not pistols, with a foolish husband. Why cannot he grin and bear +it?--others do. + +But to return to Teresa. She is courtesying very low to the Countess +Orsetti. Although it is well known that these ladies hate each other, +Countess Orsetti receives Teresa with a special welcome, kisses her +on both cheeks, addresses more compliments to her, and makes her more +courtesies than to any one else. How beautiful she is, the Ottolini, +with those white flowers twisted into the braids of her chestnut +hair!--those large, lazy eyes, too--like sleeping volcanoes!--Count +Orsetti thinks her beautiful, clearly; for, under the full battery of +his mother's glances, he advances to meet her, blushing like a girl. +He presses Teresa's hand, and whispers in her ear that "she must +not forget her promise about the cotillon. He has lived upon it ever +since." Her reply has apparently satisfied him, for the honest fellow +breaks out all over into smiles and bows and amorous glances. Then +she passes on, the fair Teresa, like a queen, followed by looks of +unmistakable admiration--much more unmistakable looks of admiration +than would be permitted elsewhere; but we are in Italy, where men are +born artists and have artistic feelings. + +The men, as a rule, are neither as distinguished looking nor as well +dressed as the women. The type of the Lucchese nobleman is dark, +short, and commonplace--rustic is the word. + +There is the usual crowding in doorways, and appropriation of seats +whence arrivals can be seen and criticised. But there is no line +of melancholy young girls wanting partners. The gentlemen decidedly +predominate, and all the ladies, except Teresa Ottolini and the +Boccarini, are married. + +The Marchesa Boccarini had already arrived, accompanied by her three +daughters. They are seated near the door leading from the first +saloon, where Countess Orsetti is stationed. In front of them is +a group of flowering plants and palm-trees. Madame Boccarini peers +through the leaves, glass in eye. As a general scans the advance +of the enemy's troops from behind an ambush, calculates what their +probable movements will be, and how he can foil them--either by open +attack or feigned retreat, skirmish or manoeuvre--so Madame Boccarini +scans the various arrivals between the dark-green foliage. + +To her every young and pretty woman is a rival to her daughters; if +a rival, an enemy--if an enemy, to be annihilated if possible, or at +least disabled, and driven ignominiously from the field. + +It is well known that the Boccarini girls are poor. They will have no +portions--every one understands that. The Boccarini girls must marry +as they can; no priest will interest himself in their espousals. It +was this that made Nera so attractive. She was perfectly natural and +unconventionally bold--"like an English mees," it was said--with +looks of horror. (The Americans have much to answer for; they have +emancipated young ladies; all their sins, and our own to boot, we have +to answer for abroad.) + +The Boccarini were in reality so poor that it was no uncommon thing +for them to remain at home because they could not afford to buy new +dresses in which to display themselves. (Poor Madame Boccarini felt +this far more than the girls did themselves.) To be seen more than +thrice in the same dress is impossible. Lucca is so small, every one's +clothes are known. There was no throwing dust in the eyes of dear +female friends in this particular. + +On the present occasion the Boccarini girls had made great efforts to +produce a brilliant result. Madame Boccarini had told her daughters +that they must expect no fresh dresses for six months at least, so +great had been the outlay. Nera, on hearing this, had tossed her +stately head, and had inwardly resolved that before six months she +would marry--and that, dress or no dress, she would go wherever she +had a chance of meeting Count Nobili. Her mother tacitly concurred in +these views, as far as Count Nobili was concerned, but said nothing. + +A Belgravian mother who frankly drills her daughter and points out, +_viva voce_, when to advance and when to retreat, and to whom the +honors of war are to be accorded--is an article not yet imported into +classic Italy with the current Anglomania. + +Beside Nera sat Prince Ruspoli, a young Roman of great wealth. Ruspoli +aspired to lead the fashion, but not even Poole could well tailor him. +(Ruspoli was called _poule mouillée_.) Nature had not intended it. +His tall, gaunt figure, long arms, and thin legs, rendered him +artistically unavailable. The music has just sounded from a large +saloon at the end of the suite, and Prince Ruspoli has offered his arm +to Nera for the first waltz. If Count Nobili had arrived, she would +have refused Ruspoli, even on the chance of losing the dance; but he +had not come. Her sisters, who are older, and less attractive than +herself, had as yet found no partners; but they were habitually +resigned and amiable, and submitted with perfect meekness to be +obliterated by Nera. + +A knot of young men have now formed near the door of the +dancing-saloon. They are eagerly discussing the cotillon, the final +dance of the evening. Count Orsetti had left his mother's side and +joined them. + +The cotillon is a matter of grave consideration--the very gravest. +Indeed it was very seldom these young heads considered any thing +so grave. On the success of the cotillon depends the success of the +evening. All the "presents" had come from Paris. Some of the figures +were new and required consultation. + +"I mean to dance with Teresa Ottolini," announced Count Orsetti, +timidly--he could not name Teresa without reddening. "We arranged it +together a month ago." + +"And I am engaged to Countess Navascoes," said Count Malatesta. + +This engagement was said to have begun some years back, and to be very +enthralling. No one objected, least of all the husband, who worshiped +at the shrine of the blooming Bernardini when she quarreled with +Civilla. A lady of fashion has a choice of lovers, as she has a choice +of dresses--for all emergencies. + +"But how about these new figures?" asked Orsetti. + +"Per Bacco--hear the music!" cried Malatesta. "What a delicious waltz! +I want to dance. Let's settle it at once. Who's to lead?" + +"Oh! Baldassare, of course," replied Franchi, a sallow, languid young +man, who looked as if he had been raised in a hot-house, and had lost +all his color. "Nobody else would take the trouble. Who is he to dance +with?" + +"Let him see who will have him. I shall not interfere. He'll dance +for both, anyhow," answered Orsetti, laughing. "No one competes with +Adonis." + +"Where is he?" + +"Oh! dancing, of course," returned Orsetti. "Don't you see him +twirling round like a teetotum, with Marchesa Amici 'of the +swan-neck?'" And he pointed to a pair who were waltzing with +such precision that they never by a single step broke the +circle--Baldassare gallantly receiving the charge of any free lancers +who flung themselves in their path. + +Baldassare is much elated at being permitted to dance with "the +swan-neck," a little faded now, but once a noted beauty. The swan-neck +is a famous lady. Ill-natured persons might have added an awkward +syllable to _famous._ She had been very dear to a great Russian +magnate who lived in a villa lined with malachite, and loaded her +with gifts. But as the marquis, her husband, was always with her and +invariably spoke of his wife as an angel, where was the harm? Now the +Russian magnate was dead, and the Marchesa Amici had retired to Lucca, +to enjoy the spoils along with her discreet and complaisant marquis. + +"How that young fellow does push himself!" observes the cynical +Franchi. "Dancing with the Amici--such a great lady! Nothing is sacred +to him." + +"I wish Nobili were come." It was Orsetti who spoke now. "I should +have liked him to lead instead of Baldassare. Adonis is getting +forward. He wants keeping in order. Will no one else lead? I cannot, +in my own house." + +"Oh! but you would mortally offend poor Trenta if you did not let +Baldassare lead. The women will keep him in order," was the immediate +reply of a young man who had not yet spoken. "The cavaliere must +marshal the dancers, and Baldassare must lead, or the old man would +break his heart." + +"I wish Nobili were here all the same," replied Orsetti. "If he does +not come soon, we must select his partner for him. Whom is he to +have?" + +"Oh! Nera Boccarini, of course," responded two or three voices, amid a +general titter. + +"I don't think Nobili cares a straw about Nera," put in the languid +Franchi, drawling out his words. "I have heard quite another story +about Nobili. Give Nera to Ruspoli. He seems about to take her for +life. I wish him joy!" with a sneer. "Ruspoli likes English manners. +Nera won't get Nobili, my word upon _that_--there are too many stories +about her." + +But these remarks at the moment passed unnoticed. No one asked what +Franchi had heard, all being intent about the cotillon and the choice +of partners. + +"Well," burst out Orsetti, no longer able to resist the music (the +waltz had been turned into a galop), "I am sure I don't care if Nobili +or Ruspoli likes Nera. I shall not try to cut them out." + +"No, no, not you, Orsetti! We know your taste does not lie in that +quarter. Yours is the domestic style, chaste and frigid!" cried +Malatesta, with a sardonic smile. There was a laugh. Malatesta was +so bad, even according to the code of the "golden youths," that he +compromised any lady by his attentions. Orsetti blushed crimson. + +"Pardon me," he replied, much confused, "I must go; my partner is +looking daggers at me. Call up old Trenta and tell him what he has +to do." Orsetti rushes off to the next room, where Teresa Ottolini is +waiting for him, with a look of gentle reproach in her sleepy eyes, +where lies the hidden fire. + +Meanwhile Cavaliere Trenta's white head, immaculate blue coat and gold +buttons--to which coat were attached several orders--had been seen +hovering about from chair to chair through the rooms. He attached +himself specially to elderly ladies, his contemporaries. To these he +repeated the identical high-flown compliments he had addressed to +them thirty years before, in the court circle of the Duke of +Lucca--compliments such as elderly ladies love, though conscious all +the time of their absurd inappropriateness. + +Like the dried-up rose-bud of one's youth, religiously preserved as a +relic, there is a faint flavor of youth and pleasure about them, +sweet still, as a remembrance of the past. "Always beautiful, always +amiable!" murmured the cavaliere, like a rhyme, a placid smile upon +his rosy face. + +Summoned to the cabinet council held near the door, Trenta becomes +intensely interested. He weighs each detail, he decides every point +with the gravity of a judge: how the new figures are to be danced, and +with whom Baldassare is to lead--no one else could do it. He himself +would marshal the dances. + +The double orchestra now play as if they were trying to drown each +other. Half a dozen rooms are full of dancers. The matrons, and older +men, have subsided into whist up-stairs. All the ladies have found +partners; there is not a single wall-flower. + +Nothing could exceed the stately propriety of the ball. It was a grand +and stately gathering. Nobody but Nera Boccarini was natural. "To +save appearances" is the social law. "Do what you like, but save +appearances." A dignified hypocrisy none disobey. These men and women, +with the historic names, dare not show each other what they are. There +was no flirting, no romping, no loud laughter; not a loud word--no +telltale glances, no sitting in corners. It was a pose throughout. Men +bowed ceremoniously, and addressed as strangers ladies with whom they +spent every evening. Husbands devoted themselves to wives whom they +never saw but in public. Innocence _may_ betray itself, _seems_ to +betray itself--guilt never. Guilt is cautious. + +At this moment Count Nobili entered. He was received with lofty +courtesy by the countess. Her manner implied a gentle protest. Count +Nobili was a banker's son; his mother was not--_née_--any thing. Still +he was welcome. She graciously bent her head, on which a tiara of +diamonds glittered--in acknowledgment of his compliments on the +brilliancy of her ball. + +Nobili's address was frank and manly. There was an ease and freedom +about him that contrasted favorably with the effeminate appearance +and affected manners of the _jeunesse dorée_. His voice, too, was a +pleasant voice, and gave a value to all he said. A sunny smile lighted +up his fair-complexioned face, the face old Carlotta had called +"lucky." + +"You are very late," the countess had said, with the slightest tone +of annoyance in her voice--fanning herself languidly as she spoke. "My +son has been looking for you." + +"It has been my loss, Signora Contessa," replied Nobili, bowing. +"Pardon me. I was delayed. With your permission, I will find your +son." He bowed again, then walked on into the dancing-rooms beyond. + +Nobili had come late. "Why should he go at all?" he had asked himself, +sighing, as he sat at home, smoking a solitary cigar. "What was the +Orsetti ball, or any other ball, to him, when Enrica was not there?" + +Nevertheless, he did dress, and he did go, telling himself, however, +that he was simply fulfilling a social duty by so doing. Now that he +is here, standing in the ballroom, the incense of the flowers in his +nostrils, the music thrilling in his ear--now that flashing eyes, +flushed cheeks, graceful forms palpitating with the fury of the +dance--and hands with clasping fingers, are turned toward him--does he +still feel regretful--sad? Not in the least. + +No sooner had he arrived than he found himself the object of a species +of ovation. This put him into the highest possible spirits. It was +most gratifying. He could not possibly do less than return these +salutations with the same warmth with which they were offered. + +Not that Count Nobili acknowledged any inferiority to those among whom +he moved as an equal. Count Nobili held that, in New Italy, every +man is a gentleman who is well educated and well mannered. As to the +language the Marchesa Guinigi used about him, he shook with laughter +whenever it was mentioned. + +So it fell out that, before he had arrived many minutes, the +remembrance of Enrica died out, and Nobili flung himself into the +spirit of the ball with all the ardor of his nature. + +"Why did you come so late, Nobili?" asked Orsetti, turning his head, +and speaking in the pause of a waltz with Luisa Bernardini. "You must +go at once and talk to Trenta about the cotillon." + +"Well, Nobili, you gave us a splendid entertainment for the festival," +said Franchi. "Per Dio! there were no women to trouble us." + +"No women!" exclaimed Civilla--"that was the only fault. Divine +woman!--Otherwise it was superb. Who has been ill-treating you, +Franchi, to make you so savage?" + +Franchi put up his eye-glass and stared at him. + +"When there is good wine, I prefer to drink it without women. They +distract me." + +"Never saw such a reception in Lucca," said Count Malatesta; "never +drank such wine. Go on, caro mio, go on, and prosper. We will all +support you, but we cannot imitate you." + +Nobili, passing on quickly, nearly ran over Cavaliere Trenta. He was +in the act of making a profound obeisance, as he handed an ice to one +of his contemporaries. + +"Ah, youth! youth!" exclaimed poor Trenta, softly, with difficulty +recovering his equilibrium by the help of his stick.--"Never mind, +Count Nobili, don't apologize; I can bear any thing from a young +man who celebrates the festival of the Holy Countenance with such +magnificence. Per Bacco! you are the best Lucchese in Lucca. I have +seen nothing like it since the duke left. My son, it was worthy of the +palace you inhabit." + +Ah! could the marchesa have heard this, she would never have spoken to +Trenta again! + +"You gratify me exceedingly, cavaliere," replied Nobili, really +pleased at the old man's praise. "I desire, as far as I can, to become +Lucchese at heart. Why should not the festivals of New Italy exceed +those of the old days? At least, I shall do my best that it be so." + +"Eh? eh?" replied Trenta, rubbing his nose with a doubtful expression; +"difficult--very difficult. In the old days, my young friend, society +was a system. Each sovereign was the centre of a permanent court +circle. There were many sovereigns and many circles--many purses, +too, to pay the expenses of each circle. Now it is all hap-hazard; no +money, no court, no king." + +"No king?" exclaimed Nobili, with surprise. + +"I beg pardon, count," answered the urbane Trenta, remembering +Nobili's liberal politics--"I mean no society. Society, as a system, +has ceased to exist in Italy. But we must think of the cotillon. It +is now twelve o'clock. There will be supper. Then we must soon begin. +You, count, are to dance with Nera Boccarini. You came so late we were +obliged to arrange it for you." + +Nobili colored crimson. + +"Does the lady--does Nera Boccarini know this?" he asked, and as he +asked his color heightened. + +"Well, I cannot tell you, but I presume she does. Count Orsetti will +have told her. The cotillon was settled early. You have no objection +to dance with her, I presume?" + +"None--none in the world. Why should I?" replied Nobili, hastily (now +the color of his cheeks had grown crimson). "Only--only I might +not have selected her." The cavaliere looked up at him with evident +surprise. "Am I obliged to dance the cotillon at all, cavaliere?" +added Nobili, more and more confused. "Can't I sit out?" + +"Oh, impossible--simply impossible!" cried Trenta, authoritatively. +"Every couple is arranged. Not a man could fill your place; the whole +thing would be a failure." + +"I am sorry," answered Nobili, in a low voice--"sorry all the same." + +"Now go, and find your partner," said Trenta, not heeding this little +speech. "I am about to have the chairs arranged. Go and find your +partner." + +"Now what could make Nobili object to dance with Nera Boccarini?" +Trenta asked himself, when Nobili was gone, striking his stick loudly +on the floor, as a sign for the music to cease. + +There was an instant silence. The gentlemen handed the ladies to a +long gallery, the last of the suite of the rooms on the ground-floor. +Here a buffet was arranged. The musicians also were refreshed with +good wine and liquors, before the arduous labors of the cotillon +commenced. No brilliant cotillon ends before 8 A.M.; then there is +breakfast and driving home by daylight at ten o'clock. + +Nobili, his cheeks still tingling, felt that the moment had come +when he must seek his partner. It would be difficult to define the +contending feelings that made him reluctant to do so. Nera Boccarini +had taken no pains to conceal how much she liked him. This was +flattering; perhaps he felt it was too flattering. There was a +determination about Nera, a power of eye and tongue, an exuberance of +sensuous youth, that repelled while it allured him. It was like new +wine, luscious to the taste, but strong and heavy. New wine is very +intoxicating. Nobili loved Enrica. At that moment every woman that +did not in some subtile way remind him of her, was distasteful to him. +Now, it was not possible to find two women more utterly different, +more perfect contrasts, than the dreamy, reserved, tender Enrica--so +seldom seen, so little known--and the joyous, outspoken Nera--to be +met with at every mass, every _fête_, in the shops, on the Corso, on +the ramparts. + +Now, Nera, who had been dancing much with Prince Ruspoli, had heard +from him that Nobili was selected as her partner in the cotillon. + +"Another of your victims," Prince Ruspoli had said, with a kindling +eye. + +Nera had laughed gayly. + +"My victims?" she retorted. "I wish you would tell me who they are." + +This question was accompanied by a most inviting glance. Prince +Ruspoli met her glance, but said nothing. (Nera greatly preferred +Nobili, but it is well to have two strings to one's bow, and Ruspoli +was a prince with a princely revenue.) + +When Nobili appeared, Prince Ruspoli, who had handed Nera to a seat +near a window, bowed to her and retired. + +"To the devil with Nobili!" was Prince Ruspoli's thought, as he +resigned her. "I do like that girl--she is so English!" and Ruspoli +glanced at Poole's dress-clothes, which fitted him so badly, and +remembered with satisfaction certain balls in London, and certain +water-parties at Maidenhead (Ruspoli had been much in England), +where he had committed the most awful solecisms, according to Italian +etiquette, with frank, merry-hearted girls, whose buoyant spirits were +contagious. + +Nobili's eyes fell instinctively to the ground as he approached Nera. +The rosy shadow of the red-silk curtains behind her fell upon her +face, bosom, and arms, with a ruddy glow. + +"I am to have the honor of dancing the cotillon with you, I believe?" +he said, still looking down. + +"Yes, I believe so," she responded--"at least so I am told; but you +have not asked me yet. Perhaps you would prefer some one else. I +confess _I_ am satisfied." + +As she spoke, Nera riveted her full black eyes upon Nobili. If he +only would look up, she would read his thoughts, and tell him her +own thoughts also. But Nobili did not look up; he felt her gaze, +nevertheless; it thrilled him through and through. + +At this moment, the melody of a voluptuous waltz, the opening of the +cotillon, burst from the orchestra with an _entrain_ that might have +moved an anchorite. As the sounds struck upon his ear, Nobili grew +dizzy under the magnetism of those unseen eyes. His cheeks flushed +suddenly, and the blood stirred itself tumultuously in his veins. + +"Why should I repulse this girl because she loves me?" he asked +himself. + +This question came to him, wafted, as it were, upon the wings of the +music. + +"Count Nobili, you have not answered me," insisted Nera. She had not +moved. "You are very absent this evening. Do you _wish_ to dance with +me? Tell me." + +She dwelt upon the words. Her voice was low and very pleading. Nobili +had not yet spoken. + +"I ask you again," she said. + +This time her voice sounded most enticing. She touched his arm, too, +laying her soft fingers upon it, and gazed up into his face. Still no +answer. + +"Will you not speak to me, Nobili?" She leaned forward, and grasped +his arm convulsively. "Nobili, tell me, I implore you, what have I +done to offend you?" + +Tears gathered in her eyes. Nobili felt her hand tremble. + +He looked up; their eyes met. There was a fire in hers that was +contagious. His heart gave a great bound. Pressing within his own the +hand that still rested so lovingly upon his arm, Nobili gave a rapid +glance round. The room was empty; they were standing alone near the +window, concealed by the ample curtains. Now the red shadow fell upon +them both-- + +"This shall be my answer, Nera--siren," whispered Nobili. + +As he speaks he clasps her in his arms; a passionate kiss is imprinted +upon her lips. + + * * * * * + +Hours have passed; one intoxicating waltz-measure has been exchanged +for another, that falls upon the ear as enthralling as the last. Not +an instant had the dances ceased. The Cavaliere Trenta, his round +face beaming with smiles, is seated in an arm-chair at the top of the +largest ballroom. He keeps time with his foot. Now and then he raps +loudly with his stick on the floor and calls out the changes of the +figures. Baldassare and Luisa Bernardini lead with the grace and +precision of practised dancers. + +"Brava! brava! a thousand times! Brava!" calls out the cavaliere +from his arm-chair, clapping his hands. "You did that beautifully, +marchesa!"--This was addressed to the swan's-neck, who had circled +round, conducted by her partner, selecting such gentlemen as she +pleased, and grouping them in one spot, in order to form a _bouquet_. +"You couldn't have done it better if you had been taught in +Paris.--Forward! forward!" to a timid couple, to whom the intricacies +of the figure were evidently distracting. "Belle donne! belle donne! +Victory to the brave! Fear nothing.--Orsetti, keep the circle down +there; you are out of your place. You will never form the _bouquet_ if +you don't--Louder! louder!" to the musicians, holding up his stick +at them like a marshal's bâton--"loud as they advance--then +piano--diminuendo--pia-nis-si-mo--as they retreat. That sort of +thing gives picturesqueness--light and shade, like a picture. Hi! hi! +Malatesta! The devil! You are spoiling every thing! Didn't I tell you +to present the flowers to your partner? So--so. The flowers--they are +there." Trenta pointed to a table. He struggled to rise to fetch the +bouquets himself. Malatesta was too quick for him, however. + +"Now bring up all the ladies and place them in chairs; bow to them," +etc., etc. + +Thanks to the energy of the cavaliere, and the agility of +Baldassare--who, it is admitted on all hands, had never distinguished +himself so much as on this occasion--all the difficulties of the new +figures have been triumphantly surmounted. Gentlemen had become spokes +of a gigantic wheel that whirled round a lady seated on a chair in +the centre of the room. They had been named as roots, trees, and even +vegetables; they had answered to such names, seeking corresponding +weeds as their partners. At a clap of the cavaliere's hands they had +dashed off wildly, waltzing. Gentlemen had worn paper nightcaps, put +on masks, and been led about blindfold. They had crept under chairs, +waved flags from tables, thrown up colored balls, and unraveled +puzzles--all to the rhythm of the waltz-measure babbling on like a +summer brooklet under the sun, through emerald meadows. + +And now the exciting moment of the ribbons is come--the moment +when the best presents are to be produced--the ribbons--a sheaf of +rainbow-colors, fastened into a strong golden ring, which ring is to +be held by a single lady, each gentleman grasping (as best he can) a +single ribbon. As long as the lady seated on the chair in the centre +pleases, the gentlemen are to gyrate round her. When she drops the +ring holding the sheaf of ribbons, the Cavaliere Trenta is to clap his +hands, and each gentleman is instantly to select that lady who wears +a rosette corresponding in color to his ribbon--the lady in the chair +being claimed by her partner. + +Nobili has placed Nera Boccarini on the chair in the centre. (Ever +since the flavor of that fervid kiss has rested on his lips, Nobili +has been lost in a delicious dream. "Why should not he and Nera +dance on--on--on--forever?--Into indefinite space, if possible--only +together?" He asks himself this question vaguely, as she rests within +his arms--as he drinks in the subtile perfume of the red roses bound +in her glossy hair.) + +Nera is triumphant. Nobili is her own! As she sits in that chair +when he has placed her, she is positively radiant. Love has given +an unknown tenderness to her eyes, a more delicate brilliancy to her +cheeks, a softness, almost a languor, to her movements. (Look out, +acknowledged _belle_ of Lucca--look out, Teresa Ottolini--here is +a dangerous rival to your supremacy! If Nobili loves Nera as Nera +believes he does--Nera will ripen quickly into yet more transcendent +beauty.) + +Now Nobili has left Nera, seated in the chair. He is distributing +the various ribbons among the dancers. As there are over a hundred +couples, and there is some murmuring and struggling to secure certain +ladies, who match certain ribbons, this is difficult, and takes time. +See--it is done; again Nobili retires behind Nera's chair, to wait the +moment when he shall claim her himself. + +How the men drag at the ribbons, whirling round and round, +hand-in-hand!--Nera's small hand can scarcely hold them--the men +whirling round every instant faster--tumbling over each other, indeed; +each moment the ribbons are dragged harder. Nera laughs; she sways +from side to side, her arms extended. Faster and more furiously the +men whirl round--like runaway horses now, bearing dead upon the reins. +The strain is too great, Nera lets fall the ring. The cavaliere claps +his hands. Each gentleman rushes toward the lady wearing a rosette +matching his ribbon. Nera rises. Already she is encircled by Nobili's +arm. He draws her to him; she makes one step forward. Nera is a bold, +firm dancer, but, unknown to her, the ribbons in falling have become +entangled about her feet; she, is bound, she cannot stir; she gives +a little scream. Nobili, startled, suddenly loosens his hold upon her +waist. Nera totters, extends her arms, then falls heavily backward, +her head striking on the _parquet_ floor. There is a cry of horror. +Every dancer stops. They gather round her where she lies. Her face is +turned upward, her eyes are set and glassy, her cheeks are ashen. + +"Holy Virgin!" cries Nobili, in a voice of anguish, "I have killed +her!" He casts himself on the floor beside her--he raises her in his +strong arms. "Air, air!--give her air, or she will die!" he cries. + +Putting every one aside, he carries Nera to the nearest window, he +lays her tenderly on a sofa. It is the very spot where he had kissed +her--under the fiery shadow of the red curtain. Alas! Nobili is +sobered now from the passion of that moment. The glamour has departed +with the light of Nera's eyes. He is ashamed of himself; but there +is a swelling at his heart, nevertheless--an impulse of infinite +compassion toward the girl who lies senseless before him--her beauty, +her undisguised love for him, plead powerfully for her. Does he love +her? + +The Countess Boccarini and Nera's sisters are by her side. The poor +mother at first is speechless; she can only chafe her child's cold +hands, and kiss her white lips. + +"Nera, Nera," at last she whispers, "Nera, speak to me--speak to +me--one word--only one word!" + +But, alas! there is no sign of animation--to all appearance Nera is +dead. Nobili, convinced that he alone is responsible, and too much +agitated to care what he does, kneels beside her, and places his hand +upon her heart. + +"She lives! she lives!" he cries--"her heart beats! Thank God, I have +not killed her!" + +This leap from death to life is too much for him; he staggers to his +feet, falls into a chair, and sobs aloud. Nera's eyelids tremble; she +opens her eyes, her lips move. + +"Nera, my child, my darling, speak to me!" cries Madame Boccarini. +"Tell me that you can hear me." + +Nera tries to raise her head, but in vain. It falls back upon the +cushion. + +"Home, mamma--home!" her lips feebly whisper. + +At the sound of her voice Nobili starts up; he brushes away the tears +that still roll down his cheeks. Again he lifts Nera tenderly in his +arms. For that night Nera belongs to him; no one else shall touch her. +He bears her down-stairs to a carriage. Then he disappears into the +darkness of the night. + +No one will leave the ball until there is some report of Nera's +condition from the doctor who has been summoned. The gay groups sit +around the glittering ballroom, and whisper to each other. The "golden +youth" offer bets as to Nera's recovery; the ladies, who are jealous, +back freely against it. In half an hour, however, Countess Orsetti is +able to announce that "Nera Boccarini is better, and that, beyond the +shock, it is hoped that she is not seriously hurt." + +"You see, Malatesta, I was right," drawls out the languid Franchi as +he descends the stairs. "You will believe me another time. You know +I told you and Orsetti that Nera Boccarini and Nobili understood each +other. He's desperately in love with her." + +"I don't believe it, all the same," answers Malatesta, shaking his +head. "A man can't half kill a girl and show no compunction--specially +not Nobili--the best-hearted fellow breathing. Nobili is just the man +to feel such an accident as that dreadfully. How splendid Nera looked +to-night! She quite cut out the Ottolini." Malatesta spoke with +enthusiasm; he had a practised eye for woman's fine points. "Here, +Adonis--I beg your pardon--Baldassare, I mean--where are you going?" + +"Home," replies the Greek mask. + +"Never mind home; we are all obliged to you. You lead the cotillon +admirably." + +Baldassare smiles, and shows two rows of faultless teeth. + +"Come and have some supper with us at the Universo. Franchi is coming, +and all our set." + +"With the greatest pleasure," replies Baldassare, smiling. + + + + +PART II. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +CALUMNY. + + +Baldassare was, of course, invited by the cavaliere to join the +proposed expedition to the tombs of the Trenta and to the Guinigi +Tower. Half an hour before the time appointed he appeared at the +Palazzo Trenta. The cavaliere was ready, and they went out into the +street together. + +"If you have not been asleep since the ball, Baldassare--which is +probable--perhaps you can tell me how Nera Boccarini is this morning?" + +"She is quite well, I understand," answered Adonis, with an air of +great mystery, as he smoothed his scented beard. "She is only a little +shaken." + +"By Jove!" exclaimed the cavaliere. "Never was I present at any thing +like that! A love-scene in public! Once, indeed, I remember, on one +occasion, when her highness Paulina threw herself into the arms of his +serene highness--" + +"Have you heard the news?" asked Baldassare, interrupting him. + +He dreaded a long tirade from the old chamberlain on the subject +of his court reminiscences; besides, Baldassare was bursting with a +startling piece of intelligence as yet evidently unknown to Trenta. + +"News!--no," answered the cavaliere, contemptuously. "I dare say it is +some lie. You have, I am sorry to say, Baldassare, all the faults of a +person new to society; you believe every thing." + +Baldassare eyed the cavaliere defiantly; but he pulled at his curled +mustache in silence. + +The cavaliere stopped short, raised his head, and scanned him +attentively. + +"Out with it, my boy, out with it, or it will choke you! I see you are +dying to tell me!" + +"Not at all, cavaliere," replied Baldassare, with assumed +indifference; "only I must say that I believe you are the only person +in Lucca who has not heard it." + +"Heard what?" demanded Trenta, angrily. + +Baldassare knew the cavaliere's weak point; he delighted to tease him. +Trenta considered himself, and was generally considered by others, as +a universal news-monger; it was a habit that had remained to him +from his former life at court. From the time of Polonius downward a +court-chamberlain has always been a news-monger. + +"Heard? Why, the news--the great news," Baldassare spoke in the +same jeering tone. He drew himself up, affecting to look over the +cavaliere's head as he bent on his stick before him. + +"Go on," retorted the cavaliere, doggedly. + +"How strange you have not heard any thing!" Trenta now looked so +enraged, Baldassare thought it was time to leave off bantering him. +"Well, then, cavaliere, since you really appear to be ignorant, I will +tell you. After you left the Orsetti ball, Malatesta asked me and the +other young men of their set to supper at the Universo Hotel." + +"Mercy on us!" ejaculated the cavaliere, who was now thoroughly +irritated, "you consider yourself one of _their set_, do you? I +congratulate you, young man. This is news to me." + +"Certainly, cavaliere, if you ask me, I do consider myself one of +their set." + +The cavaliere shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. + +"We talked of the accident," continued Baldassare, affecting not to +notice his sneers, "and we talked of Nobili. Many said, as you +do, that Nobili is in love with Nera Boccarini, and that he would +certainly marry her. Malatesta laughed, as is his way, then he swore +a little. Nobili would do no such thing, he declared, he would +answer for it. He had it on the best authority, he said, that of an +eye-witness." (Ah, cruel old Carlotta, you have made good your threat +of vengeance!) "An eye-witness had said that Nobili was in love +with some one else--some one who wrote to him; that they had been +watched--that he met some one secretly, and that by-and-by all the +city would know it, and that there would be a great scandal." + +"And who may the lady be?" asked the cavaliere carelessly, raising +his head as he put the question, with a sardonic glance at Baldassare. +"Not that I believe one word Malatesta says. He is a young coxcomb, +and you, Baldassare, are a parrot, and repeat what you hear. Per +Bacco! if there had been any thing serious, I should have known it +long ago. Who is the lady?" Spite of himself, however, his blue eyes +sparkled with curiosity. + +"The marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi." + +"What!" roared out the cavaliere, striking his stick so violently on +the ground that the sound echoed through the solitary street. "Enrica +Guinigi, whom I see every day! What a lie!--what a base lie! How dare +Malatesta--the beast--say so? I will chastise him myself!--with my own +hand, old as I am, I will chastise him! Enrica Guinigi!" + +Baldassare shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace. This incensed +the cavaliere more violently. + +"Now, listen to me, Baldassare Lena," shouted the cavaliere, +advancing, and putting his fist almost into his face. "Your father is +a chemist; and keeps a shop. He is not a doctor, though you call +him so. If ever you presume again to repeat scandals such as +this--scandals, I say, involving the reputation of noble ladies, my +friends--ladies into whose houses I have introduced you, there shall +be no more question of your being of their '_set_.' I will take care +that you never enter one of their doors again. By the body of my holy +ancestor, San Riccardo, I will disgrace you--publicly disgrace you!" + +Trenta's rosy face had grown purple, his lips worked convulsively. He +raised his stick, and flourished it in the air, as if about to make it +descend like a truncheon on Baldassare's shoulders. Adonis drew back a +step or two, following with his eyes the cavaliere's movements. He +was quite unmoved by his threats. Not a day passed that Trenta did not +threaten him with his eternal displeasure. Adonis was used to it, and +bore it patiently. He bore it because he could not help it. Although +by no means overburdened with brains, he was conscious that as yet he +was not sufficiently established in society to stand alone. Still, +he had too high an opinion of his personal beauty, fine clothes, and +general merits, to believe that the ladies of Lucca would permit of +his banishment by any arbitrary decree of the cavaliere. + +"You had better find out the truth, cavaliere," he muttered, keeping +well out of the range of Trenta's stick, "before you put yourself in +such a passion." + +"Domine Dio! that they should dare to utter such abominations!" +ejaculated the cavaliere. "Why, Enrica lives the life of a nun! I +doubt if she has ever seen Nobili--certainly she has never spoken to +him. Let Malatesta, and the young scoundrels at the club, attack +the married women. They can defend themselves. But, to calumniate an +innocent girl!--it is horrible!--it is unmanly! His highness the Duke +of Lucca would have banished the wretch forthwith. Ah! Italy is going +to the devil!--Now, Baldassare," he continued, turning round and +glaring upon Adonis, who still retreated cautiously before him, "I +have a great mind to send you home. We are about to meet the young +lady herself. You are not worthy to be in her company." + +"I only repeated what Malatesta told me," urged Baldassare, +plaintively, looking very blank. "I am not answerable for him. Go and +quarrel with Malatesta, if you like, but leave me alone. You asked me +a question, and I answered you. That is all." + +Baldassare had dressed himself with great care; his hair was +exquisitely curled for the occasion. He had nothing to do all day, and +the prospect of returning home was most depressing. + +"You are not answerable for being born a fool!" was the rejoinder. "I +grant that. Who told Malatesta?" asked the cavaliere, turning sharply +toward Baldassare. + +"He said he had heard it in many quarters. He insisted on having heard +it from one who had seen them together." + +(Old Carlotta, sitting in her shop-door at the corner of the street of +San Simone, like an evil spider in its web, could have answered that +question.) + +The cavaliere was still standing on the same spot, in the centre of +the street. + +"Baldassare," he said, addressing him more calmly, "this is a wicked +calumny. The marchesa must not hear it. Upon reflection, I shall not +notice it. Malatesta is a chattering fool--an ape! I dare say he was +tipsy when he said it. But, as you value my protection, swear to +me not to repeat one word of all this. If you hear it mentioned, +contradict it--flatly contradict it, on my authority--the authority +of the Marchesa Guinigi's oldest friend. Nobili will marry Nera +Boccarini, and there will be an end of it; and Enrica--yes, +Baldassare," continued the cavaliere, with an air of immense +dignity--"yes, to prove to you how ridiculous this report is, Enrica +is about to marry also. I am at this very time authorized by the +family to arrange an alliance with--" + +"I guess!" burst out Baldassare, reddening with delight at being +intrusted with so choice a piece of news--"with Count Marescotti!" +Trenta gave a conscious smile, and nodded. This was done with a +certain reserve, but still graciously. "To be sure; it was easy to see +how much he admired her, but I did not know that the lady--" + +"Oh, yes, the lady is all right--she will agree," rejoined Trenta. +"She knows no one else; she will obey her aunt's commands and my +wishes." + +"I am delighted!" cried Baldassare. "Why, there will be a ball at +Palazzo Guinigi--a ball, after all!" + +"But the marchesa must never hear this scandal about Nobili," added +Trenta, suddenly relapsing into gravity. "She hates him so much, it +might give her a fit. Have a care, Baldassare--have a care, or you may +yet incur my severest displeasure." + +"I am sure I don't want the marchesa or any one else to know it," +replied Baldassare, greatly reassured as to the manner in which he +would pass his day by the change in Trenta's manner. "I would not +annoy her or injure the signorina for all the world. I am sure you +know that, cavaliere. No word shall pass my lips, I promise you." + +"Good! good!" responded Trenta, now quite pacified (it was not in +Trenta's nature to be angry long). Now he moved forward, and as he did +so he took Baldassare's arm, in token of forgiveness. "No names must +be mentioned," he continued, tripping along--"mind, no names; but I +authorize you, on my authority, if you hear this abominable nonsense +repeated--I authorize you to say that you have it from me--that Enrica +Guinigi is to be married, _and not to Nobili_. He! he! That will +surprise them--those chattering young blackguards at the club." + +Thus, once more on the most amiable terms, the cavaliere and +Baldassare proceeded leisurely arm-in-arm toward the street of San +Simone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO. + + +Count Marescotti was walking rapidly up and down in the shade before +the Guinigi Palace when the cavaliere and Baldassare appeared. He was +so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not perceive them. + +"I must speak to him as soon as possible about Enrica," was Trenta's +thought on seeing him. "With this report going about, there is not an +hour to lose." + +"You have kept your appointment punctually, count," he said, laying +his hand on Marescotti's shoulder. + +"Punctual, my dear cavaliere? I never missed an appointment in my life +when made with a lady. I was up long before daylight, looking over +some books I have with me, in order to be able the better to describe +any object of interest to the Signorina Enrica." + +"An opportunity for you, my boy," said Trenta, nodding his head +roguishly at Baldassare. "You will have a lesson in Lucchese history. +Of course, you know nothing about it." + +"Every man has his forte," observed the count, good-naturedly, seeing +Baldassare's embarrassment at having his ignorance exposed. (The +cavaliere never could leave poor Adonis alone.) "We all know your +forte is the ballroom; there you beat us all." + +"Taught by me, taught by me," muttered the cavaliere; "he owes it all +to me." + +Leaving the count and Baldassare standing together in the street, +the cavaliere knocked at the door of the Guinigi Palace. When it was +opened he entered the gloomy court. Within he found Enrica and Teresa +awaiting his arrival. + +At the sight of her whom he so much loved, and of whom he had just +heard what he conceived to be such an atrocious calumny, the cavaliere +was quite overcome. Tears gathered in his eyes; he could hardly reply +to her when she addressed him. + +"My Enrica," he said at last, taking her by the hand and imprinting a +kiss upon her forehead, "you are a good child. Heaven bless you, and +keep you always as you are!" A conscious blush overspread Enrica's +face. + +"If he knew all, would he say this?" she asked herself; and her pretty +head with the soft curls dropped involuntarily. + +Enrica was very simply attired, but the flowing lines of her graceful +figure were not to be disguised by any mere accident of dress. A black +veil, fastened upon her hair like a mantilla (a style much affected +by the Lucca ladies), fell in thick folds upon her shoulders, and +partially shaded her face. + +Teresa stood by her young mistress, prepared to follow her. Trenta +perceived this. He did not like Teresa. If she went with them, the +whole conversation might be repeated in Casa Guinigi. This, with +Count Marescotti in the company, would be--to say the least of +it--inconvenient. + +"You may retire," he said to Teresa. "I will take charge of the +signorina." + +"But--Signore Cavaliere"--and Teresa, feeling the affront, colored +scarlet--"the marchesa's positive orders were, I was not to leave the +signorina." + +"Never mind," answered the cavaliere, authoritatively, "I will take +that on myself. You can retire." + +Teresa, swelling with anger, remained in the court. The cavaliere +offered his arm to Enrica. She turned and addressed a few words to the +exasperated Teresa; then, led by Trenta, she passed into the street. +Upon the threshold, Count Marescotti met them. + +"This is indeed an honor," he said, addressing Enrica--his face +beamed, and he bowed to the ground. "I trembled lest the marchesa +should have forbidden your coming." + +"So did I," answered Enrica, frankly. "I am so glad. I fear that my +aunt is not altogether pleased; but she has said nothing, and I came." + +She spoke with such eagerness, she saw that the count was surprised. +This made her blush. At any other time such an expedition as that they +were about to make would have been delightful to her for its own sake, +Enrica was so shut up within the palace, except on the rare occasions +when she accompanied Teresa to mass, or took a formal drive on the +ramparts at sundown with her aunt. But now she was full of anxiety +about Nobili. They had not met for a week--he had not written to her +even. Should she see him in the street? Should she see him from the +top of the tower? Perhaps he was at home at that very moment watching +her. She gave a furtive glance upward at the stern old palace before +her. The thick walls of sun-dried bricks looked cruel; the massive +Venetian casements mocked her. The outer blinds shut out all hope. +Alas! there was not a chink anywhere. Even the great doors were +closed. + +"Ah! if Teresa could have warned him that I was coming!"--and she gave +a great sigh. "If he only knew that I was here, standing in the very +street! Oh, for one glimpse of his dear, bright face!" + +Again Enrica sighed, and again she gazed up wistfully at the closed +façade. + +Meanwhile the cavaliere and Baldassare were engaged in a violent +altercation. Baldassare had proposed walking to the church of San +Frediano, which, in consideration of the cavaliere's wishes, they were +to visit first. "No one would think of driving such a short distance," +he insisted. "The sun was not hot, and the streets were all in shade." +The cavaliere retorted that "it was too hot for any lady to walk," +swung his stick menacingly in the air, called Baldassare "an +imbecile," and peremptorily ordered him to call a _fiacre_. Baldassare +turned scarlet in the face, and rudely refused to move. + +"He was not a servant," he said. "He would do nothing unless treated +like a gentleman." + +This was spoken as he hurled what he intended to be a tremendous +glance of indignation at the cavaliere. It produced no effect +whatever. With an exasperating smile, the cavaliere again desired +Baldassare to do as he was bid, or else to go home. The count +interposed, a _fiacre_ was called, in which they all seated +themselves. + + * * * * * + +San Frediano, a basilica in the Lombard style, is the most ancient +church in Lucca. The mid-day sun now flashed full upon the front, and +lighted up the wondrous colors of a mosaic on a gold ground, over the +entrance. At one corner of the building a marble campanile, formed by +successive tiers of delicate arcades, springs upward into the azure +sky. Flocks of gray pigeons circled about the upper gallery (where +hang the bells), or rested, cooing softly in the warm air, upon the +sculptured cornice bordering the white arches. It was a quiet scene +of tranquil beauty, significant of repose in life and of peace in +death--the church, with its wide portals, offering an everlasting home +to all who sought shelter within its walls. + +The cavaliere was so impatient to do the honors that he actually +jumped unaided from the carriage. + +"This, dear Enrica, is my parish church," he said, as he handed her +out, pointing upward to the richly-tinted pile, which the suns of +many centuries had dyed of a golden hue. "I know every stone in the +building. From a child I have played in this piazza, under these +venerable walls. My earliest prayers were said at the altar of the +Sacrament within. Here I confessed my youthful sins. Here I received +my first communion. Here I hope to lay my bones, when it shall please +God to call me." + +Trenta spoke with a tranquil smile. It was clear neither life nor +death had any terrors for him. "The very pigeons know me," he added, +placidly. He looked up to the campanile, gave a peculiar whistle, and, +putting his hand into his pocket, threw down some grains of corn +upon the pavement. The pigeons, whirling round in many circles (the +sunlight flashing upon their burnished breasts, and upon the soft gray +and purple feathers of their wings), gradually--in little groups of +twos and threes--flew down, and finally settled themselves in a knot +upon the pavement, to peck up the corn. + +"Good, pious old man, how I honor you!" ejaculated Count Marescotti, +fervently, as he watched the timid gray-coated pigeons gathering +round the cavaliere's feet, as he stood apart from the rest, serenely +smiling as he fed them. "May thy placid spirit be unruffled in time +and in eternity!" + +The interior of the church, in the Longobardic style, is bare almost +to plainness. On entering, the eye ranges through a long broad nave +with rounded arches, the arches surmounted by narrow windows; these +dividing arches, supported on single columns with monumental capitals, +forming two dark and rather narrow aisles. The high altar is raised on +three broad steps. Here burn a few lights, dimmed into solitary specks +by the brightness of the sun. The walls on either side of the aisles +are broken by various chapels. These lie in deep shadow. The roof, +formed of open rafters, bearing marks of having once been elaborately +gilded, is now but a mass of blackened timbers. The floor is of brick, +save where oft-recurring sepulchral slabs are cut into the surface. +These slabs, of black-and-white marble, or of alabaster stained +and worn from its native whiteness into a dingy brown, are almost +obliterated by the many footsteps which have come and gone upon them +for so many centuries. Not a single name remains to record whom they +commemorate. Dimly seen under a covering of dirt and dust deposited by +the living, lie the records of these unknown dead: here a black lion +rampant on a white shield; there a coat-of-arms on an escutcheon, with +the fragment of a princely coronet; beyond, a life-sized monk, his +shadowy head resting on a cushion--a matron with her robes soberly +gathered about her feet, her hands crossed on her bosom--a bishop, +under a painted canopy, mitre on head and staff in hand--a warrior, +grimly helmeted, carrying his drawn sword in his hand. Who are these? +Whence came they? None can tell. + +Beside one of the most worn and defaced of these slabs the cavaliere +stopped. + +"On this stone," he said, his smiling countenance suddenly grown +solemn--"on this very stone, where you see the remains of a +mosaic"--and he pointed to some morsels of color still visible, +crossing himself as he did so--"a notable miracle was performed. +Before I relate it, let us adore the goodness of the Blessed Virgin, +from whom all good gifts come." + +Cavaliere Trenta was on his knees before he had done speaking; again +he fervently crossed himself, reciting the "Maria Santissima." Enrica +bowed her head, and timidly knelt beside him; Baldassare bent his +knees, but, remembering that his trousers were new, and that they +might take an adverse crease that could never be ironed out, he did +not allow himself to touch the floor; then, with open eyes and ears, +he rose and stood waiting for the cavaliere to proceed. Baldassare +was uneducated and superstitious. The latter quality recommended him +strongly to Trenta. He was always ready to believe every word the +cavaliere uttered with unquestioning faith. At the mention of a church +legend Count Marescotti turned away with an expression of disgust, and +leaned against a pillar, his eyes fixed on Enrica. + +The cavaliere, having risen from his knees, and carefully dusted +himself with a snowy pocket-handkerchief, took Enrica by the hand, and +placed her in such a position that the sunshine, striking through the +windows of the nave, fell full upon the monumental stone before them. + +"My Enrica," he said, in a subdued voice, "and you, Baldassare"--he +motioned to him to approach nearer--"you are both young. Listen to me. +Lay to heart what an old man tells you. Such a miracle as I am about +to relate must touch even the count's hard heart." + +He glanced round at Marescotti, but it was evident he was chagrined by +what he saw. Marescotti neither heard him, nor even affected to do +so. Trenta's voice in the great church was weak and piping--indistinct +even to those beside him. Finding the count unavailable either +for instruction or reproof, the cavaliere shook his head, and his +countenance fell. Then he turned his mild blue eyes upon Enrica, +leaned upon his stick, and commenced: + +"In the sixth century, the flagstones in this portion of the nave were +raised for the burial of a distinguished lady, a member of the Manzi +family; but oh! stupendous prodigy!"--the cavaliere cast up his eyes +to heaven, and clasped his dimpled hands--"no sooner had the coffin +been lowered into the vault prepared for it, than the corpse of the +lady of the Manzi family sat upright in the open bier, put aside the +flowers and wreaths piled upon her, and uttered these memorable and +never-to-be-forgotten words: 'Bury me elsewhere; here lies the body of +San Frediano.'" + +Baldassare, who had grown very pale, now shuddered visibly, and +contemplated the cavaliere with awe. + +"Stupendous!" he muttered--"prodigious!--Indeed!" + +Enrica did not speak; her eyes were fixed on the ground. + +"Yes, yes, you may well say prodigious," responded Trenta, bowing his +white head; then, looking round triumphantly: "It was prodigious, +but a prodigy, remember, vouched for by the chronicles of the Church. +(Chronicles of the Church are much more to be trusted than any thing +else, much more than Evangelists, who were not bishops, and therefore +had no authority--we all know that.) No sooner, my friends, had the +corpse of the lady of the Manzi family spoken, as I have said, than +diligent search was made by those assembled in the church, when +lo!--within the open vault the remains of the adorable San Frediano +were discovered in excellent preservation. I need not say that, having +died in the odor of sanctity, the most fragrant perfume filled the +church, and penetrated even to the adjacent streets. Several sick +persons were healed by merely inhaling it. One man, whose arm had been +shot off at the shoulder-joint many years before, found his limb +come again in an instant, by merely touching the blessed relic." The +cavaliere paused to take breath. No one had spoken.--"Have you heard +the miracle of the glorious San Frediano?" asked Trenta, a little +timidly, raising his voice to its utmost pitch as he addressed Count +Marescotti. + +"No, I have not, cavaliere; but, if I had, it would not alter my +opinion. I do not believe in mediaeval miracles." As he spoke, Count +Marescotti turned round from the steps of a side-altar, whither he had +wandered to look at a picture. "I did not hear one word you said, my +dear cavaliere, but I am acquainted with the supposed miracles of San +Frediano. They are entirely without evidence, and in no way shake my +conclusions as to the utter worthlessness of such legends. In this +I agree with the Protestants," he continued, "rather than with that +inspired teacher, Savonarola. The Protestants, spite of so-called +'ecclesiastical authority,' persist in denying them. With the +Protestants, I hold that the entire machinery of modern miracles is +false and unprofitable. With the Apostles miraculous power ended." + +"Marescotti!" ejaculated the poor cavaliere, aghast at the effect his +appeal had produced, "for God's sake, don't, don't! before Enrica--and +in a church, too!" + +"I believe with Savonarola in other miracles," continued the count, in +a louder tone, addressing himself directly to Enrica, on whom he gazed +with a tender expression--he was far too much engrossed with her and +with the subject to heed Trenta's feeble remonstrance--"I believe in +the mystic essence of soul to soul--I believe in the reappearance of +the disembodied spirit to its kindred affinity still on earth--still +clothed with a fleshly garment. I believe in those magnetic influences +that circle like an atmosphere about certain purified and special +natures, binding them together in a closely-locked embrace, an embrace +that neither time, distance, nor even death itself, can weaken or +sever!" + +He paused for an instant; a dark fire lit up his eyes, which were +still bent on Enrica. + +"All this I believe--life would be intolerable to me without such +convictions. At the same time, I am ready to grant that all cannot +accept my views. These are mysteries to be approached without +prejudice--mysteries that must be received absolutely without +prejudice of religion, country, or race; received as the aesthetic +instinct within us teaches. Who," he added, and as he spoke he +stood erect on the steps of the altar, his arms outstretched in the +eagerness of argument, his grand face all aglow with enthusiasm--"who +can decide? It is faith that convinces--faith that vivifies--faith +that transforms--faith that links us to the hierarchy of angels! To +believe--to act on our belief, even if that belief be false--that is +true religion. A merciful Deity will accept our imperfect sacrifice. +Are we not all believers in Christ? Away with creeds and churches, +with formularies and doctrines, with painted walls and golden altars, +with stoled priests, infallible popes, and temporal hierarchies! What +are these vain distinctions, if we love God? Let the whole world +unite to believe in the Redeemer. Then we shall all be brothers--you, +I--all, brothers--joined within the holy circle of one universal +family--of one universal worship!" + +Count Marescotti ceased speaking, but his impassioned words still +echoed through the empty aisles. His eyes had wandered from Enrica; +they were now fixed on high. His countenance glowed with rapture. +Wrapped in the visions his imagination had called forth, he descended +from the altar, and slowly approached the silent group gathered beside +the monumental stone. + +Enrica had eagerly drunk in every word the count had uttered. He +seemed to speak the language of her secret musings; to interpret the +hidden mysteries of her young heart. She, at least, believed in the +affinity of kindred spirits. What but that had linked her to Nobili? +Oh, to live in such a union! + +Trenta had become very grave. + +"You are a visionary," he said, addressing the count, who now stood +beside them. "I am sorry for you. Such a consummation as you desire +is impossible. Your faith has no foundation. It is a creation of the +brain. The Catholic Church stands upon a rock. It permits no change, +it accepts no compromise, it admits no errors. The authority given to +St. Peter by Jesus Christ himself, with the spiritual keys, can alone +open the gates of heaven. All without are damned. Good intentions +are nothing. Private interpretation, believe me, is of the devil. +Obedience to the Holy Father, and the intercession of the saints, can +alone save your soul. Submit yourself to the teaching of our mother +Church, my dear count. Submit yourself--you have my prayers." Trenta +watched Marescotti with a fixed gaze of such solemn earnestness, it +seemed as though he anticipated that the blessed San Frediano himself +might appear, and then and there miraculously convert him. "Submit +yourself," he repeated, raising his arm and pointing to the altar, +"then you will be blessed." + +No miraculous interposition, however, was destined to crown the poor +cavaliere's strenuous efforts to convert the heretical count; but, +long before he had finished, the sound of his voice had recalled +Count Marescotti to himself. He remembered that the old chamberlain +belonged, in years at least, if not in belief, to the past. He blamed +himself for his thoughtlessness in having said a syllable that could +give him pain. The mystic disciple of Savonarola became in an instant +the polished gentleman. + +"A thousand pardons, my dear Trenta," he said, passing his hand over +his forehead, and putting back the dark, disordered hair that hung +upon his brow--"a thousand pardons!--I am quite ashamed of myself. We +are here, as I now remember, to examine the tombs of your ancestors +in the chapel of the Trenta. I have delayed you too long. Shall we +proceed?" + +Trenta, glad to escape from the possibility of any further discussion +with the count, whose religious views were to him nothing but the +ravings of a mischievous maniac, at once turned into the side-aisle, +and, with ceremonious politeness, conducted Enrica toward the chapel +of the Trenta. + +The chapel, divided by gates of gilt bronze from the line of the other +altars bordering the aisles, forms a deep recess near the high +altar. The walls are inlaid by what had once been brilliantly-colored +marbles, in squares of red, green, and yellow; but time and damp had +dulled them into a sombre hue. Above, a heavy circular cornice joins +a dome-shaped roof, clothed with frescoes, through which the light +descends through a central lantern. Painted figures of prophets stand +erect within the four spandrils, and beneath, breaking the marble +walls, four snow-white statues of the Evangelists fill lofty niches of +gray-tinted stone. Opposite the gilded gates of entrance which +Trenta had unlocked, a black sarcophagus projects from the wall. This +sarcophagus is surmounted by a carved head. Many other monuments break +the marble walls; some very ancient, others of more recent shape +and construction. The floor, too, is almost entirely overlaid by +tombstones, but, like those in the nave, they are greatly defaced, +and the inscriptions are for the most part illegible. Over the altar +a blackened painting represents "San Riccardo of the Trenta" battling +with the infidels before Jerusalem. + +"Here," said the cavaliere, standing in the centre under the dome, +"is the chapel of the Trenta. Here I, Cesare Trenta, fourteenth in +succession from Gaultiero Trenta--who commanded a regiment at the +battle of Marignano against the French under Francis I.--hope to lay +my bones. The altar, as you see, is sanctified by the possession of +an ancestral picture, deemed miraculous." He bowed to the earth as he +spoke, in which example he was followed by Enrica and Baldassare. "San +Riccardo was the companion-in-arms of Godfrey de Bouillon. His bones +lie under the altar. Upon his return from the crusades he died in our +palace. We still show the very room. His body is quite entire within +that tomb. I have seen it myself when a boy." + +Even the count did not venture to raise any doubt as to the +authenticity of the patron saint of the Trenta family. The cavaliere +himself was on his knees; rosary in hand, he was devoutly offering up +his innocent prayers to the ashes of an imaginary saint. After many +crossings, bowings, and touchings of the tomb (always kissing the +fingers that had been in contact with the sanctified stone), he arose, +smiling. + +"And now," said the count, turning toward Enrica, "I will ask leave to +show you another tomb, which may, possibly, interest you more than +the sepulchre of the respected Trenta." As he spoke he led her to the +opposite aisle, toward a sarcophagus of black marble placed under an +arch, on which was inscribed, in gilt letters, the name "Castruccio +Castracani degli Antimelli," and the date "1328." "Had our Castruccio +moved in a larger sphere," said the count, addressing the little group +that had now gathered about him, "he would have won a name as great as +that of Alexander of Macedon. Like Alexander, he died in the flower of +his age, in the height of his fame. Had he lived, he would have +been King of Italy, and Lucca would have become the capital of the +peninsula. Chaste, sober, and merciful--brave without rashness, +and prudent without fear--Castruccio won all hearts. Lucca at least +appreciated her hero. Proud alike of his personal qualities, and of +those warlike exploits with which Italy already rang, she unanimously +elected him dictator. When this signal honor was conferred upon him," +continued the count, addressing himself again specially to Enrica, +who listened, her large dreamy eyes fixed upon him, "Castruccio was +absent, engaged in one of those perpetual campaigns against Florence +which occupied so large a portion of his short life. At that very +moment he was encamped on the heights of San Miniato, preparing to +besiege the hated rival of our city--broken and reduced by the recent +victory he had gained over her at Altopasso. At Altopasso he had +defeated and humiliated Florence. Now he had planted our flag under +her very walls. Upon the arrival of the ambassadors sent by the +Lucchese Republic--one of whom was a Guinigi--" + +"There was a Trenta, too, among them; Antonio Trenta, a knight of St. +John," put in the cavaliere, gently, unwilling to interrupt the count, +but finding it impossible to resist the temptation of identifying +his family with his country's triumphs. The count acknowledged the +omission with a courteous bow. + +"Upon the arrival of the ambassadors," he resumed, "announcing the +honor conferred upon him, Castruccio instantly left his camp, and +returned with all haste to Lucca. The dignity accorded to Castruccio +exalted him above all external demonstration, but he understood +that his native city longed to behold, and to surround with personal +applause, the person of her idol. In the piazza without this church, +the very centre of Lucca, the heart, as it were, whence all the veins +and arteries of our municipal body flow, Castruccio was received +with all the pomp of a Roman triumph. Ah! cavaliere"--and the count's +lustrous eyes rested on Trenta, who was devouring every word he +uttered with silent delight--"those were proud days for Lucca!" + +"Recall them--recall them, O Count!" cried Trenta. "It does me good to +listen." + +"Thirty thousand Florentine prisoners followed Castruccio to Lucca. +His soldiers were laden with booty. They drove before them innumerable +herds of cattle; strings of wagons, filled with the spoils of a +victorious campaign, blocked the causeways. Last of all appeared, +rumbling on its ancient wheels, the carroccio, or state-car of +the Florentine Republic, bearing their captured flags lowered, and +trailing in the dust. Castruccio--whose sole representatives are the +Marchesa Guinigi and yourself, signorina--Castruccio followed. He +was seated in a triumphal chariot, drawn by eight milk-white horses. +Banners fluttered around him. A golden crown of victory was suspended +above his head. He was arrayed in a flowing mantle of purple, over a +suit of burnished armor. His brows were bound by a wreath of golden +laurel. In his right hand he carried a jeweled sceptre. Upon his +knees lay his victorious sword unsheathed. Never was manly beauty more +transcendent. His lofty stature and majestic bearing fulfilled the +expectation of a hero. How can I describe his features? They are known +to all of you by that famous picture (the only likeness of him extant) +belonging to the Marchesa Guinigi, placed in the presence-chamber of +her palace." + +"Yes, yes," burst forth Trenta, no longer able to control his +enthusiasm. "Old as I am, when I think of those days, it makes me +young again. Alas! what a change! Now we have lost not only +our independence, but our very identity. Our sovereign is +gone--banished--our state broken up. We are but the slaves of a +monster called the kingdom of Italy, ruled by Piedmontese barbarians!" + +"Hush!--hush!" whispered the irrepressible Baldassare. "Pray do not +interrupt the count." Even the stolid Adonis was moved. + +"The daughters of the noblest houses of Lucca," continued Marescotti, +"strewed flowers in Castruccio's path. The magistrates and nobles +received him on their knees. Young as he was, with one voice they +saluted him 'Father of his Country!'" + +The count paused. He bowed his head toward the sarcophagus before +which they were gathered, in a mute tribute of reverence. After a few +minutes of rapt silence he resumed: + +"When the multitude heard that name, ten thousand thousand voices +echoed it. 'Father of his Country!' resounded to the summits of the +surrounding Apennines. The mountain-tops tossed it to and fro--the +caves thundered it--the very heavens bore it aloft to distant +hemispheres! Our great soldier, overcome by such overwhelming marks +of affection, expressed in every look and gesture how deeply he +was moved. Before leaving the piazza, Castruccio was joined by his +relative, young Paolo Guinigi!--after his decease to become dictator, +and Lord of Lucca. Amid the clash of arms, the braying of trumpets, +and the applause of thousands, they cordially embraced. They were fast +friends as well as cousins. Our Castruccio was of a type incapable +of jealousy. Paolo was a patriot--that was enough. Together they +proceeded to the cathedral of San Martino. At the porch Castruccio was +received by the archbishop and the assembled clergy. He was placed +in a chair of carved ivory, and carried in triumph up the nave to +the chapel of the Holy Countenance. Here he descended, and, while he +prostrated himself before the miraculous image, hymns and songs of +praise burst from the choir." + +"Such, Signorina Enrica," said the count, turning toward her, "is +a brief outline of the scene that passed within this city of Lucca, +before that tomb held the illustrious dust it now contains." + +"Bravo, bravo, count!" exclaimed the mercurial Trenta, in a delighted +tone. (He was ready to forgive all the count's transgressions, in the +fervor of the moment.) "That is how I love to hear you talk. Now you +do yourself justice. Gesù mio! how seldom it is given to a man to be +so eloquent! How can he bring himself to employ such gifts against the +infallible Church?" This last remark was addressed to Enrica in a tone +too low to be overheard. + +"And now," said the old chamberlain, always on the lookout to marshal +every one as he had marshaled every one at court--"now we will leave +the church, and proceed to the Guinigi Tower." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE GUINIGI TOWER. + + +Count Marescotti, by reason of too much imagination, and Baldassare, +by reason of too little, were both oblivious; consequently the key and +the porter were neither of them forthcoming when the party arrived +at the door of the tower, which opened from a side-street behind and +apart from the palace. Both the count and Baldassare ran off to find +the man, leaving Trenta alone with Enrica. + +"Ahi!" exclaimed the cavaliere, looking after them with a comical +smile, "this youth of New Italy! They have no more brains than a pin. +When I was young, and every city had its own ruler and its own court, +I should not have escorted a lady and kept her waiting outside in the +sun. Bah! those were not the manners of my day. At the court of the +Duke of Lucca ladies were treated like divinities, but now the young +men don't know how to kiss a woman's hand." + +Receiving no answer, Trenta looked hard at Enrica. He was struck by +her absent expression. There was a far-away look on her face he had +never noticed on it before. + +"Enrica," he said, taking both her hands within his own, "I fear you +are not amused. These subjects are too grave to interest you. What are +you thinking about?" + +An anxious look came into her eyes, and she glanced hastily round, as +if to assure herself that no one was near. + +"Oh! I am thinking of such strange things!" She stopped and hesitated, +seeing the cavaliere's glance of surprise. "I should like to tell you +all, dear cavaliere--I would give the world to tell you--" + +Again she stopped. + +"Speak--speak, my child," he answered; "tell me all that is in your +mind." + +Before she could reply, the count and Baldassare reappeared, +accompanied by the porter of the Guinigi Palace and the keys. + +"Are you sure you would rather not return home again, Enrica? You have +only to turn the corner, remember," asked Trenta, looking at her with +anxious affection. + +"No, no," she answered, greatly confused; "please say nothing--not +now--another time. I should like to ascend the tower; let us go on." + +The cavaliere was greatly puzzled. It was plain there was something on +her mind. What could it be? How fortunate, he told himself, if she had +taken a liking to Marescotti, and desired to confess it! This would +make all easy. When he had spoken to the count, he would contrive to +see her alone, and insist upon knowing if it were so. + +The door was now opened, and the porter led the way, followed by the +count and Baldassare. Trenta came next, Enrica last. They ascended +stair after stair almost in darkness. After having mounted a +considerable height, the porter unlocked a small door that barred +their farther advance. Above appeared the blackened walls of the +hollow tower, broken by the loop-holes already mentioned, through +which the ardent sunshine slanted. Before them was a wooden stair, +crossing from angle to angle up to a dizzy height, with no other +support but a frail banister; this even was broken in places. The +count and Enrica both entreated the cavaliere to remain below. +Marescotti ventured to allude to his great age--a subject he himself +continually, as has been seen, mentioned, but which he generally much +resented when alluded to by others. + +Trenta listened with perfect gravity and politeness, but, when the +count had done speaking, he placed his foot firmly on the first stair, +and began to ascend after the porter. The others were obliged to +follow. At the last flight several loose planks shook ominously +under their feet; but Trenta, assisted by his stick, stepped on +perseveringly. He also insisted on helping Enrica, who was next to +him, and who by this time was both giddy and frightened. At length a +trap-door, at the top of the tower, was reached and unbarred by +the attendant. Without, covered with grass, is a square platform, +protected by a machicolated parapet of turreted stone-work. In the +centre rises a cluster of ancient bay-trees, fresh and luxuriant, +spite of the wind and storms of centuries. + +The count leaped out upon the greensward and rushed to the parapet. + +"How beautiful!" he exclaimed, throwing back his head and drawing in +the warm air. "See how the sun of New Italy lights up the old city! +Cathedral, palace, church, gallery, roof, tower, all ablaze at our +feet! Speak, tell me, is it not wonderful?" and he turned to Enrica, +who, anxiously turning from side to side, was trying to discover where +she could best overlook the street of San Simone and Nobili's palace. + +Addressed by Marescotti, she started and stopped short. + +"Never, never," he continued, becoming greatly excited, "shall I +forget this meeting!--here with you--the golden-haired daughter of +this ancient house!" + +"I!" exclaimed Enrica. "O count, what a mistake! I have no house, no +home. I live on the charity of my aunt." + +"That makes no difference in your descent, fair Guinigi. Charity! +charity! Who would not shower down oceans of charity to possess such +a treasure?" He leaned his back against the parapet, and bent his +eyes with fervent admiration on her. "It is only in verse that I can +celebrate her," he muttered, "prose is too cold for her warm coloring. +The Madonna--the uninstructed Madonna--before the archangel's visit--" + +"But, count," said Enrica timidly (his vehemence and strange glances +made her feel very shy), "will you tell me the names of the beautiful +mountains around? I have seen so little--I am so ignorant." + +"I will, I will," replied Marescotti, speaking rapidly, his glowing +eyes raising themselves from her face to look out over the distance; +"but, in mercy, grant me a few moments to collect myself. Remember I +am a poet; imagination is my world; the unreal my home; the Muses my +sisters. I live there above, in the golden clouds"--and he turned and +pointed to a crest of glittering vapor sailing across the intense blue +of the sky. Then, with his hand pressed on his brow, he began to pace +rapidly up and down the narrow platform. + +The cavaliere and Baldassare were watching him from the farther end of +the tower. + +"He! he!" said Trenta, and he gave a little laugh and nudged +Baldassare. "Do you see the count? He is fairly off. Marescotti is too +poetical for this world. Unpractical, poor fellow--very unpractical. +The fit is on him now. Look at him, Baldassare; see how he stares +about, and clinches his fist. I hope he will not leap over the parapet +in his ecstasy." + +"Ha! ha!" responded Baldassare, who with eyes wide open, and hands +thrust into his pockets, leaned back beside Trenta against the wall. +"Ha, ha!--I must laugh," Baldassare whispered into his ear--"I cannot +help it--look how the count's lips are moving. He is in the most +extraordinary excitement." + +"It's all very fine," rejoined Trenta, "but I wonder he does not +frighten Enrica. There she stands, quite still. I can't see her face, +but she seems to like it. It's all very fine," he repeated, nodding +his white head reflectively. "Republicans, communists, orators, poets, +heretics--all the plagues of hell! Dio buono! give me a little plain +common-sense--plain common-sense, and a paternal government. As to +Marescotti, these new-fangled notions will turn his brain; he'll end +in a mad-house. I don't believe he is quite in his senses at this very +minute. Look! look! What strides he is taking up and down! For the +love of Heaven, my boy, run and fasten the trap-door tight! He +may fall through! He's not safe! I swear it, by all the saints!" +Baldassare, shaking with suppressed laughter, secured the trap-door. + +"I must say you are a little hard on the count," Baldassare said. +"Why, he's only composing. I know his way. Trust me, it's a sonnet. He +is composing a sonnet addressed perhaps to the signorina. He admires +her very much." + +Trenta smiled, and mentally determined, for the second time, to take +the earliest opportunity of speaking to Count Marescotti before the +ridiculous reports circulating in Lucca reached him. + +"Per Bacco!" he replied, "when the count is as old as I am, he +will have learned that quiet is the greatest luxury a man can +enjoy--especially in Italy, where the climate is hot and fevers +frequent." + +How long the count would have continued in the clouds, it is +impossible to say, had he not been suddenly brought down to earth--or, +at least, the earth on the top of the tower--by something that +suddenly struck his gaze. + +Enrica, who had strained her eyes in vain to discover some trace of +Nobili in the narrow street below, or in the garden behind his palace, +had now thrown herself on the grass under the overhanging branches of +the glossy bay-trees. These inclosed her as in a bower. Her colorless +face rested upon her hand, her eyes were turned toward the ground, +and her long blond hair fell in a tangled mass below the folds of her +veil, upon her white dress. The count stood transfixed before her. + +"Move not, sweet vision!" he cried. "Be ever so! That innocent face +shaded by the classic bay; that white robe rustling with the thrill of +womanly affinities; those fair locks floating like an aureole in the +breeze thy breath has softly perfumed! Rest there enthroned--the world +thy backguard, the sky thy canopy! Stay, let me crown thee!" + +As he spoke he hastily plucked some sprays of bay, which he twisted +into a wreath. He approached Enrica, who had remained quite still, +and, kneeling at her feet, placed the wreath upon her head. + +"Enrica Guinigi"--the count spoke so softly that neither Trenta nor +Baldassare could catch the words--"there is something in your beauty +too ethereal for this world." + +Enrica, covered with blushes, tried to rise, but he held out his hands +imploringly for her to remain. + +"Suffer me to speak to you. Yours is a face of one easily moved to +love--to love and to suffer," he added, strange lights coming into his +eyes as he gazed at her. + +Enrica listened to him in painful silence; his words sounded +prophetic. + +"To love and to suffer; but, loving once"--again the count was +speaking, and his voice enchained her by its sweetness--"to love +forever. Where shall the man be found pure enough to dare to accept +such love as you can bestow? By Heavens!" he added, and his voice fell +to a whisper, and his black eyes seemed to penetrate into her very +soul, "you love already. I read it in the depths of those heavenly +eyes, in the shadow that already darkens that soft brow, in the +dreamy, languid air that robs you of your youth. You love--is it +possible that you love--?" + +He stopped before the question was finished--before the name was +uttered. A spasm, as if wrung from him by sharp bodily pain, passed +over his features as he asked this question, never destined to be +answered. No one but Enrica had heard it. An indescribable terror +seized her; from pale she grew deadly white; her eyelids dropped, her +lips trembled. Tears gathered in Marescotti's eyes as he gazed at her, +but he dared not complete the question. + +"If you have guessed my secret, do not--oh! do not betray me!" + +She said this so faintly that the sound came to him like a whisper +from the rustling bay-leaves. + +"Never!" he responded in a low, earnest tone--"never!" + +She believed him implicitly. With that look, that voice, who could +doubt him? + +"I have cause to suffer," she replied with a sigh, not venturing to +meet his eyes--"to suffer and to wait. But my aunt--" + +She said no more; her head fell on her bosom, her arms dropped to her +side, she sighed deeply. + +"May I be at hand to shield you!" was his answer. + +After this, he, too, was silent. Rising from his knees, he leaned +against the trunk of the bay-tree and contemplated her steadfastly. +There was a strange mixture of passion and of curiosity in his mobile +face. If she would not tell him, could he not rend her secret from +her? + +Trenta, seated at the opposite side of the platform, observed them as +they stood side by side, half concealed by the foliage--observed them +with benign satisfaction. It was all as it should be; his mission +would be easy. It was clear they understood each other. He believed at +that very moment Enrica was receiving the confession of Marescotti's +love; the confusion of her looks was conclusive. The cavaliere's whole +endeavor was, at that moment, to keep Baldassare quiet; he rejoiced +to see that he was gently yielding to the influence of the heat, and +nodding at his side. + +"Count," said Enrica, looking up and endeavoring to break a silence +which had become painful, "if I have inspired you with any interest--" + +She hesitated. + +"_If_ you have inspired me?" ejaculated Marescotti, reproachfully, not +moving his eyes off her. + +"I can hardly believe it," she added; "but, if it be so, speak to me +in the voice of poetry. Tell me your thoughts." + +"Yes," exclaimed the count, clasping his hands; "I have been longing +to do so ever since I first saw you. Will you permit it? If so, give +me paper and pencil, that I may write." + +Enrica had neither. Rising from the ground, she crossed over to where +Trenta sat, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of the roofs of +his native city. Fortunately, after diving into various pockets, he +found a pencil and the fly-leaf of a letter. Marescotti took them and +retreated to the farther end of the tower; Enrica leaned against the +wall beside the cavaliere. + +In a few minutes the count joined them; he returned the pencil with a +bow to the cavaliere. The sonnet was already written on the fly-leaf +of the letter. + +"Oh!" cried Enrica, "give me that paper, I know it will tell me my +fate. Give it to me. Count, do not refuse me." Her look, her manner, +was eager--imploring. As the count drew back, she endeavored to seize +the paper from his hand. But Marescotti, holding the paper above +his head, in one moment had crushed it in his fingers, and, rushing +forward, he flung it over the battlements. + +"It is not worthy of you!" he exclaimed, with excitement; "it is +worthy neither of you nor of me! No, no," and he leaned over the +tower, and watched the paper as it floated downward in the still air. +"Let it perish." + +"Oh! why have you destroyed it?" cried Enrica, greatly distressed. +"That paper would have told me all I want to know. How cruel! how +unkind!" + +But there was no help for it. No lamentation could bring the paper +back again. The sonnet was gone. Marescotti had sacrificed the man to +the poet. His artistic sense had conquered. + +"Excuse me, dear signorina," he pleaded, "the composition was +imperfect. It was too hurried. With your permission, on my return, +I will address some other verses to you, more appropriate--more +polished." + +"Ah! they will not be like those. They will not tell me what I want +to know. They cannot come from your very soul like those. The power to +divine is gone from you." Enrica could hardly restrain her tears. + +"I am very sorry," answered the count, "but I could not help it; I did +it unconsciously." + +"Indeed, count, you did very wrong," put in the cavaliere; "one +understands you wrote _in furore_--so much the better," and Trenta +gave a sly wink, which was entirely lost on Marescotti. "But time +is getting on. When are we to have that oration on the history and +beauties of Lucca that we came up to hear? Had you not better begin?" + +The count was engaged at that moment in plucking a sprig of bay for +himself and for the cavaliere to wear, as he said, "in memoriam." "I +am ready," he replied. "It is a subject that I love." + +"Let us begin with the mountains; they are the nearest to God." As +he pronounced that name, the count raised his eyes reverently, and +uncovered his head. Enrica had placed herself on his right hand, but +all interest had died out of her face. She only listened mechanically. + +(Yes, the mountains, the glorious mountains! There they were--before, +behind, in front; range upon range--peak upon peak, like breakers on +a restless sea! Mountains of every shade, of every shape, of every +height. Already their mighty tops were flecked with the glow of the +western sunbeams; already pink and purple mists had gathered upon +their sides, filling the valleys with mystery!) + +"There," said the count, pointing in the direction of the winding +river Serchio, "is La Panga, the loftiest Apennine in Central Italy. +The peaked summits of those other mountains more to the right are the +marble-bosomed range of Carrara. One might believe them at this time +covered with a mantle of snow, but for the ardent sun, the deep green +of the belting plains, and the luxuriance of the forests. Yonder steep +chestnut-clothed height that terminates the valley opening before us +is Bargilio, a mountain fortress of the Panciatici over the Baths of +Lucca." + +Marescotti paused to take breath. Enrica's eyes languidly followed the +direction of his hand. The cavaliere, standing on his other side, was +adjusting his spectacles, the better to distinguish the distance. + +"To the south," continued the count, pointing with his finger--"in the +centre of that rich vine-trellised Campagna, lies Pescia, a garden +of luscious fruits. Beyond, nestling in the hollows of the Apennines, +shutting in the plain of that side, is ancient Lombard-walled +Pistoja--the key to the passes of Northern Italy. Farther on, nearer +Florence, rise the heights of Monte Catni, crowned as with a diadem +by a small burgh untouched since the middle ages. Nearer at hand, +glittering like steel in the sunshine, is the lake of Bientina. You +can see its low, marshy shores fringed by beauteous woodlands, but +without a single dwelling." + +Enrica, in a fit of abstraction, leaned over the parapet. Her eyes +were riveted upon the city beneath. Marescotti followed her eyes. + +"Yes," said he, "there is Lucca;" and as he spoke he glanced +inquiringly at her, and the tones of his clear, melodious voice grew +soft and tender. "Lucca the Industrious, bound within her line of +ancient walls and fortifications. Great names and great deeds are +connected with Lucca. Here, tradition says, Julius Caesar ruled as +proconsul. How often may the sandals of his feet have trod these +narrow streets--his purple robes swept the dust of our piazza! Here he +may have officiated as high-priest at our altars--dictated laws from +our palaces! It was after the conquest of the Nervii (most savage +among the Gaulish tribes) that Julius Caesar is said to have first +come to Lucca. Pompey and Crassus met him here. It was at this +time that Domitius--Caesar's enemy, then a candidate for the +consulship--boasted that he would ruin him. But Caesar, seizing the +opportune moment of his recent victories over the Gauls, and his +meeting with Pompey--formed the bold plan of grasping universal power +by means of his deadliest enemies. These enemies, rather than see the +supreme power vested in each other, united to advance him. The first +triumvirate was the consequence of the meeting. Ages pass by. +The Roman Empire dissolves. Barbarians invade Italy. Lucca is an +independent state--not long to remain so, however, for the Countess +Matilda, daughter of Duke Bonifazio, is born within her walls. At +Lucca Countess Matilda holds her court. By her counsels, assistance, +and the rich legacy of her patrimonial dominions, she founds the +temporal power of the papacy. To Lucca came, in the fifteenth century, +Charles VIII. of France, presumptuous enough to attempt the conquest +of Naples; also that mighty dissembler, Charles V. to meet the +reigning pontiff Paul III. in our cathedral of San Martino. But more +precious far to me than the traditions of the shadowy pomp of defunct +tyrants is the remembrance that Lucca was the Geneva of Italy--that +these streets beneath us resounded to the public teaching of the +Reformation! Such progress, indeed, had the reformers made, that it +was publicly debated in the city council, 'If Lucca should declare +herself Protestant--'" + +"Per Bacco! a disgraceful fact in our history!" burst out Trenta, a +look of horror in his round blue eyes. "Hide it, hide it, count! For +the love of Heaven! You do not expect me to rejoice at this? Pray, +when you mention it, add that the Protestants were obliged to flee for +their lives, and that Lucca purified itself by abject submission to +the Holy Father." + +"Yes; and what came of that?" cried the count, raising his voice, +a sudden flush of anger mounting over his face. "The Church--your +Catholic and Apostolic Church--established the Inquisition. The +Inquisition condemned to the flames the greatest prophet and teacher +since the apostles--Savonarola!" + +Trenta, knowing how deeply Marescotti's feelings were engaged in +the subject of Savonarola, was too courteous to desire any further +discussion. But at the same time he was determined, if possible, to +hear no more of what was to him neither more nor less than blasphemy. + +"Do you know how long we have been up here, count?" he asked, taking +out his watch. "Enrica must return. I hope you won't detain us," he +said, with a pitiful look at the count, who seemed preparing for +an oration in honor of the mediaeval martyr. "I have already got +a violent rheumatism in my shoulder.--Here, Baldassare, open the +trap-door, and let us go down.--Where is Baldassare?--Baldassare! +Where are you, imbecile? Baldassare, I say! Why, diamine! Where can +the boy be? He's not been privately practising his last new step +behind the bay-trees, and taken a false one over the parapet?" + +The small space was easily searched. Baldassare was discovered +sketched at full length and fast asleep under a bench on the other +side of the bay-trees. + +"Ah, wretch!" grumbled the old chamberlain, "if you sleep like this +you will outlive me, who mean to flourish for the next hundred +years. He's always asleep, except when dancing," he added indignantly +appealing to Marescotti. "Look at him. There's beauty without +expression. Doesn't he inspire you? Endymion who has overslept himself +and missed Diana--Narcissus overcome by the sight of his own beauty." + +After being called, pushed, and pinched, by the cavaliere, Baldassare +at last opened his eyes in great bewilderment--stretched himself, +yawned, then, suddenly clapping his hand to his side, looked fiercely +at Trenta. Trenta was shaking with laughter. + +"Mille diavoli!" cried Baldassare, rubbing himself vigorously, "how +dare you pinch me so, cavaliere? I shall be black and blue. Why should +not I sleep? Nobody spoke to me." + +"I fear you have heard little of the history of Lucca," said the +count, smiling. + +"Dio buono! what is history to me? I hate it!--I-tell you what, +cavaliere, you have hurt me very much." And Baldassare passed his hand +carefully down his side. "The next time I go to sleep in your company, +I'll trouble you to keep your fingers to yourself. You have rapped me +like a drum." + +Trenta watched the various phases of Baldassare's wrath with the +greatest amusement. The descent having been safely accomplished, the +whole party landed in the street. Count Marescotti, who came last, +advanced to take leave of Enrica. At this moment an olive-skinned, +black-eyed girl rose out of the shadow of a neighboring wall, and, +lowering a basket from her head, filled with fruit--tawny figs, ruddy +peaches, purple grapes, and russet-skinned medlars, shielded from +the heat by a covering of freshly-picked vine-leaves--offered it to +Enrica. Our Adonis, still sulky and sore from the pinches inflicted by +the mischievous fingers of the cavaliere, waved the girl rudely away. + +"Fruit! Chè! Begone! our servants have better. Such fruit as that is +not good enough for us; it is full of worms." + +The girl looked up at him timidly, tears gathered in her dark eyes. + +"It is for my mother," she answered, humbly; "she is ill." + +As she bent her head to replace the basket, Marescotti, who had +listened to Baldassare with evident disgust, raised the basket in his +arms, and with the utmost care poised it on the coil of her dark hair. + +"Beautiful peasant," he said, "I salute you. This is for your mother," +and he placed some notes in her hand. + +The girl thanked him, coloring as red as the peaches in her basket, +then, hastily turning the corner of the street, disappeared. + +"A perfect Pomona! I make a point of honoring beauty whenever I find +it," exclaimed the count, looking after her. He cast a reproving +glance at Baldassare, who stood with his eyes wide open. "The Greeks +worshiped beauty--I agree with them. Beauty is divine. What say you? +Were not the Greeks right?" + +The words were addressed to Baldassare--the sense and the direction of +his eyes pointed to Enrica. + +"Yes; beauty," replied Baldassare, smoothing his glossy mustache, and +trying to look very wise (he was not in the least conscious of the +covert rebuke administered by Marescotti)--"beauty is very refreshing, +but I must say I prefer it in the upper classes. For my part, I like +beauty that can dance--wooden shoes are not to my taste." + +"Ah! canaglia!" muttered the cavaliere, "there is no teaching you. You +will never be a gentleman." + +Baldassare was dumbfounded. He had not a word to reply. + +"Count"--and the old chamberlain, utterly disregarding the dismay of +poor Adonis, who never clearly understood what he had done to deserve +such severity, now addressed himself to Marescotti--"will you be +visible to-morrow after breakfast? If so, I shall have the honor of +calling on you." + +"With pleasure," was the count's reply. + +Enrica stood apart. She had not spoken one word since the +disappearance of the sonnet--that sonnet which would have told her +of her future; for had not Marescotti, by some occult power, read +her secret? Alas! too, was she not about to reenter her gloomy home +without catching so much as a glimpse of Nobili? Count Marescotti had +no opportunity of saying a word to Enrica that was not audible to all. +He did venture to ask her if she would be present next evening, if +he joined the marchesa's rubber? Before she could reply, Trenta had +hastily answered for her, that "he would settle all that with the +count when they met in the morning." So, standing in the street, +they parted. Count Marescotti sought in vain for one last glance from +Enrica. When he turned round to look for Baldassare, Baldassare had +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +COUNT NOBILI. + + +When Nobili rushed home through the dark streets from the Countess +Orsetti's ball, he shut himself up in his own particular room, threw +himself on a divan, and tried to collect his thoughts. At first he was +only conscious of one overwhelming feeling--a feeling of intense joy +that Nera Boccarina was alive. The unspeakable horror he had felt, as +she lay stretched out on the floor before him, had stupefied him. If +she had died?--As the horrible question rose up within him, his blood +froze in his veins. But she was not dead--nay, if the report of Madame +Orsetti was to be trusted, she was in no danger of dying. + +"Thank God!--thank God!" Then, as the quiet of the night and the +solitude of his own room gradually restored his scattered senses, +Nobili recalled her, not only in the moment of danger, as she lay +death-like, motionless, but as she stood before him lit up by the +rosy shadow of the silken curtains. Was it an enchantment? Had he +been under a spell? Was Nera fiend or angel? As he asked himself these +questions, again her wondrous eyes shone upon him like stars; again +the rhythm of that fatal waltz struck upon his ears soft and liquid +as the fall of oars upon the smooth bosom of an inland lake, bathed in +the mellow light of sunset. + +What had he done? He had kissed her--her lips had clung to his; her +fingers had linked themselves in his grasp; her eyes--ah!--those eyes +had told him that she loved him. Loved him!--why not? + +And Enrica!--the thought of Enrica pierced through him like the stab +of a knife. Nobili sprang to his feet, pressed both hands to his +bosom, then sank down again, utterly bewildered. Enrica!--He had +forgotten her! He, Nobili, was it possible? Forgotten her!--A pale +plaintive face rose up before him, with soft, pleading eyes. There was +the little head, with its tangled meshes of yellow curls, the slight +girlish figure, the little feet. "Enrica! my Enrica!" he cried aloud, +so palpable did her presence seem--"I love you, I love you only!" +He dashed, as it were, Nera's image from him. She had tempted +him--tempted him with all the fullness of her beauty, tempted him--and +he had yielded! On a sudden it came over him. Yes, she had tempted +him. She had followed him--pursued him rather. Wherever he went, there +Nera was before him. He recalled it all. And how he had avoided her +with the avoidance of an instinct! He clinched his fists as he thought +of it. What devil had possessed him to fall headlong into the snare? +What was Nera--or any other woman--to him now? If he had been obliged +to dance with her, why had he yielded to her? + +"I will never speak to her again," was his instant resolve. But the +next moment he remembered that he had been indirectly the cause of an +accident which might have been fatal. He must see her once more if +she were visible--or, if not, he must see her mother. Common humanity +demanded this. Then he would set eyes on her no more. He had almost +come to hate her, for the spell she had thrown over him. + +But for Enrica he would have left Lucca altogether for a time. What +had passed that evening would be the subject of general gossip. He +remembered with shame--and as he did so the blood rushed over his face +and brow--how openly he had displayed his admiration. He remembered +the hot glances he had cast upon Nera. He remembered how he had leaned +entranced over her chair; how he had pressed her to him in the fury of +that wild waltz, her white arms entwined round him--the fragrance +of the red roses she wore in her hair mounting to his brain! At the +moment he had been too much entranced to observe what was passing +about him. Now he recalled glances and muttered words. The savage +look Ruspoli had cast on him, when he led her up to him in one of the +figures of the cotillon; how Malatesta had grinned at him--how Orsetti +had whispered "Bravo!" in his ear. Might not some rumor of all this +reach Enrica?--through Trenta, perhaps, or that chattering fool, +Baldassare? If they spoke of the accident, they would surely connect +his name with that of Nera. Would they say he was in love with her? He +grew cold as he thought of it. + +Neither could Nobili conceal from himself how probable it was that +the Marchesa Guinigi should come to some knowledge of his clandestine +interviews with her niece. It had been necessary to trust many +persons. Spite of heavy bribes, one of these might at any moment +betray them. He might be followed and watched, spite of his +precautions. Their letters might be intercepted. Should any thing +happen, what a situation for Enrica! She was too trusting and too +inexperienced fully to appreciate the danger; but Nobili understood +it, and trembled for her. Something must, he felt, be done at once. +Enrica must be prepared for any thing that might happen. He must write +to her--write this very night to her. + +And then came the question--what should he say to her? Then Nobili +felt, and felt keenly, how much he had compromised himself. Hitherto +his love for Enrica, and Enrica's love for him, had been so full, so +entire, that every thought was hers. Now there was a name he must hide +from her, an hour of his life she must never know. + +Nobili rose from the divan on which he had been lying, lighted some +candles, and, sitting down at a table, took a pen in his hand. But the +pen did not help him. He tore it between his teeth, he leaned his head +upon his hand, he stared at the blank paper before him. What should +he say to her? was the question he asked himself. After all, should +he confess all his weakness, and implore her forgiveness? or should he +take the chance of her hearing nothing? + +After much thought and many struggles with his pen, he decided he +would say nothing. But write he would; write he must. Full of remorse +for what had passed, he longed to assure her of his love. He yearned +to cast himself for pardon at her feet; to feast his eyes upon the +sweetness of her fair face; to fill his ears with the sound of her +soft voice; to watch her heavenly eyes gathering upon him with the +gleam of incipient passion. + +How pure she was! How peerless, how different from all other women! +How different from Nera! dark-eyed, flashing, tempting Nera!--Nera, so +sensual in her ripe and dazzling beauty. At that moment of remorse and +repentance he would have likened her to an alluring fiend, Enrica to +an angel! Yes, he would write; he would say something decisive. This +point settled, Nobili put down the pen, struck a match, and lit a +cigar. A cigar would calm him, and help him to think. + +His position, even as he understood it, was sufficiently difficult. +How much more, had he known all that lay behind! He had entered life a +mere boy at his father's death, with some true friends; his wealth +had created him a host of followers. His frank, loyal disposition, his +generosity, his lavish hospitality, his winning manners, had insured +him general popularity. Not one, even of those who envied him, could +deny that he was the best fellow in Lucca. Women adored him, or said +so, which came to the same thing, for he believed them. Many had +proved, with more than words, that they did so. In a word, he had been +_fêted_, followed, and caressed, as long as he could remember. Now the +incense of flattery floating continually in the air which he breathed +had done its work. He was not actually spoiled but he had grown +arrogant; vain of his person and of his wealth. He was vain, but not +yet frivolous; he was insolent, but not yet heartless. At his age, +impressions come from without, rather than from within. Nobili was +extremely impressionable; he also, as has been seen, wanted resolution +to resist temptation. As yet, he had not developed the firmness and +steadfastness that really belonged to his character. + +But spite of foibles, spite of weakness--foibles and weakness were +but part of the young blood within him--Nobili possessed, especially +toward women, that rare union of courage, tenderness, and fortitude, +we call chivalry; he forgot himself in others. He did this as the most +natural thing in the world--he did it because he could not help it. +He was capable of doing a great wrong--he was also capable of a great +repentance. His great wealth had hitherto enabled him to indulge every +fancy. With this power of wealth, unknown almost to himself, a spirit +of conquest had grown upon him. He resolved to overcome whatever +opposed itself to him. Nobili was constantly assured by those ready +flatterers who lived upon him--those toadies who, like a mildew, +dim and deface the virtues of the rich--that "he could do what he +pleased." + +With the presumption of youth he believed this, and he acted on it, +especially in regard to women. He was of an age and temperament to +feel his pulse quicken at the sight of every pretty woman he met, even +if he should meet a dozen in the day. Until lately, however, he had +cared for no one. He had trifled, dangled, ogled. He had plucked the +fair fruit where it hung freely on the branch, and he had turned away +heart-whole. He knew that there was not a young lady in Lucca who +would not accept him as her suitor--joyfully accept him, if he +asked her. Not a father, let his name be as old as the Crusades, his +escutcheon decorated with "the golden rose," or the heraldic ermine of +the emperors, who would not welcome him as a son-in-law. + +The Marchesa Guinigi alone had persistently repulsed him. He had heard +and laughed at the outrageous words she had spoken. He knew what a +struggle it had cost her to sell the second Guinigi Palace at all. He +knew that of all men she had least desired to sell it to him. For that +special reason he had resolved to possess it. He had bought it, so to +say, in spite of her, at the price of gold. + +Yet, although Nobili laughed with his friends at the marchesa's +outrageous words, in reality they greatly nettled him. By constant +repetition they came even to rankle. At last he grew--unconfessed, of +course--so aggravated by them that a secret longing for revenge rose +up within him. She had thrown down the gauntlet, why should he not +pick it up? The marchesa, he knew, had a niece, why should he not +marry the niece, in defiance of the aunt? + +No sooner was this idea conceived than he determined, if he married at +all (marriage to a young man leading his dissipated life is a serious +step), that, of all living women, the marchesa's niece should be his +wife. All this time he had never seen Enrica. Yes, he would marry the +niece, to spite the marchesa. Marry--she, the marchesa, should see +a Guinigi head his board; a Guinigi seated at his hearth; worse than +all, a Guinigi mother of his children! + +All this he kept closely locked within his own breast. As the marchesa +had intimated to him, at the time he bought the palace, that she would +never permit him to cross her threshold, he was debarred from taking +the usual social steps to accomplish his resolve. Not that he in the +least desired to see her, save for that overbearing disposition which +impelled him to combat all opposition. With great difficulty, and +after having expended various sums in bribes among the ill-paid +servants of the marchesa, he had learned the habits of her household. + +Enrica, he found, had a servant, formerly her nurse, who never left +her. Teresa, this servant, was cautiously approached. She was informed +that Count Nobili was distractedly in love with the signorina, and +addressed himself to her for help. Teresa, ignorant, well-meaning, +and brimming over with that mere animal fondness for her foster-child +uneducated women share with brute creatures, was proud of becoming the +medium of what she considered an advantageous marriage for Enrica. The +secluded life she led, the selfish indifference with which her aunt +treated her, had long moved Teresa's passionate southern nature to a +high pitch of indignation. Up to this time no man had been permitted +to enter Casa Guinigi, save those who formed the marchesa's +whist-party. + +"How, then," reasoned Teresa, shrewdly, "was the signorina to marry at +all? Surely it was right to help her to a husband. Here was one, rich, +handsome, and devoted, one who would give the eyes out of his head for +the signorina." Was such an opportunity to be lost? Certainly not. + +So Teresa took Nobili's bribes (bribes are as common in Italy as in +the East), putting them to fructify in the National Bank with an easy +conscience. Was she not emancipating her foster-child from that old +devil, her aunt? Had she not seen Nobili himself when he sent for +her?--seen him, face to face, inside his palace glittering like +paradise? And had he not given her his word, with his hand upon his +heart (also given her a pair of solid gold ear-rings, which she wore +on Sundays), that to marry Enrica was the one hope of his life? Seeing +all this, Teresa was, as I have said, perfectly satisfied. + +When Nobili had done all this, impelled by mixed feelings of wounded +pride, obstinacy, and defiance, he had never, let it be noted, seen +Enrica. But after a meeting had been arranged by Teresa one morning at +early mass in the cathedral, near a dark and unfrequented altar in the +transept--an arrangement, be it observed, unknown to Enrica--all his +feelings changed. From the moment he saw her he loved her with all +the fervor of his ardent nature; from that moment he knew that he had +never loved before. The mystery of their stolen meetings, the sweet +flavor of this forbidden fruit--and what man does not love forbidden +fruit better than labeled pleasures?--the innocent frankness with +which Enrica confessed her love, her unbounded faith in him--all +served to heighten his passion. He gloried--he reveled in her +confidence. Never, never, he swore a thousand times, should she have +cause to repent it. In the possession of Enrica's love, all other +desires, aims, ambitions, had--up to the night of the Orsetti +ball--vanished. Up to that night, for her sake, he had grown solitary, +silent--nay, even patient and subtle. He had clean forgotten his +feud with the Marchesa Guinigi, or only remembered it as a possible +obstacle to his union with Enrica; otherwise the marchesa was +absolutely indifferent to him. Up to the night of the Orsetti ball the +whole world was indifferent to him. But now!-- + +Nobili, sitting very still, his face shaded by his hand, had finished +his cigar. While smoking it he had decided what he would say to +Enrica. Again he took up his pen. This time he dropped it in the ink, +and wrote as follows: + +AMORE: I have treasured all the love you gave me when last we met. +I know that love witnesses for me also in your own heart. Beyond all +earthly things you are dear to me. Come to me, O my Enrica--come to +me; never let us part. I must have you, you only. I must gaze upon +you hour by hour; I must hang upon that dear voice. I must feel that +angel-presence ever beside me. When will you meet me? I implore you to +answer. After our next meeting I am resolved to claim you, by force +or by free-will, to be my wife. To wait longer, O my Enrica, is +good neither for you nor for me. My love! my love! you must be +mine--mine--mine! Come to me--come quickly. Your adoring. + +"MARIO NOBILI." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. + + +Cesare Trenta is dressed with unusual care. His linen is spotless; +his white hair, as fine as silk, is carefully combed; his chin is well +shaven. He wears a glossy white hat, and carries his gold-headed cane +in his hand. Not that he condescends to use that cane as he mounts the +marble staircase of the Universo Hotel (once the Palazzo Buffero) +a little stiffly, on his way to keep his appointment with Count +Marescotti; oh, no--although the cavaliere is well past eighty, he +intends to live much longer; he reserves that cane, therefore, to +assist him in his old age. Now he does not want it. + +It is quite clear that Trenta is come on a mission of great +importance; his sleek air, and the solemnly official expression of +his plump rosy face, say so. His glassy blue eyes are without their +pleasant twinkle, and his lips, tightly drawn over his teeth, lack +their usual benignant smile. Even his fat white hand dimples itself +on the top of his cane, so tightly does he clutch it. He has learned +below that Count Marescotti lives at No. 4 on the second story; at +the door of No. 4 he raps softly. A voice from within asks, "Who is +there?" + +"I," replies Trenta, and he enters. + +The count, who is seated at a table near the window, rises. His tall +figure is enveloped in a dark dressing-gown, that folds about him like +a toga. He has all the aspect of a man roused out of deep thought; +his black hair stands straight up in disordered curls all over his +head--he had evidently been digging both his hands into it--his eyes +are wild and abstracted. Taken as he is now, unawares, that expression +of mingled sternness and sweetness in which he so much resembles +Castruccio Castracani is very striking. From the manner he fixes his +eyes upon Trenta it is clear he does not at once recognize him. The +cavaliere returns his stare with a look of blank dismay. + +"Oh, carissimo!" the count exclaims at last, his countenance changing +to its usual expression--he holds out both hands to grasp those of +the cavaliere--"how I rejoice to see you! Excuse my absence; I had +forgotten our appointment at the moment. That book"--and he points to +an open volume lying on a table covered with letters, manuscripts, and +piles of printed sheets tossed together in wild confusion--"that book +must plead my excuse; it has riveted me. The wrongs of persecuted +Italy are so eloquently pleaded! Have you read it, my dear cavaliere? +If not, allow me to present you with a copy." + +Trenta made a motion with his hand, as if putting both the book and +the subject from him with a certain disgust: he shakes his head. + +"I have not read it, and I do not wish to read it," he replies, +curtly. + +The poor cavaliere feels that this is a bad beginning; but he quickly +consoles himself--he was of a hopeful temperament, and saw life +serenely and altogether in rose-color--by remembering that the count +is habitually absent, also that he habitually uses strong language, +and that he had probably not been so absorbed by the wrongs of Italy +as he pretends. + +"I fear you have forgotten our appointment, count," recommences the +cavaliere, finding that Marescotti is silent, and that his eyes have +wandered off to the pages of the open book. + +"Not at all, not at all, my dear Trenta. On the contrary, had you not +come, I was about to send for you. I have a very important matter to +communicate to you." + +The cavaliere's face now breaks out all over into smiles. "Send for +me," he repeats to himself. "Good, good! I understand." He seats +himself with great deliberation in a large, well-stuffed arm-chair, +near the table, at which Marescotti still continues standing. He +places his cane across his knees, folds his hands together, then looks +up in the other's face. + +"Yes, yes, my dear count," he answers aloud, "we have much to say to +each other--much to say on a most interesting subject." And he gives +the count what he intends to be a very meaning glance. + +"Interesting!" exclaims the count, his whole countenance lighting +up--"enthralling, overwhelming!--a matter to me of life or death!" + +As he speaks he turns aside, and begins to stride up and down the +room, as was his wont when much moved. + +"He! he! my dear count, pray be calm." And Trenta gives a little +laugh, and feebly winks. "We hope it is a matter of _life_, not of +_death_--no--not of _death_, surely." + +"Of death," replied the count, solemnly, and his mobile eyes flash +out, and a dark frown gathers on his brow--"of death, I repeat. Do you +take me for a trifler? I stake my life on the die." + +Trenta felt considerably puzzled. Before he begins, he is anxious to +assure himself that the nature of his errand had at least distinctly +dawned upon the count's mind, if it had not (as he hoped) been fully +understood by him. Should he let Marescotti speak first; or should he, +Trenta, address him formally? In order to decide, he again scans the +count's face closely. But, after doing so, he is obliged to confess +that Marescotti is impenetrable. Now he no longer strode up and down +the room, but he has seated himself opposite the cavaliere, and again +his speaking eyes have wandered off toward the book which he has +been reading. It is evident he is mentally resuming the same train of +thought Trenta's entrance had interrupted. Trenta feels therefore that +he must begin. He has prepared himself for some transcendentalism +on the subject of marriage; but with a man who is so much in love as +Count Marescotti, and who was about to send for him and to tell him +so, there can be no great difficulty; nor can it matter much who opens +the conversation. The cavaliere takes a spotless handkerchief from his +pocket, uses it, replaces it, then coughs. + +"Count," he begins, in a tone of conscious importance, "when I +proposed this meeting, it was to make you a proposal calculated to +exercise the utmost influence over your future life, and--the life of +another," he adds, in a lower tone. "You appear to have anticipated me +by desiring to send for me. You are, of course, aware of my errand?" + +As he asks this question, there is, spite of himself, a slight tremor +in his voice, and the usual ruddiness of his cheeks pales a little. + +"How very mysterious!" exclaims the count, throwing himself back in +his chair. "You look like a benevolent conspirator, cavaliere! Surely, +my dear old friend, you are not about to change your opinions, and to +become a disciple of freedom?" + +"Change my opinions! At my age, count!--Chè, chè!"--Trenta waves his +hand impatiently. "When a man arrives at my age, he does not change +his opinions--no, count, no; it is, if you will permit me to say so, +it is yourself in whom the change is to be wrought--yourself only--" + +The count, who is still leaning back in his chair in an attitude of +polite attention, starts violently, sits straight upright, and fixes +his eyes upon Trenta. + +"What do you mean, cavaliere? After a life devoted to my country, you +cannot imagine I should change? The very idea is offensive to me." + +"No, no, my dear count, you misapprehend me," rejoins Trenta, +soothingly. (He perceived the mistake into which the word "change" +had led Count Marescotti, and dreaded exciting his too susceptible +feelings.) "It is no change of that kind I allude to; the change I +mean is in the nature of a reward for the life of sacrifice you have +led--a reward, a consolation to your fervid spirit. It is to bring +you into an atmosphere of peace, happiness, and love. To reconcile you +perhaps, as a son, erring, but repentant, with that Holy Mother Church +to which you still belong. This is the change I am come to offer you." + +As the cavaliere proceeds, the count's expressive eyes follow every +word he utters with a look of amazement. He is about to reply, but +Trenta places his finger on his lips. + +"Let me continue," he says, smiling blandly. "When I have done, you +shall answer. In one word, count, it is marriage I am come to propose +to you." + +The count suddenly rises from his seat, then he hurriedly reseats +himself. A look of pain comes into his face. + +"Permit me to proceed," urges the cavaliere, watching him anxiously. +"I presume you mean to marry?" + +Marescotti was silent. Trenta's naturally piping voice grows shriller +as he proceeds, from a certain sense of agitation. + +"As the common friend of both parties, I am come to propose a marriage +to you, Count Marescotti." + +"And who may the lady be?" asks the count, drawing back with a sudden +air of reserve. "Who is it that would consent to leave home and +friends, perhaps country, to share the lot of a fugitive patriot?" + +"Come, come, count, this will not do," answers Trenta, smiling, a +certain twinkle returning to his blue eyes. "You are a perfectly free +agent. If you are a fugitive, it is because you like change. You bear +a great name--you are rich, singularly handsome--an ardent admirer of +beauty in art and Nature. Now, ardor on one side excites ardor on the +other." + +While he is speaking, Trenta had mentally decided that Marescotti +was the most impracticable man he had ever encountered in the various +phases of his court career. + +"A fugitive," he repeats, almost with a sneer. "No, no, count, this +will not do with me." The cavaliere pauses and clears his throat. + +"You have not yet answered me," says the count, speaking low, a +certain suppressed eagerness penetrating the assumed indifference of +his manner. "Who is the lady?" + +"Who is the lady?" echoes the cavaliere. "Did you not tell me just +now you were about to send for me?" Trenta speaks fast, a flush +overspreads his cheeks. "Who is the lady?--You astonish me! Per Bacco! +There can be but one lady in question between you and me--that lady is +Enrica Guinigi." His voice drops. There is a dead silence. + +"That the marriage is suitable in all respects," Trenta continues, +reassured by the silence--"I need not tell you; else I, Cesare Trenta, +would not be here as the ambassador." + +Again the stout little cavaliere stops to take breath, under evident +agitation; then he draws himself up, and turns his face toward the +count. As Trenta proceeds, Marescotti's brow is overclouded with +thought--a haggard expression now spreads over his features. His eyes +are turned downward on the floor, else the cavaliere might have +seen that their brilliancy is dimmed by rising tears. With his elbow +resting on the arm of the chair on which he sits, the count passes his +other hand from time to time slowly to and fro across his forehead, +pushing back the disordered curls that fall upon it. + +"To restore and to continue an illustrious race--to unite yourself +with a lovely girl just bursting into womanhood." Trenta's voice +quivers as he says this. "Ah! lovely indeed, in mind as well as body," +he adds, half aloud. "This is a privilege you, Count Marescotti, can +appreciate above all other men. That you do appreciate it you have +already made evident. There is no need for me to speak about Enrica +herself; you have already judged her. You have, before my eyes, +approached her with the looks and the language of passionate +admiration. It is not given to all men to be so fascinating. I have +seen it with delight. I love her"--his voice broke and shook with +emotion--"I love her as if she were my own child." + +All the enthusiasm of which the old chamberlain is capable passes into +his face as he speaks of Enrica. At that moment he really did look as +young as he was continually telling every one that he felt. + +"Count Marescotti," he continues, a solemn tone in his voice as he +slowly pronounces the words, raising his head at the same time, and +gazing fixedly into the other's face--Count Marescotti, "I am come +here to propose a marriage between you and Enrica Guinigi. The +marchesa empowers me to say that she constitutes Enrica her sole +heiress, not only of the great Guinigi name, but of the remaining +Guinigi palace, with the portrait of our Castruccio, the heirlooms, +the castle of Corellia, and lands of--" + +"Stop, stop, my dear Trenta!" cries the count, holding up both +his hands in remonstrance; "you overwhelm me. I require no such +inducements; they horrify me. Enrica Guinigi is sufficient in +herself--so bright a jewel requires no golden settings." + +At these words the cavaliere beams all over. He rubs his fat hands +together, then gently claps them. + +"Bravo!--bravo, count! I see you appreciate her. Per Dio! you make me +feel young again! I never was so happy in my life! I should like +to dance! I will dance by-and-by at the wedding. We will open the +state-rooms. There is not a grander suite in all Italy. It is superb. +I will dance a quadrille with the marchesa. Bagatella! I shall insist +on it. I will execute a solo in the figure of the _pastorelle_. I will +show Baldassare and all the young men the finish of the old style. +People did steps then--they did not jump like wild horses--nor knock +each other down. No--then dancing was practised as a fine art." + +Suddenly the brisk old cavaliere stops. The expression of Marescotti's +large, earnest eyes, fixed on him wonderingly, recalls him to himself. + +"Excuse me, my dear friend; when you are my age, you will better +understand an old man's feelings. We are losing time. Now get your +hat, and come with me at once to Casa Guinigi; the marchesa expects +you. We will settle the day of the betrothal.--My sweet Enrica, how I +long to see you!" + +While he is speaking Trenta rises and strikes his cane on the ground +with a triumphant air; then he holds out both his hands toward the +count. + +"Shake hands with me, my dear Marescotti. I congratulate you--with my +whole soul I congratulate you! She will be your salvation, the dear, +blue-eyed little angel?" + +In the tumult of his excitement Trenta had taken every thing for +granted. His thoughts had flown off to Enrica. His benevolent +heart throbbed with joy at the thought of her emancipation from +the thralldom of her home. A vision of the dark-haired, pale-faced +Marescotti, and the little blond head, with its shower of golden +curls, kneeling together before the altar in the sunshine, danced +before his eyes. Marescotti would become a, Christian--a firm pillar +of the Church; he would rear up children who would worship God and the +Holy Father; he would restore the glory of the Guinigi! + +From this roseate dream the poor cavaliere was abruptly roused. His +outstretched hand had not been taken by Marescotti. It dropped to +his side. Trenta looked up sharply. His countenance suddenly fell; a +purple flush covered it from chin to forehead, penetrating even the +very roots of his snowy hair. His cane dropped with a loud thud, and +rolled away along the uncarpeted floor. He thrust both his hands into +his pockets, and stood motionless, with his eyes wide open, like a man +stunned. + +"Dio buono!--Dio buono!" he muttered, "the man is mad!--the man is +mad!" Then, after a few minutes of absolute silence, he asked, in a +husky voice, "Marescotti, what does this mean?" + +The count had turned away toward the window. At the sound of the +cavaliere's husky voice, he moved and faced him. In the space of a +few moments he had greatly changed. Suddenly he had grown worn and +weary-looking. His eyes were sunk into his head; dark circles had +formed round them. His bloodless cheeks, transparent with the pallor +of perfect health, were blanched; the corners of his mouth worked +convulsively. + +"Does the lady--does Enrica Guinigi know of this proposal?" he asked, +in a voice so sad that the cavaliere's indignation against him cooled +considerably. + +"Good God!" exclaimed Trenta, "such a question is an insult to me and +to my errand. Can you imagine that I, all my life chamberlain to his +highness the Duke of Lucca, am capable of compromising a lady?" + +"Thank God!" ejaculated the count, emphatically, clasping his hands +together, and raising his eyes--"thank God! Forgive me for asking." +His whole voice and manner had changed as rapidly as his aspect. There +was a sense of suffering, a quiet resignation about him, so utterly +unlike his usual excitable manner that Trenta was puzzled beyond +expression--so puzzled, indeed, that he was speechless. Besides, a +veteran in etiquette, he felt that it was to himself an explanation +was due. Marescotti had been about to send for him. Now he was there, +Marescotti had heard his proposal, it was for Marescotti to answer. + +That the count felt this also was apparent. There was something solemn +in his manner as he turned away from the window and slowly advanced +toward the cavaliere. Trenta was still standing immovable on the same +spot where he had muttered in the first moment of amazement, "He is +mad!" + +"My dear old friend," said the count, speaking with evident effort in +a dull, sad voice, "there is some mistake. It was not to speak about +any lady that I was about to send for you." + +"Not about a lady!" cried Trenta, aghast. "Mercy of God!--" + +"Let that pass," interrupted the count, waving his hand. "You have +asked me for an explanation--an explanation you shall have." He sighed +deeply, then proceeded--the cavaliere following every word he uttered +with open mouth and wildly-staring eyes: "Of the lady I can say no +more than that, on my honor as a gentleman, to me she approaches +nearer the divine than any woman I have ever seen--nay, than any woman +I have ever dreamed of." + +A flash of fire lit up the depths of the count's dark eyes, and there +was a tone of melting tenderness in his rich voice as he spoke of +Enrica. Then he relapsed into his former weary manner--the manner of a +man pronouncing his own death-warrant. + +"Of the unspeakable honor you have done me, as has also the excellent +Marchesa Guinigi--it does not become me to speak. Believe me, I feel +it profoundly." And the count laid his hand upon his heart and bent +his grand head. Trenta, with formal politeness, returned the silent +salute. + +"But"--and here the count's voice faltered, and there was a dimness +in his eyes, round which the black circles had deepened--"but it is an +honor I must decline." + +Trenta, still rooted to the same spot, listened to each word that fell +from the count's lips with a look of anguish. + +"Sit down, cavaliere--sit down," continued Marescotti, seeing his +distress. He put his arm round Trenta's burly, well-filled figure, +and drew him down gently into the depths of the arm-chair. "Listen, +cavaliere--listen to what I have to say before you altogether condemn +me. The sacrifice I am making costs me more than I can express. You +hold before my eyes what is to me more precious than life; you tempt +me with what every sense within me--heart, soul, manliness--urges me +to clutch; yet I dare not accept it." + +He paused; so profound a sigh escaped him that it almost formed itself +into a groan. + +"I don't understand all this," said Trenta, reddening with +indignation. He had been by degrees collecting his scattered senses. +"I don't understand it at all. You have, count, placed me in a most +awkward position; I feel it very much. You speak of a mistake--a +misapprehension. I beg to say there has been none on my part; I am +not in the habit of making mistakes."--It will be seen that the +cavaliere's temper was rising with the sense of the intolerable injury +Count Marescotti was inflicting on himself and all concerned.--"I have +undertaken a very serious responsibility; I have failed, you tell me. +What am I to say to the marchesa?" + +His shrill voice rose into an angry cry. Altogether, it was more than +he could bear. For a moment, the injury to Enrica was forgotten in his +own personal sense of wrong. It was too galling to fail in an official +embassy Trenta, who always acted upon mature reflection, abhorred +failure. + +"Tell her," answered the count, raising his voice, his eyes kindling +as he spoke--"tell her I am here in Lucca on a sacred mission. I +confide it to her honor. A man sworn to a mission cannot marry. As in +the kingdom of heaven they neither marry nor are given in marriage, +so I, the anointed priest of the people, dare not marry; it would be +sacrilege." His powerful voice rang through the room; he raised his +hands aloft, as if invoking some unseen power to whom he belonged. +"When you, cavaliere, entered this room, I was about to confide my +position to you. I am at Lucca--Lucca, once the foster-mother of +progress, and, I pray Heaven, to become so again!--I am at Lucca to +found a mission of freedom." A sudden gesture told him how much Trenta +was taken aback at this announcement. "We differ in our opinions as +widely as the poles," continued the count, warming to his subject, +"but you are my old friend--I felt you would not betray me. Now, after +what has passed, as a man of honor, I am bound to confide in you. +O Italy! my country!" exclaimed the count, clasping his hands, and +throwing back his head in a frenzy of enthusiasm, "what sacrifice is +too great for thee? Youth, hope, love--nay, life itself--all--all I +devote to thee!" + +As he was speaking, a ray of sunlight penetrated through the closed +windows. It struck like a fiery arrow across the darkened room, and +fell full upon the count's upturned face, lighting up every line of +his noble countenance. There was a solemn passion in his eyes, a rapt +fervor in his gaze, that silenced even the justly-irritated Trenta. + +Nevertheless the cavaliere was not a man to be put off by mere words, +however imposing they might be. He returned, therefore, to the charge +perseveringly. + +"You speak of a mission, Count Marescotti; what is the nature of this +mission? Nothing political, I hope?" + +He stopped abruptly. The count's eyelids dropped over his eyes as he +met Trenta's inquiring glance. Then he bowed his head in acquiescence. + +"Another revolution may do much for Italy," he answered, in a low +tone. + +"For the love of God," ejaculated Trenta, stung to the quick by what +he looked upon at that particular moment as in itself an aggravation +of his wrongs, "don't remind me of your politics, or I shall instantly +leave the room. Domine Dio! it is too much. You have just escaped by +the veriest good luck (good luck, by-the-way, you did not in the least +deserve) a life-long imprisonment at Rome. You had a mission there, +too, I believe." + +This was spoken in as bitter a sneer as the cavaliere's kindly nature +permitted. + +"Now pray be satisfied. If you and I are not to part this very +instant, don't let me realize you as the 'Red count.' That is a +character I cannot tolerate." + +Trenta, so seldom roused to anger, shook all over with rage. "I +believe sincerely that it is such so-called patriots as yourself, with +their devilish missions, that will ruin us all." + +"It is because you are ignorant of the grandeur of our cause, it is +because you do not understand our principles, that you misjudge us," +responded the count, raising his eyes upon Trenta, and speaking with +a lofty disregard of his hot words. "Permit me to unfold to you +something of our philosophy, a philosophy which will resuscitate our +country, and place her again in her ancient position, as intellectual +monitress of Europe. You must not, cavaliere, judge either of my +mission or of my creed by the yelping of the miserable curs that +dog the heels of all great enterprises. There is the penetralia, the +esoteric belief, in all great systems of national belief." + +The count spoke with emphasis, yet in grave and measured accents; but +his lustrous eyes, and the wild confusion of those black locks, that +waved, as it were, sympathetic to his humor, showed that his mind was +engrossed with thoughts of overwhelming interest. + +The cavaliere, after his last indignant outburst, had subsided into +the depths of the arm-chair in which Marescotti had placed him; it was +so large as almost to swallow up the whole of his stout little person. +With his hands joined, his dimpled fingers interlaced and pointing +upward, he patiently awaited what the count might say. He felt +painfully conscious that he had failed in his errand. This irritated +him exceedingly. He had not entered that room--No. 4, at the Universo +Hotel--in order to listen to the elaboration of Count Marescotti's +mission, but in order to set certain marriage-bells ringing. These +marriage-bells were, it seemed, to be forever mute. Still, having +demanded an explanation of what he conceived to be the count's most +incomprehensible conduct, he was bound, he felt, in common courtesy, +to listen to all he had to say. + +Now Trenta never in his life was wanting in the very flower of +courtesy; he would much sooner have shot himself than be guilty of an +ill-bred word. So, under protest, therefore--a protest more distinctly +written in the general puckering up of his round, plump face, and a +certain sulky swell about his usually smiling mouth--it was clear he +meant to listen, cost him what it might. Besides, when he had heard +what the count had to say, it was clearly his duty to reason with him. +Who could tell that he might not yield to such a process? He avowed +that he was deeply enamored of Enrica--a man in love is already half +vanquished. Why should Marescotti throw away his chance of happiness +for a phantasy--a mere dream? There was no real obstacle. He +was versatile and visionary, but the very soul of honor. How, if +he--Trenta--could bring Marescotti to see how much it would be to +Enrica's advantage that he should transplant her from a dreary home, +to become a wife beside him? + +Decidedly it was still possible that he, Cesare Trenta, who had +arranged satisfactorily so many most difficult royal complications, +might yet bring Marescotti to reason. Who could tell that he might not +yet be spared the humiliation of returning to impart his failure to +the marchesa? A return, be it said, the good Trenta dreaded not a +little, remembering the characteristics of his dear friend, and the +responsibility of success which he had so confidently taken upon +himself before he started. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A NEW PHILOSOPHY. + + +There had been an interval of silence, during which the count paced up +and down the spacious room meditatively, each step sounding distinctly +on the stone floor. The rugged look of conscious power upon his +face, the far-way glance in his sombre eyes, showed that his mind was +working upon what he was about to say. Presently he ceased to walk, +reseated himself opposite the cavaliere, and fixed a half-absent gaze +upon him. + +Trenta, who would cheerfully have undergone any amount of suffering +rather than listen to the abominations he felt were coming, sat with +half-closed eyes, gathered into the corner of the arm-chair, the very +picture of patient martyrdom. + +The count contemplated him for a moment. As he did so an expression, +half cynical, half melancholy, passed over his countenance, and a +faint smile lurked about the corners of his mouth. Then in a voice +so full and sweet that the ear eagerly drank in the sound, like the +harmony of a cadence, he began: + +"The Roman Catholic Church," he said, "styles itself divinely +constituted. It claims to be supreme arbiter in religion and morals; +supreme even in measuring intellectual progress; absolute in its +jurisdiction over the state, and solely responsible to itself as to +what the limit of that jurisdiction shall be. It calls itself supreme +and absolute, because infallible--infallible because divine. Thus the +vicious circle is complete. Now entire obedience necessarily comes +into collision with every species of freedom--nay, it is in +itself antagonistic to freedom--freedom of thought, freedom of +action--specially antagonistic to national freedom." + +"The supremacy of the pope (the Holy Father)," put in Trenta, +meekly; he crossed himself several times in rapid succession, looking +afterward as if it had been a great consolation to him. + +"The supremacy of the pope," repeated the count, firmly, the shadow +of a smile parting his lips, "is eternal. It is based as firmly in the +next world as it is in this. It constitutes a condition of complete +tyranny both in time and in eternity. Now I," and the count's +voice rose, and his eyes glowed, "I--both in my public and private +capacity--(call me Antichrist if you please)." A visible shudder +passed over the poor cavaliere; his eyes closed altogether, and his +lips moved. (He was repeating an Ave Maria Sanctissima). "I abhor, I +renounce this slavery!--I rebel against it!--I will have none of it. +Who shall control the immortality of thought?--a Pius, a Gregory? +Ignorant dreamers, perjured priests!--never!" + +As he spoke, the count raised his right arm, and circled it in the +air. In imagination he was waving the flag of liberty over a prostrate +world. + +"But, alas! this slavery is riveted by the grasp of centuries; it +requires measures as firm and uncompromising as its own to dislodge +it. Now the pope "--Trenta did not this time attempt to correct +Marescotti--"the pope is theoretically of no nation, but in reality +he is of all nations; and he is surrounded by a court of celibate +priests, also without nation. Observe, cavaliere--this absolute +dominion is attained by celibates only--men with no family ties--no +household influences." (This was spoken, as it were, _en parenthèse_, +as a comment on the earlier portion of the conversation that had taken +place between them.) "Each of these celibate priests is the pope's +courtier--his courtier and his slave; his slave because he is subject +to a higher law than the law of his own conscience, and the law of his +own country. Without home or family, nationality or worldly interest, +the priest is a living machine, to be used in whatever direction his +tyrant dictates. Every priest, therefore, be he cardinal or deacon, +moves and acts the slave of an abstract idea; an idea incompatible +with patriotism, humanity, or freedom." + +An audible and deep groan escaped from the suffering cavaliere as the +count's voice ceased. + +"Now, Cavaliere Trenta, mark the application." As the count proceeded +with his argument, his dark eyes, lit up with the enthusiasm of +his own oratory, riveted themselves on the arm-chair. (It could not +properly be said that his eyes riveted themselves on Trenta, for +he was stooping down, his face covered with his hands, altogether +insensible to any possible appeal that might be addressed to him.) "I, +Manfredi Marescotti, consecrated priest of the people"--and the count +drew himself up to the full height of his lofty figure--"I am as +devoted to my cause--God is my witness"--and he raised his right +hand as though to seal a solemn pledge of truth--"as that consecrated +renegade, the pope! My followers--and their name is legion--believe in +me as implicitly as do the tonsured dastards of the Vatican." + +Another ill-suppressed groan escaped from Trenta, and for a moment +interrupted the count's oration. The miserable cavaliere! He had, +indeed, invoked an explanation, and, cost him what it might, he must +abide it. But he began to think that the explanation had gone too +far. He was sitting there listening to blasphemies. He was actually +imperiling his own soul. He was horrified as he reflected that he +might not obtain absolution when he confessed the awful language +which was addressed to him. Such a risk was really greater than his +submission to etiquette exacted. There were bounds even to that, the +aged chamberlain told himself. + +Gracious heavens!--for him, an unquestioning papalino, a sincere +believer in papal infallibility and the temporal power--to hear the +Holy Father called a renegade, and his faithful servants stigmatized +as dastards! It was monstrous! + +He secretly resolved that, once escaped from No. 4 at the Universo +Hotel--and he wondered that a thunderbolt had not already struck the +count dead where he stood--he would never allow himself to have any +further intercourse whatever with him. + +"I have been elected," continued the count, speaking in the same +emphatic manner, and in the same distinct and harmonious voice, +utterly careless or unobservant of the conflict of feelings under +which the cavaliere was struggling--"head pope, if you please, +cavaliere, so to call me."--("God forbid!" muttered Trenta.)--"It +makes my analogy the clearer--I have been elected by thousands of +devoted followers. But my followers are not slaves, nor am I a tyrant. +I have accepted the glorious title of Priest of the People, and +nothing--_nothing_" the count repeated, vehemently, "shall tempt me +from my duty. I am here at Lucca to establish a mission--to plant +in this fertile soil the sacred banner of freedom--red as the first +streaks of light that lace the eastern heavens; red as the life-blood +from which we draw our being. I am here, under the protection of this +glorious banner, to combat the tyranny upon which the church and the +throne are based. Instead of the fetters of the past, binding mankind +in loathsome trammels of ignorance--instead of the darkness that +broods over a subjugated world--of terrors that rend agonized souls +with horrible tortures--I bring peace, freedom, light, progress. To +the base ideal of perpetual tyranny--both here and hereafter--I oppose +the pure ideal of absolute freedom--freedom to each separate soul to +work out for itself its own innate convictions--freedom to form its +independent destiny. Freedom in state, freedom in church, freedom in +religion, literature, commerce, government--freedom as boundless as +the sunshine that fructifies the teeming earth! Freedom of thought +necessitates freedom in government. As the soul wings itself toward +the light of simple truth, so should the body politic aspire to +perfect freedom. This can only be found in a pure republic; a republic +where all men are equal--where each man lives for the other in living +for himself--where brother cleaves to brother as his own flesh--family +is knit to family--one, yet many--one, yet of all nations!" + +"Communism, in fact!" burst forth the cavaliere. His piping voice, +now hoarse with rage, quivered. "You are here to form a communistic +association! God help us!" + +"I care not what you call it," cried the count, with a rising +passion. "My faith, my hope, is the ideal of freedom as opposed to the +abstraction of hierarchical superstition and monarchic tyranny. What +are popes, kings, princes, and potentates, to me who deem all men +equal? It is by a republic alone that we can regenerate our beloved, +our unfortunate Italy, now tossed between a debauched monarch--a +traitor, who yielded Savoy--an effete Parliament--a pack of lawyers +who represent nothing but their own interests, and a pope--the +recreant of Gaeta! The sooner our ideas are circulated, the sooner +they will permeate among the masses. Already the harvest has been +great elsewhere. I am here to sow, to reap, and to gather. For this +end--mark me, cavaliere, I entreat you--I am here, for none other." + +Here the triumphant patriot became suddenly embarrassed. He stopped, +hesitated, stopped again, took breath, and sighed; then turned full +upon Trenta, in order to obtain some response to the appeal he had +addressed to him. But again Trenta, sullenly silent, had buried +himself in the depths of the arm-chair, and was, so to say, invisible. + +"For this end" (a mournful cadence came into the count's voice when he +at length proceeded) "I am ready to sacrifice my life. My life!--what +is that? I am ready to sacrifice my love--ay, my love--the love of the +only woman who fulfills the longings of my poetic soul." + +The count ceased speaking. The fair Enrica, with her tender smile, +and patient, chastened loveliness--Enrica, as he had imagined her, the +type of the young Madonna, was before him. No, Enrica could never be +his; no child of his would ever be encircled by those soft, womanly +arms! With a strong effort to shake off the feeling which so deeply +moved him, the count continued: + +"In the boundless realms of ideal philosophy"--his noble features were +at this moment lit up into the living image of that hero he so much +resembled--"man grapples hand to hand with the unseen. There are no +limits to his glorious aspirations. He is as God himself. He, too, +becomes a Creator; and a new and purer world forms beneath his hand." + +"Have you done?" asked Trenta, looking up out of the arm-chair. He was +so thoroughly overcome, so subdued, he could have wept. From the very +commencement of the count's explanation, he had felt that it was not +given to him to combat his opinions. If he could, he was not sure that +he would have ventured to do so. "Let pitch alone," says the proverb. + +Now Trenta, of a most cleanly nature, morally and physically--abhorred +pitch, especially such pitch as this. He had long looked upon Count +Marescotti as an atheist, a visionary--but he had never conceived +him capable of establishing an organized system of rebellion and +communism. At Lucca, too! It was horrible! By some means such +an incendiary must be got rid of. Next to the foul Fiend himself +established in the city, he could conceive nothing more awful! It was +a Providence that Marescotti could not marry Enrica! He should tell +the marchesa so. Such sophistry might have perverted Enrica also. It +was more than probable that, instead of reforming him, she might have +fallen a victim to his wickedness. This reflection was infinitely +comforting to the much-enduring cavaliere. It lightened also much of +his apprehension in approaching the marchesa, as the bearer of the +count's refusal. + + +To Trenta's question as to "whether he had done," Marescotti had +promptly replied with easy courtesy, "Certainly, if you desire it. +But, my dear cavaliere," he went on to say, speaking in his usual +manner, "you will now understand why, cost me what it may, I cannot +marry. Never, never, I confess, have I been so fiercely tempted! But +the pang is past!" And he swept his hand over his brow. "Marriage with +me is impossible. You will understand this." + +"Yes, yes, I quite agree with you, count," put in Trenta--sideways, as +it were. He was rejoiced to find he had any common standing-point left +with Marescotti. "I agree with you--marriage is quite impossible. +I hope, too," he added, recovering himself a little, with a faint +twinkle in his eye, "you will find your mission at Lucca equally +impossible. San Riccardo grant it!" And the old man crossed himself, +and secretly fingered an image of the Virgin he wore about his neck. + +"Putting aside the sacred office with which I am invested," resumed +the count, without noticing Trenta's observation, "no wife could +sympathize with me. It would be a case of Byron over again. What agony +it would be to me to see the exquisite Enrica unable to understand +me! A poet, a mystic, I am only fit to live alone. My path"--and +a far-away look came into his eyes--"my path lies alone upon the +mountains--alone! alone!" he added sorrowfully, and a tear trembled on +his eyelid. + +"Then why, may I ask you," retorted Trenta, with energy, raising +himself upright in the arm-chair, "why did you mislead me by such +passionate language to Enrica? Recall the Guinigi Tower, your +attitude--your glances--I must say, Count Marescotti, I consider your +conduct unpardonable--quite unpardonable." + +Trenta's face and forehead were scarlet, his steely blue eyes were +rounded to their utmost width, and, as far as such mild eyes could, +they glared at the count. + +"You have entirely misled me. As to your political opinions, I have, +thank God, nothing to do with them; that is your affair. But in this +matter of Enrica you have unjustifiably misled me. I shall not forgive +you in a hurry, I can tell you." There was a rustling of anger all +over the cavaliere, as the leaves of the forest-trees rustle before +the breath of the coming tempest. + +"My admiration for women," replied the count, "has hitherto been +purely aesthetic. You, cavaliere, cannot understand the discrepancies +of an artistic nature. Women have been to me heretofore as beautiful +abstractions. I have adored them as I adore the works of the great +masters. I would as soon have thought of plucking a virgin from the +canvas--a Venus from her pedestal, as of appropriating one of them. +Enrica Guinigi"--there was a tender inflection in Count Marescotti's +voice whenever he named her, an involuntary bending of the head that +was infinitely touching--"Enrica Guinigi is an exception. I could have +loved her--ah! she is worthy of all love! Her soul is as rare as +her person. I read in the depths of her plaintive eyes the trust of +a child and the fortitude of a heroine. If I dared to give these +thoughts utterance, it was because I knew _she loved another!_" + +"Loved another?" screamed Trenta, losing all self-control and +tottering to his feet. "Loved another?" he repeated, every feature +working convulsively. "What do you mean?" + +Marescotti rose also. Was it possible that Trenta could be in +ignorance, he asked himself, hurriedly, as he stared at the aged +chamberlain, trembling from head to foot. + +"Loved another? You are mad, Count Marescotti, I always said so--mad! +mad!" Trenta gasped for breath. He was hardly able to articulate. + +The count bowed to him ironically. + +"Calm yourself, cavaliere," he said, haughtily, measuring from head +to foot the plump little cavaliere, who stood before him literally +panting with rage. "There is no need for violence. You and the +marchesa must have known of this. I shuddered, when I thought that +Enrica might have been driven into acquiescence with your proposal +against her will. I love her too much to have permitted it." + +The cavaliere could with difficulty bring himself to allow Marescotti +to finish. He was too furious to take in the full sense of what he +said. His throat was parched. + +"You must answer to me for this!" Trenta could barely articulate. +His voice was dry and hoarse. "You must--you shall. You have refused +Enrica, now you insult her. I demand--I demand satisfaction. No +excuse--no excuse!" he shouted. And seeing that Marescotti drew back +toward the window, the cavaliere pressed closer upon him, stamped +his foot upon the floor, and raised his clinched fist as near to the +count's face as his height permitted. + +Had the official sword hung at Trenta's side, he would undoubtedly +have drawn it at that moment and attacked him. In the defense of +Enrica he forgot his age--he forgot every thing. His very voice had +changed into a manly barytone. In the absence of his sword, Trenta +was evidently about to strike Marescotti. As he advanced, the other +retreated. + +A hot flush overspread the count's face for an instant, then it faded +out, and grew pale and rigid. He remembered the cavaliere's great age, +and checked himself. To avoid him, the count retreated to the farthest +limit of the room, hastily seized a chair, and barricaded himself +behind it. "I will not fight you, Cavaliere Trenta," he answered, +speaking with calmness. + +"Ah, coward!" screamed Trenta, "would you dishonor me?" + +"Cavaliere Trenta, this is folly," said the count, crossing his arms +on his breast. "Strike me if you please," he added, seeing that Trenta +still threatened him. "Strike me; I shall not return it. On my honor +as a gentleman, what I have said is true. Had you, cavaliere, been +a younger man, you must have heard it in the city, at the club, the +theatre; it is known everywhere." + +"What is known?" asked Trenta, hoarsely, standing suddenly motionless, +the flush of rage dying out of his countenance, and a look of helpless +suffering taking its place. + +"That Count Nobili loves Enrica Guinigi," answered Marescotti, +abruptly. + +Like a shot Baldassare's words rose to Trenta's remembrance. The poor +old chamberlain turned very white. He quivered like a leaf, and clung +to the table for support. + +"Pardon me, oh! pardon me a thousand times, if I have pained you," +exclaimed the count; he left the place where he was standing, threw +his arms round Trenta, and placed him with careful tenderness on a +seat. His generous heart upbraided him bitterly for having allowed +himself for an instant to be heated by the cavaliere's reproaches. +"How could I possibly imagine you did not know all this?" he asked, in +the gentlest voice. + +Trenta groaned. + +"Take me home, take me home," he murmured, faintly. "Gran Dio! the +marchesa! the marchesa!" He clasped his hands, then let them fall upon +his knees. + +"But what real obstacle can there be to a marriage with Count Nobili?" + +"I cannot speak," answered the cavaliere, almost inaudibly, trying to +rise. "Every obstacle." And he sank back helplessly on the chair. + +Count Marescotti took a silver flask from a drawer, and offered him a +cordial. Trenta swallowed it with the submissiveness of a child. The +count picked up his cane, and placed it in his hand. The cavaliere +mechanically grasped it, rose, and moved feebly toward the door. + +"Let me go," he said, faintly, addressing Marescotti, who urged him to +remain. "Let me go. I must inform the marchesa, I must see Enrica. Ah! +if you knew all!" he whispered, looking piteously at the count. "My +poor Enrica!--my pretty lamb! Who can have led her astray? How can it +have happened? I must go--go at once. I am better now. Yes--give me +your arm, count, I am a little weak. I thank you--it supports me." + +The door of No. 4 was at last opened. The cavaliere descended the +stairs very slowly, supported by Marescotti, whose looks expressed the +deepest compassion. A _fiacre_ was called from the piazza. + +"The Palazzo Trenta," said Count Marescotti to the driver, handing in +the cavaliere. + +"No, no," he faintly interrupted, "not there. To Casa Guinigi. I must +instantly see the marchesa," whispered Trenta in the count's ear. + +The _fiacre_ containing the unhappy chamberlain drove from the door, +and plunged into a dark street toward the cathedral. + +Count Marescotti stood for some minutes in the doorway, gazing after +it. The full blaze of a hot September sun played round his uncovered +head, lighting it up as with a glory. Then he turned, and, slowly +reascending the stairs to No. 4, opened his door, and locked it behind +him. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE MARCHESA'S PASSION. + + +The Marchesa Guinigi dined early. She had just finished when a knock +at the door of her squalid sitting-room on the second story, with the +pea-green walls and shabby furniture, aroused her from what was +the nearest approach to a nap in which she ever indulged. In direct +opposition to Italian habits, she maintained that sleeping in the day +was not only lazy, but pernicious to health. As the marchesa did not +permit herself to be lulled by the morphitic influences of those long, +dreary days of an Italian summer, which must perforce be passed +in closed and darkened chambers, and in a stifling atmosphere, she +resolutely set her face against any one in her palace enjoying this +national luxury. + +At the hottest moment of the twenty-four hours, and in the dog-days, +when the rays of a scalding sun pour down upon roof and wall and +tower like molten lead, searching out each crack and cranny with cruel +persistence, the marchesa was wont stealthily to descend into the +very bowels, as it were, of that great body corporate, the Guinigi +Palace--to see with her own eyes if her orders were obeyed. With hard +words, and threats of instant dismissal, she aroused her sleeping +household. No refuge could hide an offender--no hole, however dark, +could conceal so much as a kitchen-boy. + +The marchesa's eye penetrated everywhere. From garret to cellar she +knew the dimensions of every cupboard--the capacity of each nook--the +measure of the very walls. Woe to the unlucky sleeper! his slumbers +from that hour were numbered; she watched him as if he had committed a +crime. + +When the marchesa, as I have said, was aroused by a knock, she sat up +stiffly, and rubbed her eyes before she would say, "Enter." When she +spoke the word, the door slowly opened, and Cavaliere Trenta +stood before her. Never had he presented himself in such an abject +condition; he was panting for breath; he leaned heavily on his +gold-headed cane; his snowy hair hung in disorder about his forehead, +deep wrinkles had gathered on his face; his eyes were sunk in their +sockets, and his white lips twitched nervously, showing his teeth. + +"Cristo!" exclaimed the marchesa, fixing her keen eyes upon him, "you +are going to have a fit!" + +Trenta shook his head slowly. + +The marchesa pulled a chair to her side. The cavaliere sank into it +with a sigh of exhaustion, put his hand into his pocket, drew out his +handkerchief, placed it before his eyes, and sobbed aloud. + +"Trenta--Cesarino!"--and the marchesa rose, laid her long, white +fingers on his shoulder--it was a cruel hand, spite of its symmetry +and aristocratic whiteness--"what does this mean? Speak, speak! I hate +mystification. I order you to speak!" she added, imperiously. "Have +you seen Count Marescotti?" + +Trenta nodded. + +"What does he say? Is the marriage arranged?" + +Trenta shook his head. If his life had depended upon it he could not +have uttered a single word at that moment. His sobs choked him. Tears +ran down his aged cheeks, moistening the wrinkles and furrows now so +apparent. He was in such a piteous condition that even the marchesa +was softened as she looked at him. + +"If all this is because the marriage with Count Marescotti has failed, +you are a fool, Trenta! a fool, do you hear?" And she leaned over him, +tightened her hand upon his shoulder, and actually shook him. + +Trenta submitted passively. + +"On the whole, I am very glad of it. Do you hear? You talked me over, +Cesarino; I have repented it ever since. Count Marescotti is not the +man I should have selected for raising up heirs to the Guinigi. Now +don't irritate me," she continued, with a disdainful glance at the +cavaliere. "Have done with this folly. Do you hear?" + +"Enrica, Enrica!" groaned Trenta, who, always accustomed to obey +her, began wiping his eyes--they would, however, keep overflowing--"O +marchesa! how can I tell you?" + +"Tell me what?" demanded the marchesa, sternly. + +Her breath came short and quick, her thin face grew set and rigid. +Like a veteran war-horse, she scented the battle from afar! + +"Ah! if you only knew all!" And a great spasm passed over the +cavaliere's frame. "You must prepare yourself for the worst." + +The marchesa laughed--a short, contemptuous laugh--and shrugged her +shoulders. + +"Enrica, Enrica--what can she do?--a child! She cannot compromise me, +or my name." + +"Enrica has compromised both," cried Trenta, roused at last from +his paroxysm of grief. "Enrica has more than compromised it; she +has compromised all the Guinigi that ever lived--you, the palace, +herself--every one. Enrica has a lover!" The marchesa bounded from her +chair; her face turned livid in the waning light. + +"Who told you this?" she asked, in a strange, hollow voice, without +turning her eyes or moving a muscle of her face. + +"Count Marescotti," answered Trenta, meekly. + +He positively cowered beneath the pent-up wrath of the marchesa. + +"Who is the man?" + +"Nobili." + +"What!--Count Nobili?" + +"Yes, Count Nobili." + +With a great effort she commanded herself, and continued interrogating +Trenta. + +"How did Marescotti hear it?" + +"From common report. It is known all over Lucca." + +"Was this the reason that Count Marescotti declined to marry my +niece?" + +The marchesa spoke in the same strange tone, but she fixed her eyes +savagely on Trenta, so as to be able to convince herself how far he +might dare to equivocate. + +"That was a principal reason," replied the cavaliere, in a faltering +voice; "but there were others." + +"What are the others to me? The dishonor of my niece is sufficient." + +There was a desperate composure about the marchesa, more terrible than +passion. + +"Her dishonor! God and all the saints forbid!" retorted Trenta, +clasping his hands. "Marescotti did not speak of dishonor." + +"But I speak of dishonor!" shrieked the marchesa, and the pent-up +rage within her flashed out over her face like a tongue of fire. +"Dishonor!--the vilest, basest dishonor! What do I care "--and she +stamped her foot loudly on the brick floor--"what do I care what +Nobili has done to her? By that one fact of loving him she has soiled +this sacred roof." The marchesa's eyes wandered wildly round the room. +"She has soiled the name I bear. I will cast her forth into the street +to beg--to starve!" + +And as the words fell from her lips she stretched out her long arm and +bony finger as in a withering curse. + +"But, ha! ha!"--and her terrible voice echoed through the empty +room--"I forgot. Count Nobili loves her; he will keep her--in luxury, +too--and in a Guinigi palace!" She hissed out these last words. "She +has learned her way there already. Let her go--go instantly," the +marchesa's hand was on the bell. "Let her go, the soft-voiced viper!" + +The transport of fury which possessed the marchesa had had the effect +of completely recalling Trenta to himself. For his great age, Trenta +possessed extraordinary recuperative powers, both of body and mind. +Not only had he so far recovered while the marchesa had been speaking +as to arrange his hair and his features, and to smoothe the creases +of his official coat into something of their habitual punctilious +neatness, but he had had time to reflect. Unless he could turn +the marchesa from her dreadful purpose, Enrica (still under all +circumstances his beloved child) would infallibly be turned into the +street by her remorseless aunt. + +At the moment that the marchesa had laid her hand upon the bell, +Trenta darted forward and tore it from her hand. + +"For the love of the Virgin, pause before you commit so horrible an +act!" + +So sudden had been his movement, so unwonted his energy, that the +marchesa was checked in the very climax of her passion. + +"If you have no mercy on a child that you have reared at your side," +exclaimed Trenta, laying his hand on hers, "spare yourself, your name, +your house, such a scandal! Is it for this that you cherish the name +of the great Paolo Guinigi, whose acts were acts of clemency and +wisdom? Is it for this you honor the memory of Castruccio Castracani, +who was called the 'father of the people?' Bethink you, marchesa, that +they lived under this very roof. You dare not--no, not even you--dare +not tarnish their memories! Call Enrica here. It is the barest justice +that the accused should be heard. Ask her what she has done? Ask her +what has passed? How she has met Count Nobili? Until an hour ago I +could have sworn she did not even know him." + +"Ay, ay," burst out the marchesa, "so could I. How did she come to +know him?" + +"That is precisely what we must learn," continued Trenta, eagerly +seizing on the slightest abatement of the marchesa's wrath. "That is +what we must ask her. Marchesa, in common decency, you cannot put +your own niece out of your house without seeing her and hearing her +explanation." + +"You may call her, if you please," answered the marchesa, with a look +of dogged rage; "but I warn you, Cesare Trenta, if she avows her love +for Nobili in my presence, I shall esteem that in itself the foulest +crime she can commit. If she avows it, she leaves my house to-night. +Let her die!--I care not what becomes of her!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +ENRICA'S TRIAL. + + +The Cavaliere Trenta, without an instant's delay, seized the bell and +rang it. The broken-down retainer, in his suit of well-worn livery, +shuffled in through the anteroom. + +"What did the excellency command?" he asked in a dreary voice, as the +marchesa did not address him. + +"Tell the signorina that the Marchesa Guinigi desires her presence +immediately," answered the cavaliere, promptly. He would not give her +an opportunity of speaking. + +"Her excellency shall be obeyed," replied the servant, still +addressing himself to the marchesa. He bowed, then glided noiselessly +from the room. + +A door is heard to open, then to shut; a bell is rung; there is a +muttered conversation in the anteroom, and the sound of receding +footsteps; then a side-door in the corner of the sitting-room near the +window opens; there is the slight rustle of a summer dress, and Enrica +stands before them. + +It is the same hour of sunset as when she had sat there three days +before, knitting beside the open casement, with the twisted marble +colonnettes and delicate tracery. The same subtile fragrance of the +magnolia rises upward from the waxy leaves of the tall flowering trees +growing beneath in the Moorish garden. The low rays of the setting sun +flit upon her flaxen hair, defining each delicate curl, and sharply +marking the outline of her slight girlish figure; the slender waist, +the small hands. Even the little foot is visible under the folds of +her light dress. + +Enrica's face is in shadow, but, as she raises it and sees the +cavaliere seated beside her aunt, a quiet smile plays about her mouth, +and a gleam of pleasure rises in her eyes. + +What is it that makes youth in Italy so fresh and beautiful--so lithe, +erect, and strong? What gives that lustre to the eye, that ripple to +the hair, that faultless mould to the features, that mellowness to the +skin--like the ruddy rind of the pomegranate--those rounded limbs that +move with sovereign ease--that step, as of gods treading the earth? +Is it the color of the golden skies? Is it a philter brewed by the +burning sunshine? or is it found in the deep shadows that brood in +the radiance of the starry night? Is it in those sounds of music +ever floating in the air? or in the solemn silence of the +primeval chestnut-woods? Does it come in the crackling of the +mountain-storm--in the terror of the earthquake? Does it breathe from +the azure seas that belt the classic land--or in the rippling +cadence of untrodden streams amid lonely mountains? Whence comes +it?--how?--where? I cannot tell. + +The marchesa is seated on her accustomed seat; her face is shaded by +her hand. So stern, so solemn, is her attitude that her chair seems +suddenly turned into a judgment-seat. + +The cavaliere has risen at Enrica's entrance. Not daring to display +his feelings in the presence of the marchesa, he thrusts his hands +into his pockets, and stands behind her, his head partly turned away, +leaning against the edge of the marble mantel-piece. There is such +absolute silence in the room that the ticking of a clock is distinctly +heard. It is the deadly pause before the slaughter of the battle. "You +sent for me, my aunt?" Enrica speaks in a timid voice, not moving from +the spot where she has entered, near the open window. "What is your +pleasure?" + +"My pleasure!" the marchesa catches up and echoes the words with a +horrible jeer. (She had been collecting her forces for attack; she had +lashed herself into a transport of fury. Her smooth, snake-like +head was reared erect; her upright figure, too thin to be majestic, +stiffened. Thunder and lightning were in her eyes as she turned them +on Enrica.) "You dare to ask me my pleasure! You shall hear it, lost, +miserable girl! Leave this house--go to your lover! Let it be the +motto of his low-born race that a Nobili dishonored a Guinigi. Go--I +wish you were dead!" and she points with her finger toward the door. + +Every word that fell from the marchesa sounded like a curse. As she +speaks, the smiles fade out of Enrica's face as the lurid sunlight +fades before the rising tempest. She grasps a chair for support. Her +bosom heaves under the folds of her thin white dress. Her eyes, which +had fixed themselves on her aunt, fall with an agonized expression on +the floor. Thus she stands, speechless, motionless, passive; stunned, +as it were, by the shock of the words. + +Then a low cry of pain escapes her, a cry like the complaint of a dumb +animal--the bleat of a lamb under the butcher's knife. + +"Have I not reared you as my own child?" cries the marchesa--too +excited to remain silent in the presence of her victim. "Have you ever +left my side? Yet under my ancestral roof you have dared to degrade +yourself. Out upon you!--Go, go--or with my own hand I shall drive you +into the street!" + +She starts up, and is rushing upon Enrica, who stands motionless +before her, when Trenta steps forward, puts his hand firmly on the +marchesa's arm, and draws her back. + +"You have called Enrica here," he whispers, "to question her. Do +so--do so. Look, she is so overcome she cannot speak," and he points +to Enrica, who is now trembling like an aspen-leaf, her fair head +bowed upon her bosom, the big tears trickling down her white cheeks. + +When the marchesa, checked by Trenta, has ceased speaking, Enrica +raises her heavy eyelids and turns her eyes, swimming in tears, +upon her aunt. Then she clasps her hands--the small fingers knitting +themselves together with a grasp of agony--and wrings them. Her lips +move, but no sound comes from them. Something there is so pitiful in +this mute appeal--she looks so slight and frail in the background of +the fading sunlight--there is such a depth of unspoken pathos in +every line of her young face--that the marchesa pauses; she pauses ere +putting into execution her resolve of turning Enrica herself, with her +own hands, from the palace. + +A new sentiment has also within the last few minutes arisen within +her--a sentiment of curiosity. The marchesa is a woman; in many +respects a thorough woman. The first flash of fury once passed, she +feels an intense longing to know how all this had come about. What had +passed? How had Enrica met Nobili? Whether any of her household had +betrayed her? On whom her just vengeance shall fall? + +Each moment that passes as the quick thoughts rattle through her +brain, it seems to her more and more imperative that she should inform +herself what had really happened under her roof! + +At this moment Enrica speaks in a low voice. + +"O my aunt! I have done nothing! Indeed, indeed,"--and a great sob +breaks in and cuts her speech. "I have done nothing." + +"What!" cries the marchesa, her fury again roused by such a daring +assertion. "What do you call nothing? Do you deny that you love +Nobili?" + +"No, my aunt. I love him--I love him." + +The mention of Nobili's name gave Enrica courage. With that name +the sunlit days of meeting came back again. A gleam of their divine +refraction swam before her. Nobili--is he not strong, and brave, and +true? Is he not near at hand? Oh, if he only knew her need!--oh, if he +could only rush to her--bear her in his arms away--away to untrodden +lands of love and bliss where she could hide her head upon his breast +and be at peace! + +All this gave her courage. She passes her hand over her face and +brushes the tears away. Her blue eyes, that shine out now like a rent +in a cloudy sky, are meekly but fearlessly cast upon her aunt. + +"You dare to tell me you love him--you dare to avow it in my presence, +degraded girl! have you no pride--no decency?" + +"I have done nothing," Enrica answers in the same voice, "of which +I am ashamed. From the first moment I saw him I loved him. I +loved--him--oh! how I loved him!" She repeats this softly, as if +speaking to herself. An inner light shines over her whole countenance. +"And Nobili loves me. I know it." Her voice sounds sweet and firm. "He +is mine!" + +"Fool, you think so; you are but one of many!" The marchesa, incensed +beyond endurance at her firmness, raises her head with the action of +a snake about to spring upon its prey. "Dare you deny that you are his +mistress?" + +(Could the marchesa have seen the cavaliere standing behind her, at +that moment, and how those eyes of his were riveted on Enrica with a +look in which hope, thankfulness, pity, and joy, crossed and combated +together--mercy on us! she would have turned and struck him!) + +The shock of the words overcame Enrica. She fixes her eyes on her aunt +as if not understanding their meaning. Then a deep blush covers her +from head to foot; she trembles and presses both her hands to her +bosom as if in pain. + +"Spare her, spare her!" is heard in less audible sounds from Trenta to +the marchesa. The marchesa tosses her head defiantly. + +"I am to be Count Nobili's wife," Enrica says at last, in a faltering +voice. "The Holy Mother is my witness, I have done nothing wrong. I +have met him in the cathedral, and at the door of the Moorish garden. +He has written to me, and I have answered." + +"Doubtless; and you have met him alone?" asked the marchesa, with a +savage sneer. + +"Never, my aunt; Teresa was always with me." + +"Teresa, curse her! She shall leave the house as naked as she came +into it. How many other of my servants did you corrupt?" + +"Not one; it was known to her and to me only." + +"And why not to me, your guardian? why not to me?" And the marchesa +advances step by step toward Enrica, as the bitter consciousness of +having been hoodwinked by such a child fills her with fresh rage. "You +have deceived me--I who have fed and clothed and nourished you--I who, +but for this, would have endowed you with all I have, bequeathed to +you a name greater than that of kings! Answer me this, Enrica. Leave +off wringing your hands and turning up your eyes. Answer me!" + +"My aunt, I was afraid." + +"Afraid!" and the marchesa laughs a loud and scornful laugh; "you were +not, afraid to meet this man in secret." + +"No. Fear him! what had I to fear? Nobili loves me." + +The word was spoken. Now she had courage to meet the marchesa's +gaze unmoved, spite of the menace of her look and attitude. Enrica's +conscience acquitted her of any wrong save the wrong of concealment, +"Had you asked me," she adds, more timidly, "I should have spoken. You +have asked me now, and I have told you." + +The very spirit of truth spoke in Enrica. Not even the marchesa could +doubt her. Enrica had not disgraced the name she bore. She believed +her; but there was a sting behind sharper to her than death. That +sting remained. Enrica had confessed her love for the man she hated! + +As to the cavaliere, the difficulty he experienced at this moment in +controlling his feelings amounted to positive agony. His Enrica is +safe! San Riccardo be thanked! She is safe--she is pure! Except +his eyes, which glowed with the secret ecstasy he felt, he appeared +outwardly as impassive as a stone. The marchesa turned and reseated +herself. There is, spite of her violence, an indescribable majesty +about her as she sits erect and firm upon her chair in judgment on her +niece. Right or wrong, the marchesa is a woman born to command. + +"It is not for me," she says, with lofty composure, "to reason with +a love-sick girl, whose mind runs to the tune of her lover's name. +Of all living men I abhor Count Nobili. To love him, in my eyes, is +a crime--yes, a crime," she repeats, raising her voice, seeing that +Enrica is about to speak. "I know him--he is a vain, purse-proud +reprobate. He has come and planted himself like a mushroom within our +ancient walls. Nor did this content him--he has had the presumption to +lodge himself in a Guinigi palace. The blood in his veins is as mud. +That he cannot help, nor do I reproach him for it; but he has forced +himself into our class--he has mingled his name with the old names of +the city; he has dared to speak--live--act--as if he were one of us. +You, Enrica, are the last of the Guinigi. I had hoped that a child I +had reared at my side would have learned and reflected my will--would +have repaid me for years of care by her obedience." + +"O my aunt!" exclaims Enrica, sinking on her knees, "forgive +me--forgive me! I am ungrateful." + +"Rise," cries the marchesa, sternly, not in the least touched by this +outburst of natural feeling. "I care not for words--your acts show you +have defied me. The project which for years I have silently nursed +in my bosom, waiting for the fitting time to disclose it to you--the +project of building up through you the great Guinigi name." + +The marchesa pauses; she gasps, as if for breath. A quick flush steals +over her white face, and for a moment she leans back in her chair, +unable to proceed. Then she presses her hand to her forehead, on which +the perspiration had risen in beads. + +"Alas! I did not know it!" Enrica is now sobbing bitterly. "Why--oh! +why, did you not trust me?" + +In a strange, weary-sounding voice the marchesa continues: + +"Let us not speak of it. Enrica"--she turns her gray eyes full +upon her, as she stands motionless in front of the pillared +casement--"Enrica, you must choose. Renounce Nobili, or prepare to +enter a convent. His wife you can never be." + +As a shot that strikes a brightly-plumaged bird full in its +softly-feathered breast, so did these dreadful words strike Enrica. +There is a faint, low cry, she has fallen upon the floor! + +The marchesa did not move, but, looking at her where she lay, she +slowly shook her head. Not so the cavaliere. He rushed forward, and +raised her tenderly in his arms. The tears streamed down his aged +cheeks. + +"Take her away!" cried the marchesa; "take her away! She has broken my +heart!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +WHAT CAME OF IT. + + +When Cavaliere Trenta returned, after he had led away Enrica, and +consigned her to Teresa, he was very grave. As he crossed the room +toward the marchesa, he moved feebly, and leaned heavily on his stick. +Then he drew a chair opposite to her, sat down, heaved a deep sigh, +and raised his eyes to her face. + +The marchesa had not moved. She did not move now, but sat the picture +of hard, haughty despair--a despair that would gnaw body and soul, yet +give no sigh. But the cavaliere was now too much absorbed by Enrica's +sufferings to affect even to take much heed of the marchesa. + +"This is a very serious business," he began, abruptly. "You may +have to answer for that girl's life. I shall be the first to witness +against you." + +Never in her life had the marchesa heard Cesare Trenta deliver himself +of such a decided censure upon her conduct. His wheedling, coaxing +manner was all gone. He was neither the courtier nor the counselor. +He neither insinuated nor suggested, but spoke bluntly out bold words, +and those upon a subject she esteemed essentially her own. Even in the +depth of her despondency it made a certain impression upon her. + +She roused herself and glared at him, but there was no shrinking in +his face. Trenta's clear round eyes, so honest and loyal in their +expression, seemed to pierce her through and through. She fancied, +too, that he contemplated her with a sort of horror. + +"You have accused Enrica," he continued; "she has cleared herself. You +cannot doubt her. Why do you continue to torture her?" + +"That is my affair," answered the marchesa, doggedly. "She has +deceived me, and defied me. She has outraged the usages of society. Is +not that enough?" + +"You have brought her up to fear you," interrupted Trenta. "Had she +not feared you, she would never have deceived you." + +"What is that to you? How dare you question me?" cried the marchesa, +the glitter of passion lighting up her eyes. "Is it not enough that +by this deception she has foiled me in the whole purpose of my life? I +have given her the choice. Resign Nobili, or a convent." + +Saying this, she closed her lips tightly. Trenta, in the heat of his +enthusiasm for Enrica, had gone too far. He felt it; he hastened to +rectify his error. + +"Every thing that concerns you and your family, Marchesa Guinigi, is a +subject of overwhelming interest to me." + +Now the cavaliere spoke in his blandest manner. The smoothness of +the courtier seemed to unknit the wrinkles on his face. The look of +displeasure melted out of his eyes, the roughness fled from his voice. + +"Remember, marchesa, I am your oldest friend. A crisis has arrived; a +scandal may ensue. You must now decide." + +"I have decided," returned the marchesa; "that decision you have +heard." And again her lips closed hermetically. + +"But permit me. There are many considerations that will doubtless +present themselves to you as necessary ingredients of this decision. +If Enrica goes into religion, the Guinigi race is doomed. Why should +you, with your own hand, destroy the work of your life? If Enrica will +not consent to renounce her engagement to Count Nobili, why should she +not marry him? There is no real obstacle other than your will." + +No sooner were these daring words uttered, than the cavaliere +positively trembled. The marchesa listened to them in ominous silence. +Such a possibility had never presented itself for a instant to her +imagination. She turned slowly round, pressed her hands tightly on her +knees, and darkly eyed him. + +"You think that I should consent to such a marriage?" she asked in a +deep voice, a mocking smile upon her lips. + +"I think, marchesa, that you should sacrifice every thing--yes--every +thing." And Trenta, feeling himself on safe ground, repeated the word +with an audacity that would have surprised those who only knew him +in the polite details of ordinary life. "I think that you should +sacrifice every thing to the interests of your house." + +This was hitting the marchesa home. She felt it and winced; but her +resolution was unshaken. + +"Did I not know that you are descended from a line as ancient, though +not so illustrious as my own, I should think I was listening to a Jew +peddler of Leghorn," she replied, with insolent cynicism. + +The cavaliere felt deeply offended, but had the presence of mind to +affect a smile, as though what she had said was an excellent joke. + +"Nobili shall never mix his blood with the Guinigi--I swear it! Rather +let our name die out from the land." + +She raised both her hands in the twilight to ratify the imprecation +she had hurled upon her race. Her voice died away into the corner of +the darkening room; her thoughts wandered. She sat in spirit upon the +seigneurial throne, below, in the presence-chamber. Should Nobili sit +there, on that hallowed seat of her ancestors?--the old Lombard +palace call him master, living--gather his bones with their ashes, +dead?--Never! Better far moulder into ruin as they had mouldered. Had +she not already permitted herself to be too much influenced? She had +offered Enrica in marriage to Count Marescotti, and he had refused +her--refused her niece! + +Suddenly she shook off the incubus of these thoughts and turned toward +Trenta. He had been watching her anxiously. + +"I can never forgive Enrica," she said. "She may not have disgraced +herself--that matters little--but she has disgraced me. She must enter +a convent; until then I will allow her to remain in my house." + +"Exactly," burst in Trenta, again betrayed into undue warmth by this +concession. + +The cavaliere was old; he had seen that life revolves itself strangely +in a circle, from which we may diverge, but from which we seldom +disentangle ourselves. Desperate resolves are taken, tragedies are +planned, but Fate or Providence intervenes. The old balance pendulates +again--the foot falls into the familiar step. Death comes to cut the +Gordian knot. The grave-sod covers all that is left, and the worm +feeds on the busy brain. + +As a man of the world, Trenta was a profound believer in the chapter +of accidents. + +"I will not put Enrica out of my house," resumed the marchesa, +gazing at him suspiciously. (Trenta seemed, she thought, wonderfully +interested in Enrica's fate. She had noticed this interest once +before. She did not like it. What was Enrica to him? Trenta was _her_ +friend.) "But she shall remain on one condition only--Nobili's name +must never be mentioned. You can inform her of this, as you have taken +already so much upon yourself. Do you hear?" + +"Certainly, certainly," answered the chamberlain with alacrity. "You +shall be obeyed. I will answer for it--excellent marchesa, you are +right, always right"--and he stooped down and gently took her thin +fingers in his fat hands, and touched them with his lips. + +"I will cause no scandal," she continued, withdrawing her hand. "Once +in a convent, Enrica can harm no one." + +"No, certainly not," responded Trenta, "and the family will become +extinct. This palace and its precious heirlooms will be sold." + +The marchesa put out her hand with silent horror. + +"It is the case with so many of our great families," continued the +impassable Trenta. "Now, on the other hand, Enrica may possibly change +her mind; Nobili may change his mind. Circumstances quite unforeseen +may occur--who can answer for circumstances?" + +The marchesa listened silently. This was always a good sign; she +was too obstinate to confess herself convinced. But, spite of her +prejudices, her natural shrewdness forbade her to reject absolutely +the voice of reason. + +"I shall not treat Enrica cruelly," was her reply, "nor will I cause a +scandal, but I can never forgive her. By this act of loving Nobili she +has separated herself from me irrevocably. Let her renounce him; she +has her choice--mine is already made." + +The cavaliere listened in silence. Much had been gained, in his +opinion, by this partial concession. The subject had been broached, +the hated name mentioned, the possibility of the marriage mooted. He +rose with a cheerful smile to take his leave. + +"Marchesa, it is late--permit me to salute you; you must require +repose." + +"Yes," she answered, sighing deeply. "It seems to me a year since I +entered this room. I must leave Lucca. Enrica cannot, after what +has passed, remain here. Thanks to her, I, in the solitude of my own +palace, am become the common town-talk. Cesare, I shall leave Lucca +to-morrow for my villa of Corellia. Good-night." + +The cavaliere again kissed her hand and departed. + +"If that weathercock of a thousand colors, that idiot, Marescotti," +muttered the cavaliere, as he descended the stairs, "could only be got +to give up his impious mission, and marry the dear child, all might +yet be right. He has an eye and a tongue that would charm a woman +into anything. Alas! alas! what a pasticcio!--made by herself--made by +herself and her lawsuits about the defunct Guinigi--damn them!" + +It was seldom that the cavaliere used bad words--excuse him. + + + + +PART III + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A LONELY TOWN. + + +The road from Lucca to Corellia lies at the foot of lofty mountains, +over-mantled by chestnut-forests, and cleft asunder by the river +Serchio--the broad, willful Serchio, sprung from the flanks of virgin +fastnesses. In its course a thousand valleys open up, scoring the +banks. Each valley has its tributary stream, down which, even in the +dog-days, cool breezes rustle. The lower hills lying warm toward the +south, and the broad glassy lands by the river, are trellised with +vines. Some fling their branches in wild festoons on mulberry or aspen +trees. Some trained in long arbors are held up by pillars of unbarked +wood; others trail upon the earth in delicious luxuriance. The white +and purple grapes peep from the already shriveled leaves, or hang in +rich masses on the brown earth. + +It is the vintage. The peasants, busy as bees, swarm on the +hill-sides; the women pluck the fruit; the men bear it away in wooden +measures. While they work, they sing those wild Tuscan melodies that +linger in the air like long-drawn sighs. The donkeys, too, climb up +and down, saddled with wooden panniers, crammed with grapes. These +grapes are shot into large tubs, and placed in a shady outhouse. Some +black-eyed boy will dance merrily on these tubs, by-and-by, with his +naked feet, and squeeze out the juice. This juice is then covered and +left to ferment, then bottled into flasks, covered with wicker-work, +corked with tow, and finally stowed away in caves among the rocks. + +The marchesa's lumbering coach, drawn by three horses harnessed +abreast (another horse, smaller than the rest, put in tandem in +front), creaks along the road by the river-side, on its high wheels. +She sits within, a stony look upon her hard white face. Enrica, pale +and silent, is beside her. No word has passed between them since they +left Lucca two hours ago. They pass groups of peasants, their labors +over for the day--turning out of the vineyards upon the high-road. The +donkeys are driven on in front. They are braying for joy; their faces +are turned homeward. Boys run at their heels, and spur them on with +sticks and stones. The women lag behind talking--their white head-gear +and gold ear-rings catching the low sunshine that strikes through +rents of parting mountains. Every man takes off his hat to the +marchesa; every woman wishes her good-day. + +It is only the boys who do not fear her. They have no caps to raise; +when the carriage has passed, they leave the donkeys and hang on +behind like a swarm of bees. The driver is quite aware of this, and +his long whip, which he has cracked at intervals all the way from +Lucca--would reach the grinning, white-toothed little vagabonds well; +but he--the driver--grins too, and spares them. + +Together they all mount the zigzag mountain-pass, that turns short off +from the right bank of the valley of the Serchio, toward Corellia. The +peasants sing choruses as they trudge upward, taking short cuts among +the trees at the angles of the zigzag. The evening lights come and go +among the chestnut-trees and on the soft, short grass. Here a fierce +flick of sunshine shoots across the road; there deep gloom darkens an +angle into which the coach plunges, the peasants, grouped on the top +of a bank overhead, standing out darkly in the yellow glow. + +It is a lonely pass in the very bosom of the Apennines, midway between +Lucca and Modena. In winter the road is clogged with snow; nothing can +pass. Now, there is no sound but the singing of water-falls, and the +trickle of water-courses, the chirrup of the _cicala_, not yet gone +to its rest--and the murmur of the hot breezes rustling in the distant +forest. + +No sound--save when sudden thunder-pelts wake awful echoes among the +great brotherhood of mountain-tops--when torrents burst forth, pouring +downward, flooding the narrow garden ledges, and tearing away the patches +of corn and vineyard, the people's food. Before--behind--around--arise +peaks of purple Apennines, cresting upward into the blue sky--an earthen +sea dashed into sudden breakers, then struck motionless. In front, in +solitary state, rises the lofty summit of La Pagna, casting off its giant +mountain-fellows right and left, which fade away into a golden haze toward +Modena. + +High up overhead, crowning a precipitous rock, stands Corellia, a +knot of browned, sun-baked houses, flat-roofed, open-galleried, +many-storied, nestling round a ruined castle, athwart whose rents the +ardent sunshine darts. This ruined castle and the tower of an ancient +Lombard church, heavily arched and galleried with stone, gleaming +out upon a surface of faded brickwork, form the outline of the little +town. It is inclosed by solid walls, and entered by an archway so low +that the marchesa's driver has to dismount as he passes through. The +heavy old carriage rumbles in with a hollow noise; the horse's hoofs +strike upon the rough stones with a harsh, loud sound. + +The whole town of Corellia belongs to the marchesa. It is an ancient +fief of the Guinigi. Legend says that Castruccio Castracani was born +here. This is enough for the marchesa. As in the palace of Lucca, she +still--even at lonely Corellia--lives as it were under the shadow of +that great ancestral name. + +Lonely Corellia! Yes, it is lonely! The church bells, high up in the +Lombard tower sound loudly the matins and the eventide. They sound +louder still on the saints days and festivals. With the festivals +pass summer and winter, both dreary to the poor. Children are born, +and marriage-flutes wake the echoes of the mountain solitudes--and +mothers weep, hearing them, remembering their young days and present +pinching want. The aged groan, for joy to them comes like a fresh +pang! + +The marchesa's carriage passes through Corellia at a foot's pace. The +driver has no choice. It is most difficult to drive at all--the street +is so narrow, and the door-steps of the houses jut out so into the +narrow space. The horses, too, hired at Lucca, twenty miles away, are +tired, poor beasts, and reeking with the heat. They can hardly keep +their feet upon the rugged, slippery stones that pave the dirty +alley. As the marchesa passes slowly by, wan-faced women--colored +handkerchiefs gathered in folds upon their heads, knitting or spinning +flax cut from the little field without upon the mountain-side--put +down the black, curly-headed urchins that cling to their laps--rise +from where they are resting on the door-step, and salute the marchesa +with an awe-struck stare. She, in no mood for condescension, answers +them with a frown. Why have these wan-faced mothers, with scarcely +bread to eat, children between their knees? Why has God given her +none? Again the impious thought rises within her which tempted her +when standing before the marriage-bed in the nuptial chamber. "God is +my enemy." "He has smitten me with a curse." "Why have I no child?" +"No child, nothing but her"--and she flashes a savage glance at +Enrica, who has sunk backward, covering her tear-stained face with +a black veil, to avoid the peering eyes of the Corellia +townsfolk--"nothing but her. Born to disgrace me. Would she were dead! +Then all would end, and I should go down--the last Guinigi--to an +honored grave." + +The sick, too, are sitting at the doorways as the marchesa passes +by. The mark of fever is on many an ashy cheek. These sick have been +carried from their beds to breathe such air as evening brings. Air! +There is no air from heaven in these foul streets. No sweet breath +circulates; no summer scents of grasses and flowers reach the lonely +town hung up so high. The summer sun scorches. The icy winds of +winter, sweeping down from Alpine ridges, whistle round the walls. +Within are chilly, desolate hearths, on which no fire is kindled. +These sick, as the carriage passes, turn their weary eyes, and lift up +their wasted hands in mute salutations to that dreaded mistress who is +lord of all--the great marchesa. Will they not lie in the marchesa's +ground when their hour comes? Alas! how soon--their weakness tells +them very soon! Will they not be carried in an open bier up those +long flights of steps--all hers--cut in the rocky sides of overlapping +rocks, to the cemetery, darkly shaded by waving cypresses? The ground +is hers, the rocks, the steps, the stones, the very flowers that +brown, skinny hands will sprinkle on their bier--all hers. From birth +to bridal, and the marriage-bed (so fruitful to the poor), from bridal +to death, all hers. The land they live on, and the graves they fill, +all--but a shadow of her greatness! + +At the corner of the squalid, ill-smelling street through which she +is now passing, is the town fountain. This fountain, once a willful +mountain-torrent, now cruelly captured and borne hither by municipal +force, splashes downward through a sculptured circle cut in a +marble slab, into a covered trough below. Here bold-eyed maidens are +gathered, who poise copper vessels on their dark heads--maidens who +can chat, and laugh, and romp, on holidays, and with flushed faces +dance wild tarantellas (fingers for castanets), where the old tale of +love is told in many a subtile step, and shuffle, rush, escape, and +feint, ending in certain capture! Beside the maidens linger some +mountain lads. Now their work is over, they loll against the wall, +pipe in mouth, or lie stretched on a plot of grass that grows green +under the spray of the fountain. In a dark angle, a little behind from +these, there is a shrine hollowed out of the city wall. Within the +shrine an image of the Holy Mother of the Seven Sorrows stands, her +arms outstretched, her bosom pierced by seven gilded arrows. The +shrine is protected by an iron grating. Bunches of pale hill-side +blossoms, ferns, and a few blades of corn, are thrust in between the +bars. Some lie at the Virgin's feet--offerings from those who have +nothing else to give. A little group (but these are old, and bowed by +grief and want) kneel beside the shrine in the quiet evening-tide. + +The rumble of a carriage, so strange a sound in lonely Corellia, +rouses all. From year to year, no wheels pass through the town save +the marchesa's. Ere she appears, all know who it must be. The kneelers +at the shrine start up and hobble forward to stare and wonder at that +strange world whence she comes, so far away at Lucca. The maidens +courtesy and smile; the lads jump up, and range themselves +respectfully against the wall; yet in their hearts neither care for +her--neither the maidens nor the lads--no one cares for the marchesa. +They are all looking out for Enrica. Why does the signorina lie back +in the carriage a mass of clothes? The maidens would like to see how +those clothes are made, to cut their poor garments something like +them. The lads would like to let their eyes rest on her golden hair. +Why does the Signorina Enrica not nod and smile to those she knows, as +is her wont? Has that old tyrant, her aunt--these young ones are bold, +and dare to whisper what others think; they have no care, and, like +the lilies of the field, live in the wild, free air--has that old +tyrant, her aunt, bewitched her? + +Now the carriage has emerged from the dark alley, and entered the +dirty but somewhat less dark piazza--the market-place of Corellia. The +old Lombard church of Santa Barbara, with its big bells in the arched +tower, hanging plainly to be seen, opens into the piazza by a flight +of steps and a sculptured doorway. The Municipio, too, calling itself +a _palace_ (heaven save the mark!), with its list of births, deaths, +and marriages, posted on a black-board outside the door, to be seen of +all, adorns it. The Café of the Tricolor, and such shops as Corellia +boasts of, are there opposite. Men, smoking, and drinking native wine, +are lounging about. Ser Giacomo, the notary, spectacles on nose, sits +at a table in a corner, reading aloud to a select audience a weekly +broad-sheet published at Lucca, news of men and things not of the +mountain-tops. Every soul starts up as they hear wheels approaching. +If a bomb had burst in the piazza the panic could not be greater. They +know it is the marchesa. They know that now the marchesa is come she +will grind and harry them, and seize her share of grapes, and corn, +and olives, to the uttermost farthing. Silvestro, her steward, a +timid, pitiful man, can be got over by soft words, and the sight of +want and misery. Not so the marchesa. They know that now she is come +she will call the Town Council, fine them, pursue them for rent, cite +them to the High Court of Barga, imprison them if they cannot pay. +They know her, and they curse her. The ill-news of her arrival runs +from lip to lip. Checco, the butcher, who sells his meat cut into +dark, indescribably-shaped scraps, more fit for dogs than men, first +sees the carriage turn into the piazza. He passes the word on to +Oreste, the barber round the corner. Oreste, who, with his brother +Pilade, both wearing snow-white aprons, are squaring themselves at +their open doorway, over which hangs a copper basin, shaped like +Manbrino's helmet, looking for customers--Oreste and Pilade turn pale. +Then Oreste tells the baker, Pietro, who, naked as Nature made him, +has run out from his oven to the open door, for a breath of air. The +bewildered clerk at the Municipio, who sits and writes, and sleeps +by turns, all day, in a low room beside a desk, taking notes for the +sindaco (mayor) from all who come (he is so tired, that clerk, he +would hear the last trumpet sound unmoved), even he hears the news, +and starts up. + +Now the carriage stops. It has drawn up in the centre of the piazza. +It is the marchesa's custom. She puts her head out of the window, and +takes a long, grave look all round. These are her vassals. They fear +her. She knows it, and she glories in it. Every head is uncovered, +every eye turned upon her. It is obviously some one's duty to salute +her and to welcome her to her domain. She has stopped for this +purpose. It is always done. No one, however, stirs. Ser Giacomo, the +notary, bows low beside the table where he has been caught reading the +Lucca broad-sheet; but Ser Giacomo does not stir. How he wishes he had +staid at home! + +He has not the courage to move one step toward her. Something must be +done, so Ser Giacomo he runs and fetches the sindaco from inside the +recesses of the _café_, where he is playing dominoes under a lighted +lamp. The sindaco must give the marchesa a formal welcome. The +sindaco, a saddler by trade--a snuffy little man, with a face drawn +and yellow as parchment, wearing his working-clothes--advances to the +carriage with a step as cautious as a cat. + +"I trust the illustrious lady is well," he says timidly, bowing low +and trying to smile. Mr. Sindaco is frightened, but he can be proud +enough to his fellow-townsfolk, and he is downright cruel to that poor +lad his clerk, at the Municipal Palace. + +The marchesa, with a cold, distant air, that would instantly check +any approach to familiarity--if any one were bold enough to be +familiar--answers gravely, "That she is thankful to say she is in her +usual health." + +The sindaco--although better off than many, painfully conscious of +long arrears of unpaid rent--waxing a little bolder at the sound of +his own voice and his well-chosen phrases, continues: + +"I am glad to hear it, Signora Marchesa." The sindaco further +observes, "That he hopes for the illustrious lady's indulgence and +good-will." + +His smile has faded now; his voice trembles. If his skin were not so +yellow, he would be white all over, for the marchesa's looks are not +encouraging. The sindaco dreads a summons to the High Court of Barga, +where the provincial prisons are--with which he may be soon better +acquainted, he fears. + +In reply, the marchesa--who perfectly understands all this in a +general way--scowls, and fixes her rigid eyes upon him. + +"Signore Sindaco, I cannot stop to listen to any grievance now; I will +promise no indulgence. I must pay my bills. You must pay me, Signore +Sindaco; that is but fair." + +The poor little snuffy mayor bows a dolorous acquiescence. He is +hopeless, but polite--like a true Italian, who would thank the hangman +as he fastens the rope round his neck. But the marchesa's words strike +terror into all who hear them. All owe her long arrears of rent, and +much besides. Why--oh! why--did the cruel lady come to Corellia? + +Having announced her intentions in a clear, metallic voice, the +marchesa draws her head back into the coach. + +"Send Silvestro to me," she adds, addressing the sindaco. "Silvestro +will inform me of all I want to know." (Silvestro is her steward.) + +"Is the noble young Lady Enrica unwell?" asks the persevering +sindaco, gazing earnestly through the window. + +He knows his doom. He has nothing to hope from the marchesa's +clemency, so he may as well gratify his burning curiosity by a +question about the much-beloved Enrica, who must certainly have been +ill-used by her aunt to keep so much out of sight. + +"The people of Corellia would also offer their respectful homage to +her," bravely adds Mr. Sindaco, tempting his fate. "The Lady Enrica is +much esteemed here in the town." + +As he speaks the sindaco gazes in wonder at the muffled figure in +the corner. Can this be she? Why does she not move forward and +answer?--and show her pretty face, and approve the people's greeting? + +"My niece has a headache; leave her alone," answers the marchesa, +curtly. "Do not speak to her, Mr. Sindaco. She will visit Corellia +another day; meanwhile, adieu." + +The marchesa waves her hand majestically, and signs for him to retire. +This the sindaco does with an inward groan at the thought of what is +coming on him. + +Poor Enrica, feeling as if a curse were on her, cutting her off +from all her former life, shrinks back deeper into the corner of the +carriage, draws the black veil closer about her face, and sobs aloud. +The marchesa turns her head away. The driver cracks his long whip over +the steaming horses, which move feebly forward with a jerk. Thus the +coach slowly traverses the whole length of the piazza, the wheels +rumbling themselves into silence out in a long street leading to +another gate on the farther side of the town. + +Not another word more is said that night among the townsfolk; but +there is not a man at Corellia who does not curse the marchesa in +his heart. Ser Giacomo, the notary, folds up his newspaper in dead +silence, puts it into his pocket, and departs. The lights in the +dark _café_, which burn sometimes all day when it is cloudy, are +extinguished. The domino-players disappear. Oreste and Pilade shut up +their shop despondingly. The baker Pietro comes out no more to cool +at the door. Anyway, there must be bakers, he reflects, to bake +the bread; so Pietro retreats, comforted, to his oven, and works +frantically all night. He is safe, Pietro hopes, though he has paid no +rent for two whole years, and has sold some of the corn which ought to +have gone to the marchesa. + +Meanwhile the heavy carriage, with its huge leather hood and double +rumble, swaying dangerously to and fro, descends a steep and rugged +road embowered in forest, leading to a narrow ledge upon the summit +of a line of cliffs. On the very edge of these cliffs, formed of a +dark-red basaltic stone, the marchesa's villa stands. A deep, dark +precipice drops down beneath. Opposite is a range of mountains, fair +and forest-spread on the lower flanks, rising above into wild crags, +and broken, blackened peaks, that mock the soft blue radiance of the +evening sky. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. + + +Silvestro, the steward, is a man "full of conscience," as people say, +deeply sensible of his responsibilities, and more in dread of the +marchesa than of the Church. It is this dread that makes him so +emaciated--hesitate when he speaks, and bend his back and shoulders +into a constant cringe. But for this dread, Silvestro would forgive +the poor people more. He sees such pinching misery every day--lives in +it--suffers from it; how can he ask those for money who have none? +It is like forcing blood out of a stone. He is not the man to do it. +Silvestro lives at hand; he hears the rattle of the hail that burns +the grapes up to a cinder--the terrible din of the thunder before the +forked lightning strikes the cattle; he sees with his own eyes the +griping want of bread in the savage winter-time; his own eyes behold +the little lambs, dead of hunger, lying by the road-side. Worse still, +he sees other lambs--human lambs with Christian souls--fade and pine +and shrink into a little grave, from failing of mother's milk, dried +up for want of proper food. He sees, too, the aged die before God +calls them, failing through lack of nourishment--a little wine, +perhaps, or a mouthful of soup; the young and strong grow old with +ceaseless striving. Poor Silvestro! he sees too much. He cannot be +severe. He is born merciful. Silvestro is honest as the day, but he +hides things from the marchesa; he is honest, but he cannot--no, he +cannot--grind and vex the poor, as she would have him do. Yet she has +no one to take his place in that God-forgotten town--so they pull on, +man and mistress--a truly ill-matched pair--pull on, year after +year. It is a weary life for him when the great lady comes up for her +villeggiatura--Silvestro, divided, cleft in twain, so to say, as he +is, between his awe and respect for the marchesa and her will, and his +terrible sympathy for all suffering creatures, man or beast. + +As to the marchesa, she despises Silvestro too profoundly to notice +his changing moods. It is not her habit to look for any thing but +obedience--absolute obedience--from those beneath her. A thousand +times she has told herself such a fool would ruin her; but, up to this +present time, she has borne with him, partly from convenience, and +partly because she fears to get a rogue in his place. She does not +guess how carefully Silvestro has hid the truth from her; she would +not give him credit for the power of concealing any thing. + +The sindaco having sent a boy up to Silvestro's house with the +marchesa's message, "that he is to attend her," the steward comes +hurrying down through the terraces cut in the steep ground behind the +villa--broad, stately terraces, with balustrades, and big empty vases, +and statues, and grand old lemon-trees set about. Great flights of +marble steps cross and recross, rest on a marble stage, and then +recross again. Here and there a pointed cypress-tree towers upward +like a green pyramid in a desert of azure sky. Bright-leaved autumn +flowers lie in masses on the rich brown earth, and dainty streamlets +come rushing downward in little sculptured troughs. + +What a dismal sigh Silvestro gave when he got the marchesa's message, +and knew that she had arrived! How he wrung his hands and looked +hopelessly upward to heaven with vacant, colorless eyes, the big +heat-drops gathering on his bald, wrinkled forehead! He has so much to +tell her!--It must be told too; he can hide the truth no longer. She +will be sure to ask to see the accounts. Alas! alas! what will his +mistress say? For a moment Silvestro gazes wistfully at the mountains +all around with a vacant stare. Oh, that the mountains would +cover him! Anyway, there are caves and holes, he thinks, where the +marchesa's wrath would never reach him; caves and holes where he might +live hidden for years, cared for by those who love him. Shall he flee, +and never see his mistress's dark, dreadful eyes again? Folly! + +Silvestro rouses himself. He resolves to meet his fate like a man, +whatever that may be. He will not forsake his duty.--So Silvestro +comes hurrying down by the terraces, upon which the shadows fall, to +the house--a gray mediaeval tower, machicolated and turreted--the only +remains of a strong fortress that in feudal times guarded these passes +from Modena into Tuscany. To this gray tower is attached a large +modern dwelling--a villa--painted of a dull-yellow color, with an +overlapping roof, the walls pierced full of windows. The tower, villa, +and the line of cliffs on which they stand, face east and west; on +one side the forest and Corellia crowning a rocky height, on the other +side mountains, with a deep abyss at the foot of the cliffs, yawning +between. It is the marchesa's pleasure to inhabit the old tower rather +than the pleasant villa, with its big windows and large, cheerful +rooms. + +Being tall and spare, Silvestro stoops under the low, arched doorway, +heavily clamped with iron and nails, leading into the tower; then he +mounts very slowly a winding stair of stone to the second story. The +sound of his footsteps brings a whole pack of dogs rushing out upon +the gravel. + +(On the gravel before the house there is a fountain springing up out +of a marble basin full of gold-fish. Pots are set round the edge with +the sweetest-smelling flowers--tuberoses, heliotropes, and gardenias.) +The dogs, barking loudly, run round the basin and upset some of the +pots. One noble mastiff, with long white hair and strong straight +limbs--the leader of the pack--pursues Silvestro up the dark, tiring +stairs. When the mastiff has reached him and smelt at him he stands +still, wags his tail, and thrusts his nose into Silvestro's hand. + +"Poor Argo!" says the steward, meekly. "Don't bark at me; I cannot +bear it now." + +Argo gives a friendly sniff, and leaves him. + +At a door on the right, Silvestro stops short, to collect his thoughts +and his breath. He has not seen his mistress for a year. His soul +sinks at the thought of what he must tell her now. "Can she punish +me?" he asks himself, vaguely. Perhaps. He must bear it if she does. +He has done all he can. Consoled by this reflection, he knocks. A +well-known voice answers, "Come in." Silvestro's clammy hand is on the +lock--a worm-eaten door creaks on its hinges--he enters. + +The marchesa nods to Silvestro without speaking. She is seated before +a high desk of carved walnut-wood, facing the door. The desk is +covered with papers. A file of papers is in her hand; others lie upon +her lap. All round there are cupboards, shelves, and drawers, piled +with papers and documents, most of them yellow with age. These consist +of old leases, contracts, copies of various lawsuits with her tenants, +appeals to Barga, mortgages, accounts. The room is low, and rounded to +the shape of the tower. Naked joists and rafters of black wood support +the ceiling. The light comes in through some loop-holes, high up, cut +in the thickness of the wall. Some tall, high-backed chairs, covered +with strips of faded satin, stand near the chimney. A wooden bedstead, +without curtains, is partly concealed behind a painted screen, covered +with gods and goddesses, much consumed and discolored from the damp. +As the room had felt a little chilly from want of use, a large fire of +unbarked wood had been kindled. The fire blazes fiercely on the flat +stones within an open hearth, unguarded by a grate. + +Having nodded to Silvestro, the marchesa takes no further notice +of him. From time to time she flings a loose paper from those lying +before her--over her shoulder toward the fire, which is at her back. +Of these papers some reach the fire; others, but half consumed, fall +back upon the floor. The flames of the wood-fire leap out and seize +the papers--now one by one--now as they lie in little heaps. The +flames leap up; the burning papers crumple along the floor, in little +streaks of fire, catching others that lie, still farther on in the +room, still unconsumed. Ere these papers have sunk into ashes, a fresh +supply, thrown over her shoulder by the marchesa, have caught the +flames. All the space behind her chair is covered with smouldering +papers. A stack of wood, placed near to replenish the fire, has +caught, and is smouldering also. The fire, too, on the hearth is +burning fiercely; it crackles up the wide open chimney in a mass of +smoke and sparks. + +The marchesa is far too much absorbed to notice this. Silvestro, +standing near the door--the high desk and the marchesa's tall figure +between him and the hearth--does not perceive it either. Still the +marchesa bends over her papers, reading some and throwing others over +her shoulders into the flames behind. + +Silvestro, who had grown hot and cold twenty times in a minute, +standing before her, his book under his arm--thinking she had +forgotten him--addresses her at last. + +"How does madama feel?" Silvestro asks most humbly, turning his +lack-lustre eyes upon her, "Well," is the marchesa's brief reply. She +signs to him to lay his book upon her desk. She takes it in her hand. +She turns over the pages, following line after line with the tip of +her long, white forefinger. + +"There seems very little, Silvestro," she says, running her eyes up +and down each page as she turns it slowly over. Her brow knits until +her dark eyebrows almost meet--"very little. Has the corn brought in +so small a sum, and the olives, and the grapes?" + +"Madama," begins Silvestro, and he bends his head and shoulders, +and squeezes his skinny hands together, in a desperate effort to +obliterate himself altogether, if possible, in the face of such +mishaps--"madama will condescend to remember the late spring frosts. +There is no corn anywhere. Upon the lowlands the frost was most +severe; in April, too, when the grain was forward. The olives bore a +little last season, but Corellia is a cold place--too cold for olives; +the trees, too, are very old. This year there will be no crop at all. +As for the grapes--" + +"_Accidente_ to the grapes!" interrupts the marchesa, reddening. "The +grapes always fail. Every thing fails under you." + +Silvestro shrinks back in terror at the sound of her harsh voice. Oh, +that those purple mountains around would cover him! The moment of her +wrath is come. What will she say to him? + +"I wish I had not an acre of vineyard," the marchesa continues. +"Disease, or hail, or drought, or rain, it is always the same--the +grapes always fail." + +"The peasants are starving, madama," Silvestro takes courage to say, +but his voice is low and muffled. + +"They have chestnuts," she answers quickly, "let them live on +chestnuts." + +Silvestro starts violently. He draws back a step or two nearer the +door. + +"Let the gracious madama consider, many have not even a patch of +chestnuts. There is great misery, madama--indeed, there is great +misery." Silvestro goes on to say. He must speak now or never. +"Madama"--and he holds up his bony hands--"you will have no rent at +all from the peasants. They must be kept all the winter." + +"Silvestro, you are a fool," cries the marchesa, eying him +contemptuously, as she would a troublesome child--"a fool; pray how am +I to keep the peasants, and pay the taxes? I must live." + +"Doubtless, excellent madama." Silvestro was infinitely relieved at +the calmness with which the marchesa received his announcement. He +could not have believed it. He feels most grateful to her. "But, if +madama will speak with Fra Pacifico, he will tell her how bitter the +distress must be this winter. The Town Council"--Silvestro, deceived +by her apparent calmness, has made a mistake in naming the Town +Council. It is too late. The words have been spoken. Knowing his +mistress's temper, Silvestro imperceptibly glides toward the door as +he mentions that body--"The Town Council has decreed--" His words die +away in his throat at her aspect. + +"Santo dei Santi!" she screams, boiling over with rage, "I forbid you +to talk to me of the Town Council!" + +Silvestro's hand is upon the lock to insure escape. + +"Madama--consider," pleads Silvestro, wellnigh desperate. "The Town +Council might appeal to Barga," Silvestro almost whispers now. + +"Let them--let them; it is just what I should like. Let them appeal. +I will fight them at law, and beat them in full court--the ruffians!" +She gives a short, scornful laugh. "Yes, we will fight it out at +Barga." + +Suddenly the marchesa stops. Her eyes have now reached the +balance-sheet on the last page. She draws a long breath. + +"Why, there is nothing!" she exclaims, placing her forefinger on +the total, then raising her head and fixing her eyes on +Silvestro--"nothing!" + +Silvestro shrinks, as it were, into himself. He silently bows his head +in terrified acquiescence. + +"A thousand francs! How am I to live on a thousand francs!" + +Silvestro shakes from head to foot. One hand slides from the lock; he +joins it to the other, clasps them both together, and sways himself to +and fro as a man in bodily anguish. + +At the sight of the balance-sheet a kind of horror has come over the +marchesa. So intense is this feeling, she absolutely forgets to +abuse Silvestro. All she desires is to get rid of him before she has +betrayed her alarm. + +"I shall call a council," she says, collecting herself; "I shall take +the chair. I shall find funds to meet these wants. Give the sindaco +and Ser Giacomo notice of this, Silvestro, immediately." + +The steward stares at his mistress in mute amazement. He inclines his +head, and turns to go; better ask her no questions and escape. + +"Silvestro!"--the marchesa calls after him imperiously--"come here." +(She is resolved that he, a menial, shall see no change in her.) "At +this season the woods are full of game. I will have no poachers, mind. +Let notices be posted up at the town-gate and at the church-door--do +you hear? No one shall carry a gun within my woods." + +Silvestro's lips form to two single words, and these come very faint: +"The poor!" Then he holds himself together, terrified. + +"The poor!" retorts the marchesa, defiantly--"the poor! For shame, +Silvestro! They shall not overrun my woods and break through my +vineyards--they shall not! You hear?" Her shrill voice rings round the +low room, "No poachers--no trespassers, remember that; I shall tell +Adamo the same. Now go, and, as you pass, tell Fra Pacifico I want him +to-morrow." ("He must help me with Enrica," was her thought.) + +When Silvestro was gone, a haggard look came over the marchesa's pale +face. One by one she turned over the leaves of the rental lying before +her, glanced at them, then laid the book down upon the desk. She +leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and fell into a fit of +musing--the burning papers on the hearth, and those also smouldering +on the floor, lighting up every grain in the wood-work of the +cupboards at her back. + +This was ruin--absolute ruin! The broad lands that spread wellnigh for +forty miles in the mountains and along the river Serchio--the feudal +tower in which she sat, over which still floated, on festivals, the +banner of the Guinigi (crosses of gold on a red field--borne at +the Crusades); the stately palace at Lucca--its precious +heirlooms--strangers must have it all! + +She had so fortified herself against all signs of outward emotion, +other than she chose to show, that even in solitude she was composed; +but the veins swelled in her forehead, and she turned very white. Yet +there had been a way. "Enrica"--her name escaped the marchesa's thin +lips unwittingly. "Enrica."--The sound of her own voice startled +her. (Enrica was now alone, shut up by her aunt's order in her +little chamber on the third floor over her own. On their arrival, the +marchesa had sternly dismissed her without a word.) + +"Enrica."--With that name rose up within her a thousand conflicting +thoughts. She had severed herself from Enrica. But for Cavaliere +Trenta she would have driven her from the palace. She had not cared +whether Enrica lived or died--indeed, she had wished her dead. Yet +Enrica could save the land--the palace--make the great name live! Had +she but known all this at Lucca! Was it too late? Trenta had urged the +marriage with Count Nobili. But Trenta urged every marriage. Could she +consent to such a marriage? Own herself ruined--wrong?--Feel Nobili's +foot upon her neck?--Impossible! Her obstinacy was so great, that she +could not bring herself to yield, though all that made life dear was +slipping from her grasp. + +Yes--yes, it was too late.--The thing was done. She must stand to +her own words. Tortures would not have wrung it from her--but in the +solitude of that bare room the marchesa felt she had gone too far. +The landmark of her life, her pride, broke down; her stout heart +failed--tears stood in her dark eyes. + +At this moment the report of a gun was heard ringing out from the +mountains opposite. It echoed along the cliffs and died away into +the abyss below. The marchesa was instantly leaning out of the lowest +loop-hole, and calling in a loud voice, "Adamo--Adamo--Angelo, where +are you?" (Adamo and Pipa his wife, and Angelo their son, were her +attendants.) + +Adamo, a stout, big-limbed man, bull-necked--with large lazy eyes and +a black beard as thick as horse-hair, a rifle slung by a leather strap +across his chest, answered out of the shrubs--now blackening in the +twilight: "I am here, padrona, command me." + +"Adamo, who is shooting on my land?" + +"Padrona, I do not know." + +"Where is Angelo?" + +"Here am I," answered a childish voice, and a ragged, loose-limbed +lad--a shock of chestnut hair, out of which the sun had taken all +the color, hanging over his face, from which his merry eyes +twinkle--leaped out on the gravel. + +"You do not know, Adamo? What does this mean? You ought to know. I am +but just come back, and there are strangers about already with guns. +Is this the way you serve me, Adamo?--and I pay you a crown a month. +You idle vagabond!" + +"Padrona," spoke Adamo in a deep voice--"I am here alone--this boy +helps me but little." + +"Alone, Adamo! you dare to say alone, and you have the dogs? Hear how +they bark--they have heard the shot too--good dogs, good dogs, they +are left me--alone.--Argo is stronger than three men; Argo knocks over +any one, and he is trained to follow on the scent like a bloodhound. +Adamo, you are an idiot!" Adamo hung his head, either in shame or +rage, but he dared not reply. + +"Now take the dogs out with you instantly--you hear, Adamo? Argo, and +Ponto the bull-dog, and Tuzzi and the others. Take them and go down at +once to the bottom of the cliffs. Search among the rocks everywhere. +Creep along the vines-terraces, and through the olive-grounds. Be sure +when you go down below the cliffs to search the mouth of the chasm. +Go at once. Set the dogs on all you find. Argo will pin them. He is a +brave dog. With Argo you are stronger than any one you will meet. If +you catch any men, take them at once to the municipality. Wretches, +they deserve it!--poaching in my woods! Listen--before you go, tell +Pipa to come to me soon." + +Pipa's footsteps came clattering up the stairs to the marchesa's room. +The light of the lamp she carried--for it was already dark within +the tower--caught the spray of the fountain outside as she passed the +narrow slits that served for windows. + +"Pipa," said the marchesa, as she stood before her in the doorway, a +broad smile on her merry brown face, "set that lamp on the desk here +before me. So--that will do. Now go up-stairs and tell the Signorina +Enrica that I bid her 'Good-night,' and that I will see her to-morrow +morning after breakfast. Then you may go to bed, Pipa. I am busy, +and shall sit up late." Pipa curtsied in silence, and closed the +marchesa's door. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCHESA'S PAPERS. + + +Midnight had struck from the church-clock at Corellia. The strokes +seemed to come slower by night than day, and sounded hollower. Hours +ago the last light had gone out. The moon had set behind the cleft +summits of La Pagna. Distant thunder had died away among the rocks. +The night was close and still. The villa lay in deep shadow, but the +outline of the turrets of the tower were clearly marked against the +starry sky. All slept, or seemed to sleep. + +A thin blue vapor curls out from the marchesa's casement. This vapor, +at first light as a fog-drift, winds itself upward, and settles into a +cloud, that hovers in the air. Each moment the cloud rises higher +and higher. Now it has grown into a lurid canopy, that overhangs the +tower. A sudden glow from an arched loop-hole on the second story +shows every bar of iron across it. This is caught up below in a broad +flash across the basin of the fountain. Within there is a crackling +as of dry leaves--a clinging, heavy smell of heated air. Another and +another flame curls round the narrow loop-hole, twisting upward on the +solid wall. + +At this instant there is a low growl, as from a kicked dog. A door +below is banged-to and locked. Then steps are heard upon the gravel. +It is Adamo. He had returned, as the marchesa bade him, and has come +to tell her he has searched everywhere--down even to the reeds by the +river Serchio (where he had discharged his gun at a water-hen), but +had found no one, though all the way the dogs had sniffed and whined. + +Adamo catches sight of the crimson glare reflected upon the fountain. +He looks up at the tower--he sees the flames. A look of horror comes +into his round black eyes. Then, with a twitch, settling his gun +firmly upon his shoulder, he rushes to the unlocked door and flings it +wide open. + +"Pipa! Wife! Angelo!" Adamo shouts down the stone passage connecting +the tower with the villa where they slept. "Wake up! The tower is on +fire! Fire! Fire!" + +As Adam opened his mouth, the rush of hot air, pent upon the winding +stair, drawn downward by the draught from the open door, catches +his breath. He staggers against the wall. Then the strong man shook +himself together--again he shouts, "Pipa! Pipa! rise!" + +Without waiting for an answer, putting his hand over his mouth, Adamo +charges up the stone stairs--up to the marchesa's door. Her room is on +fire. + +"I must save her! I must save her! I will think of Pipa and the +children afterward." + +Each step Adamo takes upward, the heat grows fiercer, the smoke that +pours down denser. Twice he had slipped and almost fallen, but he +battles bravely with the heat and blinding smoke, and keeps his +footing. + +Now Adamo is on the landing of the first floor--Adamo blinded, his +head reeling--but lifting his strong limbs, and firm broad feet, he +struggles upward. He has reached the marchesa's door. The place is +marked by a chink of fire underneath. Adamo passes his hand over the +panel; it is unconsumed, the fire drawing the other way out by the +window. + +"O God! if the door is bolted! I shall drop if I am not quick." +Adamo's fingers were on the lock. "The door is bolted! Blessed Virgin, +help me!" + +He unslings his unloaded gun--he had forgotten it till then--and, +tightly seizing it in his strong hands, he flings the butt end against +the lock. The wood is old, the bolt is loose. + +"Holy Jesus! It yields! It opens!" + +Overcome by the rush of fiery air, again Adamo staggers. As he lifts +his hands to raise the hair, which, moist from heat, clings to his +forehead, his fingers strike against a medal of the Virgin he wore +round his naked throat. + +"Mother of God, help me!" A desperate courage seizes him; he rushes +in--all before him swims in a red mist. "Help me, Madonna!" comes to +his parched lips. "O God, where is the marchesa?" + +A puff of wind from the open door for an instant raised the smoke +and sparks; in that instant Adamo sees a dark heap lying on the floor +close to the door. It is the marchesa. "Is she dead or alive?" He +cannot stop to tell. He raises her. She lay within his arms. Her dark +dress, though not consumed, strikes hot against his chest. Not an +instant is to be lost. The fresh rush of air up the stairs has fanned +the flames. Every moment they are rising higher. They redden on the +dark rafters of the ceiling. The sparks fly about in dazzling clouds. +Adamo is on the threshold. Outside it is now so dark that, spite of +danger, he has to pause and feel his way downward, or he might dash +his precious burden against the walls. In that pause a piercing +cry from above strikes upon his ear, but in the crackling of the +increasing flames and a fresh torrent of smoke and burning sparks +that burst out from the room, Adamo's brain--always of the dullest--is +deadened. He forgets that cry. All his thought is to save his +mistress. Even Pipa and Angelo and little Gigi are forgotten. + +Ere he reaches the level of the first story, the alarm-bell over his +head clangs out a goodly peal. A bound of joy within his honest heart +gives him fresh courage. + +"It is the Madonna! When I touched her image, I knew that she would +help me. Pipa has heard me. Pipa has pulled the bell. She is safe! And +Angelo--and little Gigi, safe! safe! Brave Pipa! How I love her!" + +Before a watch could tick twenty seconds, and while Adamo's foot was +still on the last round of the winding stair, the church-bells of +Corellia clash out in answer to the alarm-bell. + +Now Adamo has reached the outer door. He stands beneath the stars. His +face and hands are black, his hair is singed; his woolen clothes are +hot and burn upon him. The cool night air makes his skin smart with +pain. Already Pipa's arms are round him. Angelo, too, has caught him +by the legs, then leaps into the air with a wild hoot. Bewildered Pipa +cannot speak. No more can Adamo; but Pipa's clinging arms say more +than words. Tenderly Adamo lays the marchesa down beside the fountain. +He totters on a step or two, feeling suddenly giddy and strangely +weak. He stands still. The strain had been too much for the simple +soul, who led a quiet life with Pipa and the children. Tears rise in +his big black eyes. Greatly ashamed, and wondering what has come to +him, he sinks upon the ground. Pipa, watching him, again flings her +arms about him; but Adamo gave her a glance so fierce, as he points to +the marchesa lying helpless upon the ground, it sent her quickly from +him. With a smothered sob Pipa turns away to help her. + +(Ah! cruel Pipa, and is your heart so full that you have forgotten +Enrica, left helpless in the tower?--Yet so it was. Enrica is +forgotten. Cruel, cruel Pipa! And stupid Adamo, whose head turns round +so fast he must hold on by a tree not to fall again.) + +Silvestro and Fra Pacifico now rushed out of the darkness; Fra +Pacifico aroused out of his first sleep. He had not seen the marchesa +since her arrival. He did not know whether Enrica had come with her +from Lucca or not. Seeing Pipa busy about the fountain, the women, +thought Fra Pacifico, were safe; so Fra Pacifico strode off on his +strong legs to see what could be done to quench the fire, and save, +if possible, the more combustible villa. Surely the villa must be +consumed! The smoke now darkened the heavens. The flames belted the +thick tower-walls as with a burning girdle. Showers of sparks and +flames rose out from each aperture with sudden bursts, revealing every +detail on the gray old walls; moss and lichen, a trail of ivy that +had forced itself upward, long grass that floated in the hot air; a +crevice under the battlements where a bird had built its nest. Then +a swirl of smoke swooped down and smothered all, while overhead the +mighty company of constellations looked calmly down in their cold +brightness! + +A crowd of men now came running down from Corellia, roused by the +church-bells. Pietro, the baker, still hard at work, was the first to +hear the bell, to dash into the street, and shout, "Help! help! Fire! +fire! At the villa!" + +Oreste and Pilade heard him. They came tumbling out. Ser Giacomo +roused the sindaco--who in his turn woke his clerk; but when Mr. +Sindaco was fairly off down the hill, this much-injured and very weary +youth turned back and went to bed. + +Some bore lighted torches, others copper buckets. Pietro, the butcher, +brought the municipal ladder. These men promptly formed a line down +the hill, to carry the water from the willful mountain-stream that +fed the town fountain. Fra Pacifico took the lead. (He had heard the +alarm, and had rung the church-bells himself.) No one cared for the +marchesa; but a burning house was a fine sight, and where Fra Pacifico +went all Corellia followed. Adamo, recovered now, was soon upon the +ladder, receiving the buckets from below. Pipa beside the fountain +watched the marchesa, sprinkling water on her face. "Surely her +eyelids faintly quiver!" thinks Pipa.--Pipa watched the marchesa +speechless--watched her as birth and death are only watched! + +The marchesa's eyes had quivered; now they slowly unclose. Pipa, who, +next to the Virgin and the saints, worshiped her mistress--laughed +wildly--sobbed--then laughed again--kissed her hand, her +forehead--then pressed her in her arms. Supported by Pipa, the +marchesa sat up--she turned, and then she saw the mountains of smoke +bursting from the tower, forming into great clouds that rose over the +tree-tops, and shut out the stars. The marchesa glanced quickly round +with her keen, black eyes--she glanced as one searching for some thing +she cannot find; then her lips parted, and one word fell faintly from +them: "Enrica!" + +Pipa caught the half-uttered name, she echoed it with a scream. + +"Ahi! The signorina! The Signorina Enrica!" + +Pipa shouted to Adamo on the ladder. + +"Adamo! Adamo! where is the signorina?" + +Adamo's heart sank at her voice. On the instant he recalled that cry +he had heard upon the stairs. + +"Where did you see her last?" Adamo shouted back to Pipa out of the +din--his big stupid eyes looking down upon her face. "Up-stairs?" + +Pipa nodded. She could not speak, it was too horrible. + +"Santo Dio! I did not know it!" He struck upon his breast. "Assassin! +I have killed her! Assassin! Beast! what have I done?" + +Again the air rang with Pipa's shrill cries. The Corellia men, who +with eager hands pass the buckets down the hill, stop, and stare, and +wonder. Fra Pacifico, who had eyes and ears for every one, turned, and +ran forward to where Pipa sat wringing her hands upon the ground, the +marchesa leaning against her. + +"Is Enrica in the tower?" asked Fra Pacifico. + +"Yes, yes!" the marchesa answered feebly. "You must save her!" + +"Then follow me!" shouted the priest, swinging his strong arms above +his head. + +Adamo leaped from the ladder. Others--they were among the very +poorest--stepped out and joined him and the priest; but at the very +entrance they were met and buffeted by such a gust of fiery wind, such +sparks and choking smoke, that they all fell back aghast. Fra Pacifico +alone stood unmoved, his tall, burly figure dark against the glare. At +this instant a man wrapped in a cloak rushed out of the wood, crossed +the red circle reflected from the fire, and dashed into the archway. + +"Stop him! stop him!" shouted Adamo from behind. + +"You go to certain death!" cried Fra Pacifico, laying his hand upon +him. + +"I am prepared to die," the other answered, and pushed by him. + +Twice he essayed to mount the stairs. Twice he was driven back before +them all. See! He has covered his head with his cloak. He has set his +foot firmly upon the stone steps. Up, up he mounts--now he is gone! +Without there was a breathless silence. "Who is he?--Can he save +her?"--Words were not spoken, but every eye asked this question. The +men without are brave, ready to face danger in dark alley--by stream +or river--or on the mountain-side. Danger is pastime to them, but each +one feels in his own heart he is glad not to go. Fra Pacifico stands +motionless, a sad stern look upon his swarthy face. For the first time +in his life he has not been foremost in danger! + +By this time, Fra Pacifico thinks, unless choked, the stranger must be +near the upper story. + +The marchesa has now risen. She stands upright, her eyes riveted on +the tower. She knows there is a door that opens from the top of the +winding stair, on the highest story, next Enrica's room, a door out on +the battlements. Will the stranger see it? O God! will he see +it?--or is the smoke too thick?--or has he fainted ere he reached +so high?--or, if he has reached her, is Enrica dead? How heavy +the moments pass--weighted with life or death! Look, look! Surely +something moves between the turrets of the tower! Yes, something +moves. It rises--a muffled form between the turrets--the figure of a +man wrapped in a cloak--on the near side out of the smoke and flames. +Yes--it is the stranger--Enrica in his arms! All is clearly seen, +cut as it were against a crimson background. A shout rises from every +living man--a deep, full shout as out of bursting hearts that vent +themselves. Out of the shout the words ring out--"The steps!--the +steps!--There--to the right--cut in the battlements! The steps!--the +steps!--close by the flagstaff! Pass the steps down to the lower roof +of the villa" (The wind set on the other side, drawing the fire that +way. The villa was not touched.) + +The stranger heard and bowed his head. He has found the steps--he has +reached the lower roof of the villa--he is safe! + +No one below had moved. The hands by which the water was passed +were now laid upon the ladder. It was shifted over to the other side +against the villa walls. Adamo and Fra Pacifico stand upon the lower +rungs, to steady it. The stranger throws his cloak below, the better +to descend. + +"Who is he?" That strong, well-knit frame, those square shoulders, +that curly chestnut hair, the pleasant smile upon his glowing face, +proclaim him. It is Count Nobili! He has lands along the Serchio, +between Barga and Corellia, and was well known as a keen sportsman. + +"Bravo! bravo! Evviva! Count Nobili--evviva!" Caps were tossed into +the air, hands were wildly clapped, friendly arms are stretched out to +bear him up when he descends. Adamo is wildly excited; Adamo wants +to mount the ladder to help. The others pull him back. Fra Pacifico +stands ready to receive Enrica, a baffled look on his face. It is the +first time Fra Pacifico has stood by and seen another do his work. + +See, Count Nobili is on the ladder, Enrica in his arms! As his feet +touch the ground, again the people shout: "Bravo! Count Nobili! +Evviva!" Their hot southern blood is roused by the sight of such noble +daring. The people press upon him--they fold him in their arms--they +kiss his hands, his cheeks, even his very feet. + +Nobili's eyes flash. He, too, forgets all else, and, with a glance +that thrills Enrica from head to foot, he kisses her before them all. +The men circle round him. They shout louder than before. + +As the crowd parted, the dark figure of the marchesa, standing near +the fountain, was disclosed. Before she had time to stir, Count Nobili +had led Enrica to her. He knelt upon the ground, and, kissing Enrica's +hand, placed it within her own. Then he rose, and, with that grace +natural to him, bowed and stood aside, waiting for her to speak. + +The marchesa neither moved nor did she speak. When she felt the warm +touch of Enrica's hand within her own, it seemed to rouse her. She +drew her toward her and kissed her with more love than she had ever +shown before. + +"I thank you, Count Nobili," she said, in a strange, cold voice. Even +at that moment she could not bring herself to look him in the face. +"You have saved my niece's life." + +"Madame," replied Nobili, his sweet-toned voice trembling, "I have +saved my own. Had Enrica perished, I should not have lived." + +In these few words the chivalric nature of the man spoke out. The +marchesa waved her hand. She was stately even now. Nobili understood +her gesture, and, stung to the very soul, he drew back. + +"Permit me," he said, haughtily, before he turned away, "to add my +help to those who are laboring to save your house." + +The marchesa bowed her head in acquiescence; then, with unsteady +steps, she moved backward and seated herself upon the ground. + +Pipa, meanwhile, had flung her arms about Enrica, with such an energy +that she pinned her to the spot. Pipa pressed her hands about Enrica, +feeling every limb; Pipa turned Enrica's white face up ward to the +blaze; she stroked her long, fair hair that fell like a mantle round +her. + +"Blessed Mother!" she sobbed, drawing her coarse fingers through the +matted curls, "not a hair singed! Oh, the noble count! Oh, how I love +him--" + +"No, dear Pipa," Enrica answered, softly, "I am not hurt--only +frightened. The fire had but just reached the door when he came. He +was just in time." + +"To think we had forgotten her!" murmured Pipa, still holding her +tightly. + +"Who remembered me first?" asked Enrica, eagerly. + +"The marchesa, signorina, the marchesa. She remembered you. The +marchesa was brought down by Adamo. Your name was the first word she +uttered." + +Enrica's blue eyes glistened. In an instant she had disengaged herself +from Pipa, and was kneeling at the marchesa's feet. + +"Dear aunt, forgive me. Now that I am saved, forgive me! You must +forgive me, and forgive him, too!" + +These last words came faint and low. The marchesa put her finger on +her lip. + +"Not now, Enrica, not now. To-morrow we will speak." + +Meanwhile Count Nobili, Fra Pacifico, and the Corellia men, strove +what human strength could do to put the fire out. Even the +sindaco, forgetting the threats about his rent, labored hard and +willingly--only Silvestro did nothing. Silvestro seemed stunned; he +sat upon the ground staring, and crying like a child. + +To save the rooms within the tower was impossible. Every plank of wood +was burning. The ceilings had fallen in; only the blackened walls and +stone stairs remained. The villa was untouched--the wind, setting the +other way, and the thick walls of the tower, had saved it. + +Now every hand that could be spared was turned to bring beds from the +steward's for the marchesa and Enrica. They had gone into Pipa's +room until the villa was made ready. Pipa told Adamo, and he told the +others, that the marchesa had not seen the burning papers, and the +lighted pile of wood, until the flames rose high behind her back. She +had rushed forward, and fallen. + +When all was over, Count Nobili was carried up the hill back to +Corellia, in triumph, on the shoulders of Pietro the baker, and +Oreste, the strongest of the brothers. Every soul of the poor +townsfolk--women as well as men who had not gone down to help--had +risen, and was out. They had put lights into their windows. They +crowded the doorways. The market-place was full, and the church-porch. +The fame of Nobili's courage had already reached them. All bless him +as he passes--bless him louder when Nobili, all aglow with happiness, +empties his pockets of all the coin he has, and promises more +to-morrow. At this the women lay hold of him, and dance round him. It +was long before he was released. At last Fra Pacifico carried him off, +almost by force, to sleep at the curato. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE. + + +Fra Pacifico was a dark, burly man, with a large, weather-beaten +face, kind gray eyes under a pair of shaggy eyebrows, a resolute nose, +large, full-lipped mouth, and a clean-shaven double chin, that rested +comfortably upon his priestly stock. He was no longer young, but he +had a frame like iron, and in his time he had possessed a force of +arm and muscle enough to fell an ox. His strength and daring were +acknowledged by all the mountain-folks from Corellia to Barga, hardy +fellows, and judges of what a man can do. Moreover, Fra Pacifico +was more than six feet high--and who does not respect a man of such +inches? In fair fight he had killed his man--a brigand chief--who +prowled about the mountains toward Carrara. His band had fled and +never returned. + +Fra Pacifico had stood with his strong feet planted on the earth, +over the edge of a rocky precipice--by which the high-road passed--and +seized a furious horse dragging a cart holding six poor souls +below. Fra Pacifico had found a shepherd of Corellia--one of his +flock--struck down by fever on a rocky peak some twenty miles distant, +and he had carried him on his back, and laid him on his bed at home. +Every one had some story to tell of his prowess, coolness, and manly +daring. When he walked along the streets, the ragged children--as +black with sun and dirt as unfledged ravens--sidled up to him, and, +looking up into his gray eyes, ran between his firm-set legs, plucked +him by the cassock, and felt in his pockets for an apple or a cake. +Then the children held him tight until he had raised them up and +kissed them. + +Spite of the labors of the previous night (no one had worked harder), +Fra Pacifico had risen with daybreak. His office accustomed him to +little sleep. There was no time by day or night that he could call his +own. If any one was stricken with sickness in the night, or suddenly +seized for death in those pale hours when the day hovers, half-born, +over the slumbering earth, Fra Pacifico must rise and wake his +acolyte, the baker's boy, who, going late to bed, was hard to rouse. +Along with him he must grope up and down slippery steps, and along +dark alleys, bearing the Host under a red umbrella, until he had +placed it within the dying lips. If a baby was weakly, or born before +its time, and, having given one look at this sorrowful world, was +about to lose its eyes on it forever, Fra Pacifico must run out at any +moment to christen it. + +There was no doctor at Corellia, the people were too poor; so Fra +Pacifico was called upon to do a doctor's duty. He must draw the teeth +of such as needed it; bind up cuts and sores; set limbs; and give +such simple drugs as he knew the nature of. He must draw up papers for +those who could not afford to pay the notary; write letters for +those who could only make a cross; hear and conceal every secret that +reached him in the confessional or on the death-bed. He must be +at hand at any hour in the twenty-four--ready to counsel, soothe, +command, and reprimand; to bless, to curse, and, if need be, to +strike, when his righteous anger rose; to fetch and carry for all, +and, poor himself, to give out of his scanty store. These were his +priestly duties. + +Fra Pacifico lived at the back of the old Lombard church of Santa +Barbara, in a house overlooking a damp square, overgrown with moss +and weeds. Between the tower where the bells hung, and the body of the +church, an open loggia (balcony), roofed with wood and tiles, rested +on slender pillars. In the loggia, Fra Pacifico, when at leisure, +would sit and rest and read his breviary; sometimes smoke a solitary +pipe--stretching out his shapely legs in the luxury of doing nothing. +Behind the loggia were the priest's four rooms, bare even for the +bareness of that squalid place. He kept no servant, but it was counted +an honor to serve him, and the mothers of Corellia came by turns to +cook and wash for him. + +Fra Pacifico, as I have said, had risen at daybreak. Now he is +searching to find a messenger to send to Lucca, as the marchesa had +desired, to summon Cavaliere Trenta. That done, he takes a key out of +his pocket and unlocks the church-door. Here, kneeling at the altar, +he celebrates a private mass of thanksgiving for the marchesa and +Enrica. Then, with long strides, he descends the hill to see what is +doing at the villa. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"SAY NOT TOO MUCH." + + +The sun was streaming on mountain and forest before Count Nobili woke +from a deep sleep. As he cast his drowsy eyes around upon the homely +little room, the coarsely-painted frescoes on the walls--the gaudy +cups and plates arranged in a cupboard opposite the bed--and on a wax +Gesù Bambino, placed in state upon the mantel-piece, surrounded by a +flock of blue sheep, browsing on purple grass, he could not at first +remember where he was. The noises from the square below--the clink of +the donkey's hoofs upon the pavement as they struggled up the steep +alley laden with charcoal; the screams of children--the clamor of +women's voices moving to and fro with their wooden shoes--and the boom +of the church-bells sounding overhead for morning mass--came to him as +in a dream. + +As he raised his hand to push back the hair which fell over his +eyes, a sharp twitch of pain--for his hands were scorched and +blistered--brought all that had happened vividly before him. A warmth +of joy and love glowed at his heart. He had saved Enrica's life. +Henceforth that life was his. From that day they would never part. +From that day, forgetting all others, he would live for her alone. + +He must see her instantly--if possible, before his enemy, her aunt, +had risen--see Enrica, and speak to her, alone. Oh, the luxury of +that! How he longed to feast his eyes upon the softness of her beauty! +To fill his ears with the music of her voice! To touch her little +hand, and scent the fragrance of her breath upon his cheek! There was +no thought within Nobili but love and loyalty. At that moment Enrica +was the only woman in the world whom he loved, or ever could love! + +He dressed himself in haste, opened the door, and stepped out into +the loggia. Not finding Fra Pacifico there, or in the other rooms, he +passed down the stone steps into the little square, threading his way +beyond as he best could, through the tortuous little alleys toward the +gate. Most of the men had already gone to work; but such as lingered, +or whose business kept them at home, rose as he passed, and bared +their heads to him. The mothers and the girls stared at him and +smiled; troops of children followed at his heels through the town, +until he reached the gate. + +Without, the holiness of Nature was around. The morning air blew upon +him crisp and clear. The sky, blue as a turquoise, was unbroken by a +cloud. The trees were bathed in gold. The chain of Apennines rose up +before him in lines of dreamy loveliness, like another world, midway +toward heaven. A passing shower veiled the massive summits toward +Massa and Carrara, but the broad valley of the Serchio, mapped out in +smallest details, lay serenely luminous below. Beyond the gate there +was no certain road. It broke into little tracts and rocky paths +terracing downward. Following these, streams ran bubbling, sparkling +like gems as they dashed against the stones. No shadows rested upon +the grass, cooled by the dew and carpeted by flowers. The woods danced +in the October sunshine. Painted butterflies and gnats circled in the +warm air; green lizards gamboled among the rocks that cut the +turf. Flocks of autumn birds swooped round in rapid flight. Some +freshly-shorn sheep, led by a ragged child, cropped the short herbage +fragrant with strong herbs. A bristly pig carrying a bell about his +neck, ran wildly up and down the grassy slope in search of chestnuts. + +Through this sylvan wilderness Nobili came stepping downward by the +little paths, like a young god full of strength and love! + +The villa lay beneath him; the blackened ruins of the tower rose over +the chestnut-tops. These blackened ruins showed him which way to go. +As he set his foot upon the topmost terrace of the garden, his heart +beat fast. + +Enrica would be there, he knew it. Enrica would be waiting for him. +Could Nobili yearn so fondly for Enrica and she not know it? Could the +mystic bond that knit them together, from the first moment they had +met, leave her unconscious of his presence? No; that subtile charm +that draws lovers together, and breathes from heart to heart the +sacred fire, had warned her. She was standing there--there, beneath +him, under the shadow of a flowery thicket. Enrica was leaning against +the trunk of a magnolia-tree, the shining leaves framing her in a rich +canopy, through which a glint of sunshine pierced, falling upon her +light hair and the white dress she wore. + +Nobili paused to look at her. Miser-like, he would pause to gloat upon +his treasure! How well a golden glory would become that sunny head! +She only wanted wings, he thought, to make an angel of her. Enrica's +face was bent. Her thoughts, far away, were lost in a delicious world, +neither earth nor heaven--a world with Nobili! What mysteries were +there, what unknown joys, or sharper pains perchance, she neither knew +nor cared. She would share all with him! In a moment the place she +stood on was darkened. Something stood between her and the sun. She +looked up and gave a little cry, then stood motionless, the color +going and coming upon her cheek. One bound, and Nobili was beside her. +He strained her to him with a passion that robbed him of all words. +Scarcely knowing what he did, he grasped the tangled meshes of her +silken hair and covered them with kisses. Then he raised her soft face +in his hand, and gazed upon it long and fervently. + +Enrica's plaintive eyes melted as they met his. She quivered in his +embrace. Her whole soul went out to him as she lay within his arms. He +bent his head--their trembling lips clung together in one long kiss. +Then the little golden head drooped upon his breast, and nestled +there, as if at last at home. Never before had Enrica's dainty form +yielded beneath his touch. Before, he had but clasped her little hand, +or pressed her dress, or stolen a hasty kiss on those truant locks +of hers. Now Enrica was his own, his very own. The blood shot up like +fire over his face. His eyes devoured her. As she lay encircled in his +arms, a burning blush crimsoned her cheeks. She turned away her face, +and feebly tried to loosen herself from him. Nobili only pressed her +closer. He would not let her go. + +"Do not turn from me, Enrica," he softly murmured. "Would you rob me +of the rapture of my first embrace?" + +There was a passionate tremor in his voice that re vibrated within her +from head to foot. Her flushed cheek grew pale as she listened. + +"Heavens! how I have longed for you! How I have longed for you sitting +at home! And you so near!" + +"And I have longed for you," whispered Enrica, blushing again +redder than summer roses.--Enrica was too simple to dissemble.--"O +Nobili!"--and she raised her dreamy eyes upward to his, then dropped +them again before the fire of his glance--"you cannot tell how lonely +I have been. Oh! I have suffered so much; I thought I should have +died." + +"My own Enrica, that is gone and past. Now we shall never part. I have +won you for my wife. Even the marchesa must own this. Last night the +old life died out as the smoke from that old tower. To-day you have +waked to a new life with me." + +Again Nobili's arms stole round her; again he sealed the sacrament of +love with a fervid kiss. + +Enrica trembled from head to foot--a scared look came over her. The +rush of passionate joy, coming upon the terrors of the past night, was +more than she could bear. Nobili watched the change. + +"Forgive me, love," he said, "I will be calmer. Lay your dear head +against me. We will sit together here--under the trees." + +"Yes," said Enrica in a faltering voice; "I have so much to say." +Then, suddenly recalling the blessing of his presence, a smile stole +about her bloodless lips. She gave a happy sigh. "Yes, Nobili--we can +talk now without fear. But I can talk only of you. I have no thought +but you. I never dreamed of such happiness as this! O Nobili!" And she +hid her face in the strong arm entwined about her. + +"Speak to me, Enrica; I will listen to you forever." + +Enrica clasped his hand, looked at it, sighed, pressed it between both +of hers, sighed again, then raised it to her lips. + +"Dear hand," she said, "how it is burnt! But for this hand, I should +be nothing now but a little heap of ashes in the tower. Nobili"--her +tone suddenly changed--"Nobili, I will try to love life now that you +have given it to me." Her voice rang out like music, and her telltale +eyes caught his, with a glance as passionate as his own. "Count +Marescotti," she said, absently, as giving utterance to a passing +thought--"Count Marescotti told me, only a week ago, that I was born +to be unhappy. He said he read it in my eyes. I believed him then--not +now--not now." + +Why, she could not have explained, but, as the count's name passed +her lips, Enrica was sorry she had mentioned it. Nobili noted this. He +gave an imperceptible start, and drew back a little from her. + +"Do you know Count Marescotti?" Enrica asked him, timidly. + +"I know him by sight," was Nobili's reply. "He is a mad fellow--a +republican. Why does he come to Lucca?" + +Enrica shook her head. + +"I do not know," she answered, still confused. + +"Where did you meet him, Enrica?" + +She blushed, and dropped her eyes. As she gave him no answer, he asked +another question, gazing down upon her earnestly: + +"How did Count Marescotti come to know what your eyes said?" + +As Nobili spoke, his voice sounded changed. He waited for an answer +with a look as if he had been wronged. Enrica's answer did not come +immediately. She felt frightened. + +"Oh! why," she thought, "had she mentioned Marescotti's name?" Nobili +was angry with her--she was sure he was angry with her. + +"I met him at my aunt's one evening," she said at last, gathering +courage as she stole her little hand into one of his, and knit her +fingers tightly within his own. "We went up into the Guinigi Tower +together. There were dear old Trenta and Baldassare Lena with us." + +"Indeed!" replied Nobili, coldly. "I did not know that the Marchesa +Guinigi ever received young men." + +As Nobili said this he fixed his eyes upon Enrica's face. What could +he read there but assurance of the perfect innocence within? Yet +the name of Count Marescotti had grated upon his ear like a discord +clashing among sweet sounds. He shook the feeling off, however, for +the time. Again he was her gracious lover. + +"Tell me, love," he said, drawing Enrica to him, "did you hear my +signal last night?--the shot I fired below, out of the woods?" + +"Yes, I heard a shot. Something told me it must be you. I thought I +should have died when I heard my aunt order Adamo to unloose those +dreadful dogs. How did you escape them?" + +"The cunning beasts! They were upon my track. How I did it in the +darkness I cannot tell, but I managed to scramble down the cliff and +to reach the opposite mountain. The chasm was then between us. So the +dogs lost the scent upon the rocks, and missed me. I left Lucca almost +as soon as you. Trenta told me that the marchesa had brought you here +because you would not give me up. Dear heart, how I grieved that I had +brought suffering on you!" + +He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, then continued: + +"As long as it was day, I prowled about under the cliffs in the shadow +of the chasm. I watched the stars come out. There was one star that +shone brightly above the tower; to me that star was you, Enrica. I +could have knelt to it." + +"Dear Nobili!" murmured Enrica, softly. + +"As I waited there, I saw a great red vapor gather over the +battlements. The alarm-bell sounded. I climbed up through the wood, +where the rocks are lower, and watched among the shrubs. I saw the +marchesa carried out in Adamo's arms. I heard your name, dear love, +passed from mouth to mouth. I looked around--you were not there. I +understood it all; I rushed to save you." + +Again Nobili wound his arms round Enrica and drew her to him with +passionate ardor. The thought of Count Marescotti had faded out like a +bad dream at daylight. + +Enrica's blue eyes dimmed with tears. + +"Oh, do not weep, Enrica!" he cried. "Let the past go, love. Did the +marchesa think that bolts and bars, and Adamo, and watch-dogs, would +keep Nobili from you?" He gave a merry laugh. "I shall not leave +Corellia until we are affianced. Fra Pacifico knows it--I told him so +last night. Cavaliere Trenta is expected to-day from Lucca. Both will +speak to your aunt. One may have done so already, for what I know, +for Fra Pacifico had left his house before I rose. He must be here. Is +this a time to weep, Enrica?" he asked her tenderly. How comely Nobili +looked! What life and joy sparkled in his bright eyes! + +"I am very foolish--I hope you will forgive me," was Enrica's answer, +spoken a little sadly. Her confidence in herself was shaken, since +Count Marescotti's name had jarred between them. "Let us walk a little +in the shade." + +"Yes. Lean on me, dearest; the morning is delicious. But remember, +Enrica, I will have smiles--nothing but smiles." + +As Nobili bore her up on his strong arm, pacing up and down among the +flowering trees that, bowing in the light breeze, shed gaudy petals at +their feet--Nobili looked so strong, and resolute, and bold--his eyes +had such a power in them as he gazed down proudly upon her--that +the tears which trembled upon Enrica's eyelids disappeared. Nobili's +strength came to her as her own strength. She, who had been so crushed +and wounded, brought so near to death, needed this to raise her up to +life. And now it came--came as she gazed at him. + +Yes, she would live--live a new life with him. And Nobili had done +it--done it unconsciously, as the sun unfolds the bosom of the rose, +and from the delicate bud creates the perfect flower. + +Something Nobili understood of what was passing within her, but not +all. He had yet to learn the treasures of faith and love shut up in +the bosom of that silent girl--to learn how much she loved him--only +_him_. (A new lesson for one who had trifled with so many, and given +and taken such facile oaths!) + +Neither spoke, but wandered up and down in vague delight. + +Why was it that at this moment Nobili's thoughts strayed to Lucca, and +to Nera Boccarini?--Nera rose before him, glowing and velvet-eyed, +as on that night she had so tempted him. He drove her image from him. +Nera was dead to him. Dead?--Fool!--And did he think that any thing +can die? Do not our very thoughts rise up and haunt us in some subtile +consequence of after-life? Nothing dies--nothing is isolated. Each act +of daily intercourse--the merest trifle, as the gravest issue--makes +up the chain of life. Link by link that chain draws on, weighted with +good or ill, and clings about us to the very grave. + +Thinking of Nera, Nobili's color changed--a dark look clouded his +ready smile. Enrica asked, "What pains you?" + +"Nothing, love, nothing," Nobili answered vaguely, "only I fear I am +not worthy of you." + +Enrica raised her eyes to his. Such a depth of tenderness and purity +beamed from them, that Nobili asked himself with shame, how he could +have forgotten her. With this blue-eyed angel by his side it seemed +impossible, and yet-- + +Pressing Enrica's hand more tightly, he placed it fondly on his own. +"So small, so true," he murmured, gazing at it as it lay on his broad +palm. + +"Yes, Nobili, true to death," she answered, with a sigh. + +Still holding her hand, "Enrica," he said, solemnly, "I swear to love +you and no other, while I live. God is my witness!" + +As he lifted up his head in the earnestness with which he spoke, the +sunshine, streaming downward, shone full upon his face. + +Enrica trembled. "Oh! do not say too much," she cried, gazing up at +him entranced. + +With that sun-ray upon his face, Nobili seemed to her, at that moment, +more than mortal! + +"Angel!" exclaimed Count Nobili, wrought up to sudden passion, "can +you doubt me?" + +Before Enrica could reply, a snake, warmed by the hot sun, curled +upward from the terraced wall behind them, where it had basked, and +glided swiftly between them. Nobili's heel was on it; in an instant +he had crushed its head. But there between them lay the quivering +reptile, its speckled scales catching the light. Enrica shrieked and +started back. + +"O God! what an evil omen!" She said no more, only her shifting color +and uneasy eyes told what she felt. + +"An evil omen, love!" and Nobili brushed away the snake with his foot +into the underwood, and laughed. "Not so. It is an omen that I shall +crush all who would part us. That is how I read it." + +Enrica shook her head. That snake crawling between them was the first +warning to her that she was still on earth. Till then it had seemed to +her that Nobili's presence must be like paradise. Now for a moment a +terrible doubt crept over her. Could happiness be sad? It must be so, +for now she could not tell whether she was sad or happy. + +"Oh! do not say too much, dear Nobili," she repeated almost to +herself, "or--" Her voice dropped. She looked toward the spot where +the snake had fallen, and shuddered. + +Nobili did not then reply, but, taking Enrica by the hand, he led her +up a flight of steps to a higher terrace, where a cypress avenue threw +long shadows across the marble pavement. + +"You are mine," he whispered, "mine--as by a miracle!" + +There was such rapture in his voice that heaven came down into her +heart, and every doubt was stilled. + +At this moment Fra Pacifico's towering figure appeared ascending a +lower flight of steps toward them, coming from the house. He trod with +that firm, grand step churchmen have in common with actors--only the +stage upon which each treads is different. Behind Fra Pacifico was +the short, plump figure and the white hat of Cavaliere Trenta (a dwarf +beside the priest), his rosy face rosier than ever from the rapid +drive from Lucca. Trenta's kind eyes twinkled under his white eyebrows +as he spied Enrica above, standing side by side with Nobili. How +different the dear child looked from that last time he had seen her at +Lucca! + +Enrica flew down the steps to meet him. She threw her arms round his +neck. Count Nobili followed her; he shook hands with the cavaliere and +Fra Pacifico. + +"His reverence and I thought we should find you two together," said +Cavaliere Trenta, with a chuckle. "Count Nobili, I wish you joy." + +His voice faltered a little, and a spotless handkerchief was drawn +out and called into service. Nobili reddened, then bowed with formal +courtesy. + +"It is all come right, I see."--Trenta gave a sly glance from one to +the other, though the tears were in his eyes.--"I shall live to open +the marriage-ball on the first floor of the palace yet. Bagatella! I +would have tried to give the dear child to you myself, had I known how +much she loved you--but you have taken her. Well, well--possession is +better than gift." + +"She gave herself to me, cavaliere. Last night's work only made the +gift public," was Nobili's reply. + +There was a tone of triumph in Nobili's voice as he said this. He +stooped and pressed his lips to Enrica's hand. Enrica stood by with +downcast eyes--a spray of pink oleander swaying from the terrace-wall +in the light breeze above her head, for background. + +The old cavaliere nodded his head, round which the little curls set +faultlessly under his white hat. + +"My dear Count Nobili, permit me to offer my advice. You must settle +this matter at once--at once, I say;" and Trenta struck his stick upon +the marble balustrade for greater emphasis. + +"I quite agree with you," put in Fra Pacifico in his deep voice. "The +impression made by your courage last night must not be lost by delay. +I never saw an act of greater daring. Had you not come, I should have +tried to save Enrica, but I am past my prime; I should have failed." + +"You cannot count on the marchesa's gratitude," continued Trenta; "an +excellent lady, and my oldest friend, but proud and capricious. You +must take her like the wind when it blows--ha! ha! like the wind. I am +come here to help you both." + +"Cavaliere," said Nobili, turning toward him (his vagrant eyes had +wandered off to Enrica, so charming, with the pink oleander and its +dark-green leaves waving above her blond head), "do me the favor to +ask the Marchesa Guinigi at what hour she will admit me to sign the +marriage-contract. I have pressing business that calls me back to +Lucca to-day." + +"So soon, dear Nobili?" a soft voice whispered at his ear, "so soon?" +And then there was a sigh. Surely her paradise was very brief! Enrica +had thought in her simplicity that, once met, they two never should +part again, but spend the live-long days together side by side among +the woods, lingering by flowing streams; or in the rich shade of +purple vine-bowers; or in mossy caves, shaded by tall ferns, hid on +the mountain-side, and let time and the world roll by. This was the +life she dreamed of. Could any grief be there? + +"Yes, love," Nobili answered to her question. "I must return to Lucca +to-night. I started on the instant, as the cavaliere knows. Before I +go, however, all must be settled about our marriage, and the contract +signed. I will take no denial." + +Nobili spoke with the determination that was in him. Enrica's heart +gave a bound. "The contract!" She had never thought of that. "The +contract and the marriage!"--"Both close at hand!--Then the life she +dreamed of must come true in very earnest!" + +The cavaliere looked doubtingly at Fra Pacifico. Fra Pacifico shrugged +his big shoulders, looked back again at Cavaliere Trenta, and smiled +rather grimly. There was always a sense of suppressed power, moral and +physical, about Fra Pacifico. In conversation he had a way of leaving +the burden of small talk to others, and of reserving himself for +special occasions; but when he spoke he must be listened to. + +"Quick work, my dear count," was all the priest said to Nobili in +answer. "Do you think you can insure the marchesa's consent?" Now he +addressed the cavaliere. + +"Oh, my friend will be reasonable, no doubt. After last night, +she must consent." The cavaliere was always ready to put the best +construction upon every thing. "If she raises any obstacles, I think I +shall be able to remove them." + +"Consent!" cried Nobili, fiercely echoing back the word, "she must +consent--she will be mad to refuse." + +"Well--well--we shall see.--You, Count Nobili, have done all to make +it sure. The terms of the contract (I have heard of them from Fra +Pacifico) are princely." A look from Count Nobili stopped Trenta from +saying more. + +"Now, Enrica," and the cavaliere turned and took her arm, "come in and +give me some breakfast. An old man of eighty must eat, if he means to +dance at weddings." + +"You, Nobili, must come with me," said Fra Pacifico, laying his hand +on the count's shoulder. "We will wait the cavaliere's summons to +return here over a bottle of the marchesa's best vintage, and a cutlet +cooked by Maria. She is my best cook; I have one for every day in the +week." + +So they parted--Trenta with Enrica descending flight after flight +of steps, leading from terrace to terrace, down to the villa; Nobili +mounting upward to the forest with Fra Pacifico toward Corellia, to +await the marchesa's answer. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE CONTRACT. + + +Fra Pacifico, with Adamo and Pipa, had labored ever since-daybreak +to arrange the rooms at the villa before the marchesa rose. Pipa had +freely used the broom and many pails of water. All the windows were +thrown open, and clouds of invisible incense from the flowers without +sweetened the fusty rooms. + +The villa had not been inhabited for nearly fifty years. It was +scantily provided with furniture, but there were chairs and tables +and beds, and all the rough necessaries of life. To make all straight, +whole generations of beetles had been swept away; and patriarchal +spiders, which clung tenaciously to the damp spots on the walls. A +scorpion or two had been found, which, firmly resisting to quit the +chinks where they had grown and multiplied, had died by decapitation. +Fra Pacifico would not have owned it, but he had discovered and killed +a nest of black adders that lay concealed, curled up in a curtain. + +He had with his own hands, in the early morning, carefully fashioned +the spacious sala on the ground-floor to the marchesa's liking. A huge +sofa, with a faded amber cover, had been drawn out of a recess, and +so placed that the light should fall at her back.--She objected to the +sunshine, with true Italian perverseness. Some arm-chairs, once gilt, +and still bearing a coronet, were placed in a semicircle opposite. The +windows of the sala, and two glass doors of the same size and make, +looked east and west; toward the terraces and the garden on one side, +and over the cliffs and the chasm to the opposite mountains on the +other. The walls were broken by doors of varnished pine-wood. These +doors led, on the right, to the chapel, Enrica's bedroom, and many +empty apartments; on the left, to the marchesa's suite of rooms, the +offices, and the stone corridor which communicated with the now ruined +tower. High up on the walls of the sala, two large and roughly-painted +frescoes decorated the empty spaces. A Dutch seaport on one side, with +sloping roofs and tall gables, bordering a broad river, upon which +ships sailed vaguely away into a yellow haze. (Not more vaguely +sailing, perhaps, than many human ships, with life-sails set to +catch the wind of fortune--ships which never make more way than +these painted emblems!) Opposite, a hunting-party of the olden time +picnicked in a forest-glade; a brown and red palace in the background, +in front lords and ladies lounging on the grass--bundles of +satin, velvet, powder, ribbons, feathers, shoulder-knots, ruffles, +long-tailed coats, and trains. + +A door to the left opened. There was a sound of voices talking. + +"My honored marchesa," the cavaliere was heard to say in his most +dulcet tones, "in the state of your affairs, you cannot refuse. Why +then delay? The day is passing by; Count Nobili is impatient. Let me +implore you to lose no more time." + +While he was speaking the marchesa entered the sala, passing close +under the fresco of the vaguely-sailing ships upon the wall.--Can the +marchesa tell whither she is drifting more than these?--She glanced +round approvingly, then seated herself upon the sofa. Trenta +obsequiously placed a footstool at her feet, a cushion at her back. +Even the tempered light, which had been carefully prepared for her by +closing the outer wooden shutters, could not conceal how sallow and +worn she looked, nor the black circles that had gathered round her +eyes. Her dark dress hung about her as if she had suddenly grown thin; +her white hands fell listlessly at her side. The marchesa knew that +she must consent to Count Nobili's conditions. She knew she must +consent this very day. But such a struggle as this knowledge cost her, +coming so close upon the agitation of the previous night, was more +than even her iron nerves could bear. As she leaned back upon the +sofa, shading her eyes with her hand, as was her habit, she felt she +could not frame the words with which to answer the cavaliere, were it +to save her life. + +As for the cavaliere, who had seated himself opposite, his plump +little person was so engulfed in an arm-chair, that nothing but +his snowy head was visible. This he waved up and down reflectively, +rattled his stick upon the floor, and glanced indignantly from time to +time at the marchesa. Why would she not answer him? + +Meanwhile a little color had risen upon her cheeks. She forced herself +to sit erect, arranged the folds of her dark dress, then, in a kind of +stately silence, seemed to lend herself to listen to what Trenta might +have to urge, as though it concerned her as little as that rose-leaf +which comes floating in from the open door and drops at her feet. + +"Well, marchesa, well--what is your answer?" asked Trenta, much +nettled at her assumed indifference. "Remember that Count Nobili and +Fra Pacifico have been waiting for some hours." + +"Let Nobili wait," answered the marchesa, a sudden glare darting into +her dark eyes; "he is born to wait for such as I." + +"Still"--Trenta was both tired and angry, but he dared not show it; +only he rattled his stick louder on the floor, and from time to time +aimed a savage blow with it against the carved legs of a neighboring +table--"still, why do the thing ungraciously? The count's offers are +magnificent. Surely in the face of absolute ruin--Fra Pacifico assures +me--" + +"Let Fra Pacifico mind his own business," was the marchesa's answer. + +"Nobili saved Enrica's life last night; that cannot be denied." + +"Yes--last night, last night; and I am to be forced and fettered +because I set myself on fire! I wish I had perished, and Enrica too!" + +A gesture of horror from the cavaliere recalled the marchesa to a +sense of what she had uttered. + +"And do you deem it nothing, Cesare Trenta, after a life spent in +building up the ancient name I bear, that I should be brought to sign +a marriage-contract with a peddler's son?" She trembled with passion. + +"Yet it must be done," answered Trenta. + +"Must be done! Must be done! I would rather die! Mark my words, +Cesare. No good will come of this marriage. That young man is weak and +dissolute. He is mad with wealth, and the vulgar influence that +comes with wealth. As a man, he is unworthy of my niece, who, I must +confess, has the temper of an angel." + +"I believe that you are wrong, marchesa; Count Nobili is much beloved +in Lucca. Fra Pacifico has known him from boyhood. He praises him +greatly. I also like him." + +"Like him!--Yes, Cesare, you are such an easy fool you like every one. +First Marescotti, then Nobili. Marescotti was a gentleman, but this +fellow--" She left the sentence incomplete. "Remember my words--you +are deceived in him." + +"At all events," retorted the cavaliere, "it is too late to discuss +these matters now. Time presses. Enrica loves him. He insists on +marrying her. You have no money, and cannot give her a portion. My +respected marchesa, I have often ventured to represent to you what +those lawsuits would entail! Per Bacco! There must be an end of all +things--may I call them in?" + +The poor old chamberlain was completely exhausted. He had spent four +hours in reasoning with his friend. The marchesa turned her head +away and shuddered; she could not bring herself to speak the word of +bidding. The cavaliere accepted this silence for consent. He struggled +out of the ponderous arm-chair, and went out into the garden. There +(leaning over the balustrade of the lowest terrace, under the +willful branches of a big nonia-tree, weighted with fronds of scarlet +trumpet-flowers, that hung out lazily from the wall, to which the +stem was nailed) Cavaliere Trenta found Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico +awaiting the marchesa's summons. Behind them, at a respectful +distance, stood Ser Giacomo, the notary from Corellia. Streamlets pure +as crystal ran bubbling down beside them in marble runnels; statues +of gods and goddesses balanced each other, on pedestals, at the angles +where the steps turned. In front, on the gravel, a pair of peacocks +strutted, spreading their gaudy tails in the sunshine. + +As the four men entered the sala, they seemed to bring the evening +shadows with them. These suddenly slanted across the floor like +pointed arrows, darkening the places where the sun had shone. Was it +fancy, or did the sparkling fountain at the door, as it fell backward +into the marble basin, murmur with a sound like human sighs? + +Count Nobili walked first. He was grave and pale. Having made a formal +obeisance to the marchesa, his quick eye traveled round in search of +Enrica. Not finding her, it settled again upon her aunt. As Nobili +entered, she raised her smooth, snake-like head, and met his gaze in +silence. She had scarcely bowed, in recognition of his salute. Now, +with the slightest possible inclination of her head, she signed to him +to take his place on one of the chairs before her. + +Fra Pacifico, his full, broad face perfectly unmoved, and Cavaliere +Trenta, who watched the scene nervously with troubled, twinkling eyes, +placed themselves on either side of Count Nobili. Ser Giacomo had +already slipped round behind the sofa, and seated himself at a table +placed against the wall, the marriage-contract spread out before +him. There was an awkward pause. Then Count Nobili rose, and, in that +sweet-toned voice which had fallen like a charm on many a woman's ear, +addressed the marchesa. + +"Marchesa Guinigi, hereditary Governess of Lucca, and Countess of +the Garfagnana, I am come to ask in marriage the hand of your niece, +Enrica Guinigi. I desire no portion with her. The lady herself is a +portion more than enough for me." + +As Nobili ceased speaking, the ruddy color shot across his brow and +cheeks, and his eyes glistened. His generous nature spoke in those few +words. + +"Count Nobili," replied the marchesa, carefully avoiding his eye, +which eagerly sought hers--"am I correct in addressing you as Count +Nobili?--Pardon me if I am wrong." Here she paused, and affected to +hesitate. "Do you bear any other name? I am really quite ignorant of +the new titles." + +This question was asked with outward courtesy, but there was such a +twang of scorn in the marchesa's tone, such an expression of contempt +upon her lip, that the old chamberlain trembled on his chair. Even at +this last moment it was possible that her infernal pride might scatter +every thing to the winds. + +"Call me Mario Nobili--that will do," answered the count, reddening to +the roots of his chestnut curls. + +The marchesa inclined her head, and smiled a sarcastic smile, as if +rejoicing to acquaint herself with a fact before unknown. Then she +resumed: + +"Mario Nobili--you saved my niece's life last night. I am advised that +I cannot refuse you her hand in marriage, although--" + +Such a black frown clouded Nobili's countenance under the sting of her +covert insults that Trenta hastily interposed. + +"Permit me to remind you, Marchesa Guinigi, that, subject to your +approval, the conditions of the marriage have been already arranged +by me and Fra Pacifico, before you consented to meet Count Nobili. The +present interview is purely formal. We are met in order to sign the +marriage-contract. The notary, I see, is ready. The contract lies +before him. May I be permitted to call in the lady?" + +"One moment, Cavaliere Trenta," interposed Nobili, who was still +standing, holding up his hand to stop him--"one moment. I must request +permission to repeat myself the terms of the contract to the Marchesa +Guinigi before I presume to receive the honor of her assent." + +It was now the marchesa's turn to be discomfited. This was the avowal +of an open bargain between Count Nobili and herself. A common exchange +of value for value; such as low creatures barter for with each other +in the exchange. She felt this, and hated Nobili more keenly for +having had the wit to wound her. + +"I bind myself, immediately on the signing of the contract, to +discharge every mortgage, debt, and incumbrance on these feudal lands +of Corellia in the Garfagnana; also any debts in and about the Guinigi +Palace and lands, within and without the walls of Lucca. I take upon +myself every incumbrance," Nobili repeated emphatically, raising his +voice. "My purpose is fully noted in that contract, hastily drawn up +at my desire. I also bestow on the marchesa's niece the Guinigi Palace +I bought at Lucca--to the marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi, and her +heirs forever; also a dowry of fifty thousand francs a year, should +she survive me." + +What is it about gold that invests its possessor with such instant +power? Is knowledge power?--or does gold weigh more than brains? I +think so. Gold-pieces and Genius weighed in scales would send poor +Genius kicking! + +From the moment Count Nobili had made apparent the wealth which +he possessed, he was master of the situation. The marchesa's quick +perception told her so. While he was accepting all her debts, with the +superb indifference of a millionaire, she grew cold all over. + +"Tell the notary," she said, endeavoring to maintain her usual haughty +manner, "to put down that, at my death, I bequeath to my niece all of +which I die possessed--the palace at Lucca, and the heirlooms, +plate, jewels, armor, and the picture of my great ancestor Castruccio +Castracani, to be kept hanging in the place where it now is, opposite +the seigneurial throne in the presence-chamber." + +Here she paused. The hasty scratch of Ser Giacomo's pen was heard upon +the parchment. Spite of her efforts to control her feelings, an ashy +pallor spread over the marchesa's face. She grasped her two hands +together so tightly that the finger-tips grew crimson; a nervous +quiver shook her from head to foot. Cavaliere Trenta, who read the +marchesa like a book, watched her in perfect agony. What was going to +happen? Would she faint? + +"I also bequeath," continued the marchesa, rising from her seat with +solemn action, and speaking in a low, hushed voice, her eyes fixed on +the floor--"I also bequeath the great Guinigi name and our ancestral +honors to my niece--to bear them after my death, together with her +husband, then to pass to her eldest child. And may that great name be +honored!" + +The marchesa reseated herself, raised her thin white hands, and threw +up her eyes to heaven. The sacrifice was made! + +"May I call in the lady?" again asked the cavaliere, addressing no one +in particular. + +"I will fetch her in," replied Fra Pacifico, rising from his chair. +"She is my spiritual daughter." + +No one moved while Fra Pacifico was absent. Ser Giacomo, the notary, +dressed in his Sunday suit of black, remained, pen in hand, staring +at the wall. Never in his humble life had he formed one of such a +distinguished company. All his life Ser Giacomo had heard of the +Marchesa Guinigi as a most awful lady. If Fra Pacifico had not caught +him within his little office near the _café_, rather than have faced +her, Ser Giacomo would have run away. + +The door opened, and Enrica stood upon the threshold. There was an +air of innocent triumph about her. She had bound a blue ribbon in her +golden curls, and placed a rose in the band that encircled her slight +waist. Enrica was, in truth, but a common mortal, but she looked so +fresh, and bright, and young, with such tender, trusting eyes--there +was such an aureole of purity about her, she might have passed for a +virgin saint. + +As he caught sight of Enrica, the moody expression on Count Nobili's +face changed, and broke into a smile. In her presence he forgot the +marchesa. Was not such a prize worthy of any battle? What did +it signify to him if Enrica were called Guinigi? And as to those +tumbledown palaces and heirlooms--what of them? He could buy scores +of old palaces any day if he chose. Quickly he stepped forward to meet +her as she entered. Fra Pacifico rose, and with great solemnity signed +them both with a thrice-repeated cross, then he placed Enrica's hand +in Nobili's. The count raised it to his lips, and kissed it fervently. + +"My Enrica," he whispered, "this is a glorious day!" + +"Oh, it is heavenly!" she answered back, softly. + +The marchesa's white face darkened as she looked at Enrica. How dared +Enrica be so happy? But she repressed the reproaches that rose to +her lips, though her heart swelled to bursting, and the veins in her +forehead distended with rage. + +"Can Enrica be of my flesh and blood?" exclaimed the marchesa in a low +voice to the cavaliere who now stood at her side. "Fool! she believes +in her lover! It is a horrible sacrifice! Mark my words--a horrible +sacrifice!" + +Nobili and Enrica had taken their places behind the notary. The +slanting shadows from the open door struck upon them with deeper +gloom, and the low murmur of the fountain seemed now to form itself +into a moan. + +"Do I sign here?" asked Count Nobili. + +Ser Giacomo trembled like a leaf. + +"Yes, excellency, you sign here," he stammered, pointing to the +precise spot; but Ser Giacomo looked so terrified that Nobili, +forgetting where he was, laughed out loud and turned to Enrica, who +laughed also. + +"Stop that unseemly mirth," called out the marchesa from the sofa; +"it is most indecent. Let the act that buries a great name at least be +conducted with decorum." + +"That great name shall not die," spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico +from the background; "I call a blessing upon it, and upon the present +act. The name shall live. When we are dead and rotting in our +graves, a race shall rise from them"--and he pointed to Nobili and +Enrica--"that shall recall the great legends of the past among the +citizens of Lucca." + +Fearful of what the marchesa might be moved to reply (even the +marchesa, however, had a certain dread of Fra Pacifico when he assumed +the dignity of his priestly office), Trenta hurried forward and +offered his arm to lead her to the table. She rose slowly to her feet, +and cast her eyes round at the group of happy faces about her; all +happy save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of sweat +were standing. + +"Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, "fear not to +sign the marriage-contract. Think of the blessings it will bring to +hundreds of miserable peasants, who are suffering from your want of +means to help them!" + +"Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able to control +herself, "I respect your office, but this is still my house, and I +order you to be silent. Where am I to sign?"--she addressed herself to +Ser Giacomo. + +"Here, madame," answered the almost inaudible voice of the notary. + +The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand wrote her full +name and titles. She took a malicious pleasure in spreading them out +over the page. + +Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after her aunt's. +Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. Cavaliere Trenta and +the priest were the witnesses. + +"There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili said, addressing +her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact day you may please to name; +but, madame"--and with a lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced +nearer to where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to touch +her--"I beg you not to keep me waiting long." + +The marchesa drew back, and contemplated him with a haughty stare. +His manner and his request were both alike offensive to her. She would +have Count Nobili to understand that she would admit no shadow of +familiarity; that her will had been forced, but that in all else she +regarded him with the same animosity as before. + +Nobili had understood her action and her meaning. "Devil!" he muttered +between his clinched teeth. He hated himself for having been betrayed +into the smallest warmth. With a flashing eye he turned from the +marchesa to Enrica, and whispered in her ear, "My only love, this is +more than I can bear!" + +Enrica had heard nothing. She had been lost in happy thoughts. In her +mind a vision was passing. She was in the close street of San Simone, +within its deep shadows that fell so early in the afternoon. Before +her stood the two grim palaces, the cavernous doorways and the +sculptured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both: one, her old home; +the other, that was to be her home. She saw herself go in here, cross +the pillared court and mount upward. It was neither day nor night, but +all shone with crystal brightness. Then Nobili's voice came to her, +and she roused herself. + +"My love," he repeated, "I must go--I must go! I cannot trust myself a +moment longer with--" + +What he had on his lips need not be written. "That lady," he added, +hastily correcting himself, and he pointed to the marchesa, who, led +by the cavaliere, had reseated herself upon the sofa, looking defiance +at everybody. + +"I have borne it all for your sake, Enrica." As Nobili spoke, he led +her aside to one of the windows. "Now, good-by," and his eyes gathered +upon her with passionate fondness; "think of me day and night." + +Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first entered, except +to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her head dropped on her breast. A +dread--a horror came suddenly upon her. "O Nobili, why must we part?" + +"Scarcely to part," he answered, pressing her hand--"only for a few +days; then always to be together." + +Enrica tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it firmly. +Then she turned away her head, and big tears rolled down her cheeks. +When at last Nobili tore himself from her, Enrica followed him to the +door, and, regardless of her aunt's furious glances, she kissed her +hand, and waved it after him. There was a world of love in the action. + +Spite of his indignation, Count Nobili did not fail duly to make his +salutation to the marchesa. + +The cavaliere and Fra Pacifico followed him out. Twilight now darkened +the garden. The fragrance of the flowers was oppressive in the still +air. A star or two had come out, and twinkled faintly on the broad +expanse of deep-blue sky. The fountain murmured hollow in the silence +of coming night. + +"Good-by," said Cavaliere Trenta to Nobili, in his thin voice. +"I deeply regret the marchesa's rudeness. She is unhinged--quite +unhinged; but her heart is excellent, believe me, most excellent." + +"Do not talk of the marchesa," exclaimed Nobili, as he rapidly +ascended flight after flight of the terraces. "Let me forget her, or I +shall never return to Corellia. Dio Sagrato!" and Nobili clinched his +fist. "The marchesa is the most cursed thing God ever created!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE CLUB AT LUCCA. + + +The piazza at Lucca is surrounded by four avenues of plane-trees. In +the centre stands the colossal statue of a Bourbon with disheveled +hair, a cornucopia at her feet. Facing the west is the ducal palace, +a spacious modern building, in which the sovereigns of Lucca kept a +splendid court. Here Cesare Trenta had flourished. Opposite the palace +is the Hotel of the Universo, where, as we know, Count Marescotti +lodged at No. 4, on the second story. Midway in the piazza a deep +and narrow street dives into the body of the city--a street of many +colors, with houses red, gray, brown, and tawny, mellowed and tempered +by the hand of Time into rich tints that melt into warm shadows. In +the background rise domes, and towers, and mediaeval church-fronts, +galleried and fretted with arches, pillars, and statues. Here a +golden mosaic blazes in the sun, yonder a brazen San Michele with +outstretched arms rises against the sky; and, scattered up and down, +many a grand old palace-roof uprears its venerable front, with open +pillared belvedere, adorned with ancient frescoes. A dull, sleepy old +city, Lucca, but full of beauty! + +On the opposite side of the piazza, behind the plane-trees, stand two +separate buildings, of no particular pretension, other than that both +are of marble. One is the theatre, the other is the club. About the +club there is some attempt at ornamentation. A wide portico, raised +on broad steps, runs along the entire front, supported by Corinthian +columns. Under this portico there are orange-trees in green stands, +rows of chairs, and tables laid with white table-cloths, plates, and +napkins, ready for an _al-fresco_ meal. + +It is five o'clock in the afternoon of a splendid day early in +October--the next day, in fact, after the contract was signed at +Corellia. The hour for the drive upon the ramparts at Lucca is not +till six. This, therefore, is the favorite moment for a lounge at the +club. The portico is dotted with black coats and hats. Baldassare lay +asleep between two chairs. He had arranged himself so as not to crease +a pair of new trousers--all'Inglese--not that any Englishman would +have worn such garments--they were too conspicuous; but his tailor +tells him they are English, and Baldassare willingly believes him. + +Baldassare is not a member, but he was admitted to the club by the +influence of his patron, the old chamberlain; not without protest, +however, with the paternal shop close by. Being there, Baldassare +stands his ground in a sullen, silent way. He has much jewelry about +him, and wears many showy rings. Trenta says publicly that these rings +are false; but Trenta is not at the club to-day. + +Lolling back in a chair near Baldassare, with his short legs crossed, +and his thumbs stuck into the arm-holes of his coat, is Count Orsetti, +smiling, fat, and innocuous. His mother has not yet decided when he is +to speak the irrevocable words to Teresa Ottolini. Orsetti is far too +dutiful a son to do so before she gives him permission. His mother +might change her mind at the last moment; then Orsetti would change +his mind, too, and burn incense on other altars. Orsetti has a +meerschaum between his teeth, from which he is puffing out columns of +smoke. With his head thrown back, he is watching it as it curls upward +into the vaulted portico. The languid young man, Orazio Franchi, +supported by a stick, is at this moment ascending the steps. To +see him drag one leg after the other, one would think his days were +numbered. Not at all. Franchi is strong and healthy, but he cultivates +languor as an accomplishment. Everybody at Lucca is idle, but +nobody is languid, so Franchi has thought fit to adopt that line of +distinction. His thin, lanky arms, stooping figure, and a head set on +a long neck that droops upon his chest, as well as a certain indolent +grace, suit the _rôle_. When Franchi had mounted the steps he stood +still, heaved an audible sigh of infinite relief, then he sank into a +chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. Count Malatesta, who was near, +leaning against the wall behind, took his cigar from his mouth and +laughed. + +"Sù!--Via!--A little courage to bear the burden of a weary life. What +has tired you, Orazio?" + +"I have walked from the gate here," answered Orazio, without unclosing +his eyes. + +"Go on, go on," is Malatesta's reply, "nothing like perseverance. You +will lose the use of your limbs in time. It is this cursed air. Per +Bacco! it will infect me. Why, oh! why, my penates, was I born at +Lucca? It is the dullest place. No one ever draws a knife, or fights a +duel, or runs away with his neighbor's wife. Why don't they? It would +be excitement. Cospetto! we marry, and are given in marriage, and +breed like pigeons in our own holes.--Come, Franchi, have you no news? +Wake up, man! You are full of wickedness, spite of your laziness." + +Franchi opened his eyes, stretched himself, then yawned, and leaned +his head upon his arm that rested on one of the small tables near. + +"News?--oh!--ah! There is plenty of news, but I am too tired to tell +it." + +"News! and I not know it!" cried Count Malatesta. + +Several others spoke, then all gathered round Franchi. Count Malatesta +slapped Franchi on the back. + +"Come, my Trojan, speak. I insist upon it," said Orsetti, rising. + +Franchi looked up at him. There was a French cook at Palazzo Orsetti. +No one had such Chateau Lafitte. Orazio is far from insensible to +these blessings. + +"Well, listen. Old Sansovino has returned to his villa at Riparata. +His wife is with him." + +"His wife?" shouted Orsetti. "Chè, chè! Any woman but his wife, and +I'll believe you. Why, she has lived for the last fifteen years +with Duke Bartolo at Venice. Sansovino did not mind the duke, but he +charged her with forgery. You remember? About her dower. There was a +lawsuit, I think. No, no--not his wife." + +"Yes, his wife," answered Franchi, crossing his arms with great +deliberation. "The Countess Sansovino was received by her attached +husband with bouquets, and a band of music. She drove up to the +front-door in gala--in a four-in-hand, _à la Daumont_. All the +tenantry were in waiting--her children too (each by a different +father)--to receive her. It was most touching. Old Sansovino did it +very well, they tell me. He clasped her to his heart, and melted into +tears like a _père noble_" + +"O Bello!" exclaimed Orsetti, "if old Sansovino cried, it must have +been with shame. After this, I will believe any thing." + +"The Countess Sansovino is very rich," a voice remarked from the +background. + +"Well, if she forges, I suppose so," another answered. + +"O Marriage! large are the folds of thy ample mantle!" cried Count +Malatesta. "Who shall say we are not free in Italy? Now, why do they +not do this kind of thing in Lucca? Will any one tell me?--I want to +know." + +There was a general laugh. "Well, they may possibly do worse," said +Franchi, languidly. + +"What do you mean?" asked Malatesta, sharply. "Is there more scandal?" + +Franchi nodded. A crowd collected round him. + +"How the devil, Franchi, do you know so much? Out with it! You must +tell us." + +"Give me time!--give me time!" was Franchi's answer. He raised his +head, and eyed them all with a look of feigned surprise. "Is it +possible no one has heard it?" + +He was answered by a general protest that nothing had been heard. + +"Nobody knows what has happened at the Universo?" Franchi asked with +unusual energy. + +"No, no!" burst forth from Malatesta and Orsetti. "No, no!" sounded +from behind. + +"That is quite possible," continued Orazio, with a cynical smile. "To +tell you the truth, I did not think you had heard it. It only happened +half an hour ago." + +"What happened?" asked Count Orsetti. + +"A secret commission has been sent from Rome." There was a breathless +silence. "The government is alarmed. A secret commission to examine +Count Marescotti's papers, and to imprison him." + +"That's his uncle's doing--the Jesuit!" cried Malatesta. "This is the +second time. Marescotti will be shut up for life." + +"Did they catch him?" asked Orsetti. + +"No; he got out of an upper window, and escaped across the roof. He +had taken all the upper floor of the Universo for his accomplices, who +were expected from Paris." + +"Honor to Lucca!" Malatesta put in. "We are progressing." + +"He's gone," continued Orazio, falling back exhausted on his chair, +"but his papers--" Here Franchi thought it right to pause and faintly +wink. "I'll tell you the rest when I have smoked a cigar. Give me a +light." + +"No, no, you must smoke afterward," said Orsetti, rapping him smartly +on the back. "Go on--what about Marescotti's papers?" + +"Compromising--very," murmured Franchi, feebly, leaning back out of +the range of Orsetti's arm. + +"The Red count was a communist, we all know," observed Malatesta. + +"_Mon cher_! he was a poet also," responded Orazio. Orazio's languor +never interfered with his love of scandal. "When any lady struck his +fancy, Marescotti made a sonnet--a damaging practice. These sonnets +are a diary of his life. The police were much diverted, I assure +you, and so was I. I was in the hotel; I gave them the key to all the +ladies." + +"You might have done better than waste your fine energies in making +ladies names public town-talk," said Orsetti, frowning. + +"Well, that's a matter of opinion," replied Orazio, with a certain +calm insolence peculiar to him. "I have no ladylove in Lucca." + +"Delicious!" broke in Malatesta, brightening up all over. "Don't +quarrel over a choice bone.--Who is compromised the most? I'll have +her name placarded. Some one must make a row." + +"Enrica Guinigi is the most compromised," answered Orazio, striking +a match to light his cigar. "Marescotti celebrates her as the young +Madonna before the archangel Gabriel visited her. Ha! ha!" + +Malatesta gave a low whistle. + +"Enrica Guinigi! Is not that the marchesa's niece?" asked Orsetti; "a +pretty, fair-faced girl I see driving with her aunt on the ramparts +sometimes?" + +"The same," answered Malatesta. "But what, in the name of all the +devils, could Marescotti know of her? No one has ever spoken to her." + +Baldassare now leaned forward and listened; the name of Enrica woke +him from his sleep. He hardly dared to join the circle formed round +Franchi, for Franchi always snubbed him, and called him "Young +Galipots," when Trenta was absent. + +"Perhaps Marescotti was the archangel Gabriel himself," said +Malatesta, with a leer. + +"But answer my question," insisted Orsetti, who, as an avowed suitor +of Lucca maidens had their honor and good name at heart. "Don't be +a fool, but tell me what you know. This idle story, involving the +reputation of a young girl, is shameful. I protest against it!" + +"Do you?" sneered Orazio, leaning back, and pulling at his sandy +mustache. "That is because you know nothing about it. This _Sainte +Vierge_ has already been much talked about--first, with Nobili, who +lives opposite--when _ma tante_ was sleeping. Then she spent a day +with several men upon the Guinigi Tower, an elegant retirement among +the crows. After that old Trenta offered her formally in marriage to +Marescotti." + +"What!--After the Guinigi Tower?" put in Malatesta. "Of course +Marescotti refused her?" + +"'Refused her, of course, with thanks.' So says the sonnet." Orazio +went on to say all this in a calm, tranquil way, casting the bread +of scandal on social waters as he puffed at his cigar. "It is very +prettily rhymed--the sonnet--I have read it. The young Madonna is +warmly painted. _Now, why did Marescotti refuse to marry her?_ That is +what I want to know." And Franchi looked round upon his audience with +a glance of gratified malice. + +"Even in Lucca!--even in Lucca!" Malatesta clapped his hands +and chuckled until he almost choked. "Laus Veneri!--the mighty +goddess!--She has reared an altar even here in this benighted city. I +was a skeptic, but a Paphian miracle has converted me. I must drink a +punch in honor of the great goddess." + +Here Baldassare rose and leaned over from behind. + +"I went up the Guinigi Tower with the party," he ventured to say. +"There were four of us. The Cavaliere Trenta told me in the street +just before that it was all right, and that the lady had agreed to +marry Count Marescotti. There can be no secret about it now that every +one knows it. Count Marescotti raved so about the Signorina Enrica, +that he nearly jumped over the parapet." + +"Better for her if you had helped him over," muttered Orazio, with a +sarcastic stare. "The sonnet would not then have been written." + +But Baldassare, conscious that he had intelligence that would make +him welcome, stood his ground. "You do not seem to know what has +happened," he continued. + +"More news!" cried Malatesta. "Gracious heavens! Wave after wave it +comes!--a mighty sea. I hear the distant roar--it dashes high!--It +breaks!--Speak, oh, speak, Adonis!" + +"The Marchesa Guinigi has left Lucca suddenly." + +"Who cares? Do you, Pietrino?" asked Franchi of Orsetti, with a +contemptuous glance at Baldassare. + +"Let him speak," cried Malatesta; "Baldassare is an oracle." + +"The marchesa left Lucca suddenly," persisted Baldassare, not daring +to notice Orsetti's insolence. "She took her niece with her." + +"Have it cried about the streets," interrupted Orazio, opening his +eyes. + +"Yesterday morning an express came down for Cavaliere Trenta. The +ancient tower of Corellia has been entirely burnt. The marchesa was +rescued." + +"And the niece--is the niece gone to glory on the funeral-pyre?" + +"No," answered Baldassare, helplessly, settling his stupid eyes on +Orazio, whose thrusts he could not parry. "She was saved by Count +Nobili, who was accidentally shooting on the mountains near." + +"Oh, bah!" cried Malatesta, with a knowing grin; "I never believe in +accidents. There is a ruling power. That power is love--love--love." + +"The cavaliere is not yet returned." + +"This is a strange story," said Orsetti, gravely. "Nobili too, and +Marescotti. She must be a lively damsel. What will Nera Boccarini say +to her truant knight, who rescues maidens _accidentally_ on distant +mountains? What had Nobili to do in the Garfagnana?" + +"Ask him," lisped Orazio; "it will save more talking. I wish Nobili +joy of his bargain," he added, turning to Malatesta. + +"I wonder that he cares to take up with Marescotti's leavings." + +"Here's Ruspoli, crossing the square. Perhaps he can throw some light +on this strange story," said Orsetti. + +Prince Ruspoli, still at Lucca, is on a visit to some relatives. He +is, as I have said, decidedly horsey, and is much looked up to by the +"golden youths," his companions, in consequence. As a gentleman rider +at races and steeple-chases, as a hunter on the Roman Campagna, and +the driver of a "stage" on the Corso, Ruspoli is unrivaled. He breeds +racers, and he has an English stud-groom, who has taught him to speak +English with a drawl, enlivened by stable-slang. He is slim, fair, and +singularly awkward, and of a uniform pale yellow--yellow complexion, +yellow hair, and yellow eyebrows. Poole's clothes never fit him, and +he walks, as he dances, with his legs far apart, as if a horse +were under him. He carries a hunting-whip in his hand spite of the +month--October (these little anomalies are undetected in New Italy, +where there is so much to learn). Prince Ruspoli swings round this +whip as he mounts the steps of the club. The others, who are watching +his approach, are secretly devoured with envy. + +"Wall, Pietrino--wall, Beppo," said Ruspoli, shaking hands with +Orsetti and Malatesta, and nodding to Orazio, out of whose sails he +took the wind by force of stolid indifference (Baldassare he ignored, +or mistook him for a waiter, if he saw him at all), "you are all +discussing the news, of course. Lucca's lively to-day. You'll all +do in time, even to steeple-chases. We must run one down on the low +grounds in the spring. Dick, my English groom, is always plaguing me +about it." + +Then Prince Ruspoli pulled himself together with a jerk, as a man does +stiff from the saddle, laid his hunting-whip upon a table, stuffed his +hands into his pockets, and looked round. + +"What news have you heard?" asked Beppo Malatesta. "There's such a +lot." + +"Wall, the news I have heard is, that Count Nobili is engaged to marry +the Marchesa Guinigi's little niece. Dear little thing, they say--like +an English '_mees_'--fair, with red hair." + +"Is that your style of beauty?" lisped Orazio, looking hard at him. +But Ruspoli did not notice him. + +"But that's not half," cried Malatesta. "You are an innocent, Ruspoli. +Let me baptize you with scandal." + +"Don't, don't, I hate scandal," said Ruspoli, taking one of his hands +out of his pocket for a moment, and holding it up in remonstrance. +"There is nothing but scandal in these small Italian towns. Take to +hunting, that's the cure. Nobili is to marry the little girl, that's +certain. He's to pay off all the marchesa's debts, that's certain too. +He's rich, she's poor. He wants blood, she has got it." + +"I do not believe in this marriage," said Orazio, measuring Prince +Ruspoli as he stood erect, his slits of eyes without a shadow of +expression. "You remember the ballroom, prince? And the Boccarini +family grouped--and Nobili crying in a corner? Nobili will marry the +Boccarini. She is a stunner." + +After Orazio had ventured this observation about Nera Boccarini, +Prince Ruspoli brought his small, steely eyes to bear upon him with a +fixed stare. + +Orazio affected total unconsciousness, but he quailed inwardly. The +others silently watched Ruspoli. He took up his hunting-whip and +whirled it in the air dangerously near Orazio's head, eying him all +the while as a dog eyes a rat he means to crunch between his teeth. + +"Whoever says that Count Nobili will marry the Boccarini, is a liar!" +Prince Ruspoli spoke with perfect composure, still whirling his whip. +"I shall be happy to explain my reason anywhere, out of the city, on +the shortest notice." + +Orazio started up. "Prince Ruspoli, do you call me a liar?" + +"I beg your pardon," replied Ruspoli, quite unmoved, making Orazio a +mock bow. "Did you say whom Count Nobili would marry? If you did, will +you favor me by repeating it?" + +"I only report town-talk," Franchi answered, sullenly. "I am not +answerable for town-talk." + +Ruspoli was a dead-shot; Orazio only fought with swords. + +"Then I am satisfied," replied Ruspoli, quiet defiance in his look and +tone. "I accuse you, Signore Orazio Franchi, of nothing. I only warn +you." + +"I don't see why we should quarrel about Nobili's marriage. He will +be here himself presently, to explain which of the ladies he prefers," +observed the peaceable Orsetti. + +"I don't know which lady Count Nobili prefers," retorted Ruspoli, +doggedly. "But I tell you the name of the lady he is to marry. It is +Enrica Guinigi." + +"Why, there is Count Nobili!" cried Baldassare, quite loud--"there, +under the plane-trees." + +"Bravo, Adonis!" cried Beppo; "your eyes are as sharp as your feet are +swift." + +Nobili crossed the square; he was coming toward the club. Every face +was turned toward him. He had come down to Lucca like one maddened +by the breath of love. All along the road he had felt drunk with +happiness. To him love was everywhere--in the deep gloom of the +mountain-forests, in the flowing river, diamonded with light under the +pale moonbeams; in the splendor of the starry sky, in midnight dreams +of bliss, and in the awakening of glorious morning. The two old +palaces were full of love--the Moorish garden; the magnolias that +overtopped the wall, and the soft, creamy perfume that wafted from +them; the very street through which he should lead her home; every one +he saw; all he said, thought, or did--it was all love and Enrica! + +Now, having with lover's haste made good progress with all he had +to do, Nobili has come down to the club to meet his friends, and to +receive their congratulations. Every hand is stretched out toward him. +Even Ruspoli, spite of obvious jealousy, liked him. Nobili's face +is lit up with its sunniest smile. Having shaken hands with him, an +ominous silence ensues. Orsetti and Malatesta suddenly find that their +cigars want relighting, and turn aside. Orazio seats himself at a +distance, and scowls at Prince Ruspoli. Nobili gives a quick glance +round. An instant tells him that something is wrong. + +Prince Ruspoli breaks the awkward silence. He walks up, looks at +Nobili with immovable gravity, then slaps him on the shoulder. + +"I congratulate you, Nobili. I hear you are to marry the Marchesa +Guinigi's niece." + +"Balduccio, I thank you. Within a week I hope to bring her home to +Lucca. There will then be but one Guinigi home in the two palaces. The +marchesa makes her heiress of all she possesses." + +Prince Ruspoli is satisfied. Now he will back Count Nobili to any +odds. He will name his next foal Mario Nobili. + +Again Nobili glances round; this time there is the shadow of a frown +upon his smooth brow. Orsetti feels that he must speak. + +"Have you known the lady long?" Orsetti asks, with an embarrassment +foreign to him. + +"Yes, and no," answers Nobili, reddening, and scanning the veiled +expression on Orsetti's face with intense curiosity. "But the +matter has been brought to a crisis by the accidental burning of the +marchesa's house at Corellia. I was present--I saved her niece." + +"I thought it was rather sudden," says Orazio, from behind, in a tone +full of suggestion. "We were in doubt, before you came, to whom the +lady was engaged." + +Nobili starts. + +"What do you mean?" he asks, hastily. + +The color has left his cheeks; his blue eyes grow dark. + +"There has been some foolish gossip from persons who know nothing," +Orsetti answers, advancing to the front. "About some engagement with +another gentleman, whom she had accepted--" + +"Nonsense! Don't listen to him, my good fellow," breaks in Ruspoli. +"These lads have nothing to do but to breed scandal. They would +slander the Virgin; not for wickedness, but for idleness. I mean to +make them hunt. Hunting is the cure." + +Nobili stands as if turned to stone. + +"But I must listen," replies Nobili, fiercely, fire flaming in his +eyes. "This lady's honor is my own. Who has dared to couple her name +with any other man? Orsetti--Ruspoli"--and he turns to them in great +excitement--"you are my friends. What does this mean?" + +"Nothing," said Orsetti, trying to smile, but not succeeding. "I hear, +Nobili, you have behaved with extraordinary generosity," he adds, +fencing the question. + +"Yes, by Jove!" adds Prince Ruspoli. Ruspoli was leaning up against +a pillar, watching Orazio as he would a mischievous cur. "A most +suitable marriage. Not that I care a button for blood, except in +horses." + +Nobili has not moved, but, as each speaks, his eye shifts rapidly from +one to the other. His face from pale grows livid, and there is a throb +about his temples that sounds in his ears like a thousand hammers. + +"Orsetti," Nobili says, sternly, "I address myself to you. You are the +oldest here. You are the first man I knew after I came to Lucca. You +are all concealing something from me. I entreat you, Orsetti, as man +to man, tell me whose name has been coupled with that of my affianced +wife? That it is a lie I know beforehand--a base and palpable lie! She +has been reared at home in perfect solitude." + +Nobili spoke with passionate vehemence. The hot blood rushed over his +face and neck, and tingled to his very fingers. Now he glances from +man to man in an appeal defiant, yet pleading, pitiful to behold. +Every face grows grave. + +Orsetti is the first to reply. + +"I feel deeply for you, Nobili. We all love you." + +"Yes, all," responded Malatesta and Ruspoli, speaking together. + +"You must not attach too much importance to idle gossip," says +Orsetti. + +"No, no," cried Ruspoli, "don't. I will stand by you, Nobili. I know +the lady by sight--a little English beau" + +"Scandal! Who is the man? By God, I'll have his blood within this very +hour!" + +Nobili is now wrought up beyond all endurance. + +"You can't," says Orazio Franchi, tapping his heel upon the marble +pavement. "He's gone." + +"Gone! I'll follow him to hell!" roars Nobili "Who is he?" + +"Possibly he may find his own way there in time," answers Orazio, with +a sneer. He rises so as to increase the distance between himself and +Prince Ruspoli. "But as yet the wretch crawls on mother earth." + +"Silence, Orazio!" shouts Ruspoli, "or you may go there yourself +quicker than Marescotti." + +"Marescotti! Is that the name?" cries Nobili, with a hungry eye, that +seems to thirst for vengeance. "Who is Marescotti?" + +"This is some horrid fiction," Nobili mutters to himself. Stay!--Where +had he heard that name lately? He gnawed his fingers until the blood +came, and a crimson drop fell upon the marble floor. Suddenly an +icy chill rose at his heart. He could not breathe. He sank into a +chair--then rose again, and stood before Orsetti with a face out of +which ten years of youth had fled. Yes, Marescotti--that is the very +man Enrica had mentioned to him under the trees at Corellia. Each +letter of it blazes in fire before his eyes. Yes--she had said +Marescotti had read her eyes. "O God!" and Nobili groans aloud, and +buries his face within his hands. + +"You take this too much to heart, my dear Mario," Count Orsetti said; +"indeed you do, else I would not say so. Remember there is nothing +proved. Be careful," Orsetti whispered in the other's ear, glancing +round. Every eye was riveted on Nobili. + +Orsetti felt that Nobili had forgotten the public place and the others +present--such as Count Malatesta, Orazio Franchi, and Baldassare, who, +though they had not spoken, had devoured every word. + +"It is nothing but a sonnet found among Marescotti's papers." Orsetti +now was speaking. "Marescotti has fled from the police. Nothing but a +sonnet addressed to the lady--a poet's day-dream--untrue of course." + +"Will no one tell me what the sonnet said?" demanded Nobili. He had +mastered himself for the moment. + +"Stuff, stuff!" cried Ruspoli. "Every pretty woman has heaps of +sonnets and admirers. It is a brevet of beauty. After all this row, it +was only an offer of marriage made to Count Marescotti and refused by +him. Probably the lady never knew it." + +"Oh, yes, she did, she accepted him," sounded from behind. It was +Baldassare, whose vanity was piqued because no one had referred to him +for information. + +"Accepted! Refused by Count Marescotti!" Nobili caught and repeated +the words in a voice so strange, it sounded like the echo from a +vault. + +"Wall! by Jove! It's five o'clock!" exclaimed Prince Ruspoli, looking +at his watch. "My dear fellow," he said, addressing Nobili, "I have an +appointment on the ramparts; will you go with me?" He passed his arm +through that of Nobili. It was a painful scene, which Ruspoli desired +to end. Nobili shook his head. He was so stunned and dazed he could +not speak. + +"If it is five o'clock," said Malatesta, "I must go too." + +Malatesta drew Nobili a little apart. "Don't think too much of this, +Nobili. It will all blow over and be forgotten in a month. Take your +wife a trip to Paris or London. We shall hear no more of it, believe +me. Good-by." + +"Count Nobili," called out Franchi, from the other end of the portico, +making a languid bow, "after all that I have heard, I congratulate you +on your marriage most sincerely." + +Nobili did not hear him. All were gone. He was alone with Ruspoli. His +head had dropped upon his breast. There was the shadow of a tear in +Prince Ruspoli's steely eye. It was not enough to be brushed off, for +it absorbed itself and came to nothing, but it was there nevertheless. + +"Wall, Mario," he said, apparently unmoved, "it seems to me the club +is made too hot to hold you. Come home." + +Nobili nodded. He was so weak he had to hang heavily on Prince +Ruspoli's arm as they crossed the piazza. Prince Ruspoli did not leave +him until he saw him safe to his own door. + +"You will judge what is right to do," were Ruspoli's last words. "But +do not be guided by those young scamps. They live in mischief. If you +love the girl, marry her--that is my advice." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS. + + +I have seen a valley canopied by a sky of blue and opaline, girt in +by wooded heights, on which the sun poured down in mid-day splendor. +A broad river sparkled downward, giving back ray for ray. The forest +glowed without a shadow. Each little detail of leaf or stone, even a +blade of grass, was turned to flame. The corn lay smooth and golden. +The grapes and olives hung safe upon the branch. The flax--a goodly +crop--reached to the trees. The peasants labored in the rich brown +soil, singing to the oxen. The women sat spinning beside their doors. +A little maid led out her snowy lamb to graze among the woods, and +children played at "morra" beside the river, which ran at peace, +lapping the silver sand. + +A cloud gathers behind the mountains--yonder, where they come +interlacing down, narrowing the valley. It is a little cloud, no one +observes it; yet it gathers and spreads and blackens, until the sky is +veiled. The sun grows pale. A greenish light steals over the earth. In +the still air there is a sudden freshness. The tall canes growing in +the brakes among the vineyards rustle as if shaken by a spectral +hand. The white-leaved aspens quiver. An icy wind sweeps down the +mountain-sides. A flash of lightning shoots across the sky. Then the +storm bursts. Thunder rolls, and cracks, and crashes; as if the brazen +gates of heaven clashed to and fro. The peasants fly, driving their +cattle before them. The pig's run grunting homeward. The helpless lamb +is stricken where it stands, crouching in a deep gorge; the little +maid sits weeping by. Down beats the hail like pebbles. It strikes +upon the vines, scorches and blackens them. The wheat is leveled +to the ground. The river suddenly swells into a raging torrent. Its +turbid waters bear away the riches of the poor--the cow that served a +little household and followed the children, lowing, to reedy meadows +bathed by limpid streams--a horse caught browsing in a peaceful vale, +thinking no ill--great trees hurling destruction with them. Rafters, +roofs of houses, sometimes a battered corpse, float by. + +The roads are broken up. The bridge is snapped. Years will not repair +the fearful ravage. The evening sun sets on a desolate waste. Men sit +along the road-side wringing their hands beside their ruined crops. +Children creep out upon their naked feet, and look and wonder. Where +is the little kid that ran before and licked their hands? Where is the +gray-skinned, soft-eyed cow that hardly needed a cord to lead her? The +shapely cob, so brave with its tinkling bells and crimson tassels? The +cob that daddy drove to market, and many merry fairs? Gone with the +storm! all gone! + + * * * * * + +Count Nobili was like the Italian climate--in extremes. Like his +native soil, he must live in the sunshine. His was not a nature to +endure a secret sorrow. He must be kissed, caressed, and smoothed by +tender hands and loving voices. He must have applause, approval, be +flattered, envied, and followed. Hitherto all this had come naturally +to him. His gracious temper, generous heart, and great wealth, had +made all bright about him. Now a sudden storm had swept over him and +brought despair into his heart. + +When Prince Ruspoli left him, Nobili felt as battered and sore as if a +whirlwind had caught him, then let him go, and he had dropped to earth +a broken man. Yet in the turmoil of his brain a pale, scared little +face, with wild, beseeching eyes, was ever before him. It would not +leave him. What was this horrible nightmare that had come over him in +the heyday of his joy? It was so vague, yet so tangible if judged by +its effect on others. Others held Enrica dishonored, that was clear. +Was she dishonored? He was bound to her by every tie of honor. He +loved her. She had a charm for him no other woman ever possessed, and +she loved him. A women's eye, he told himself, had never deceived him. +Yes, she loved him. Yet if Enrica were as guileless as she seemed, how +could she conceal from him she had another lover--less loved perhaps +than he--but still a lover? And this lover had refused to marry her? +That was the stab. That every one in Lucca should know his future +bride had been scouted by another man who had turned a rhyme upon her, +and left her! Could he bear this? + +What were Enrica's relations with Marescotti? Some one had said she +had accepted him. Nobili was sure he had heard this. He, Marescotti, +must have approached her nearly by her own confession. He had +celebrated her in sonnets, amorous sonnets--damnable thought!--gone +with her to the Guinigi Tower--then rejected her! A mist seemed to +gather about Nobili as he thought of this. He grew stupid in +long vistas of speculation. Had Enrica not dared to meet +him--Nobili--clandestinely? Was not this very act unmaidenly? (Such +are men: they urge the slip, the fall, then judge a woman by the +force of their own urging!) Had Enrica met Marescotti in secret also? +No--impossible! The scared, white face was before Nobili, now plainer +than ever. No--he hated himself for the very thought. All the chivalry +of his nature rose up to acquit her. + +Still there was a mystery. How far was Enrica concerned in it? Would +she have married Count Marescotti? Trenta was away, or he would +question him. _Had he better ask? What might he hear_? Some one had +deceived him grossly. The marchesa would stick at nothing; yet what +could the marchesa have done without Enrica? Nobili was perplexed +beyond expression. He buried his head within his arms, and leaned upon +a table in an agony of doubt. Then he paced up and down the splendid +room, painted with frescoed walls, and hung with rose and silver +draperies from Paris (it was to have been Enrica's boudoir), looking +south into a delicious town-garden, with statues, and flower-beds, +and terraces of marble diamonded in brilliant colors. To be so +cheated!--to be the laughing-stock of Lucca! Good God! how could he +bear it? To marry a wife who would be pointed at with whispered words! +Of all earthly things this was the bitterest! Could he bear it?--and +Enrica--would she not suffer? And if she did, what then? Why, she +deserved it--she must deserve it, else why was she accused? Enrica was +treacherous--the tool of her aunt. He could not doubt it. If she +cared for him at all, it was for the sake of his money--hateful +thought!--yet, having signed the contract, he supposed he _must_ +give her the name of wife. But the future mother of his children was +branded. + +Oh, the golden days at mountain-capped Corellia!--that watching in the +perfumed woods--that pleading with the stars that shone over Enrica +to bear her his love-sick sighs! Oh, the triumph of saving her dear +life!--the sweetness of her lips in that first embrace under the +magnolia-tree! Fra Pacifico too, with his honest, sturdy ways--and the +white-haired cavaliere, so wise and courteous. Cheats, cheats--all! +It made him sick to think how they must have laughed and jeered at him +when he was gone. Oh, it was damnable! + +His teeth were set. He started up as if he had been stung, and stamped +upon the floor. Then like a madman he rushed up and down the spacious +floor. After a time, brushing the drops of perspiration from his +forehead, Nobili grew calmer. He sat down to think. + +Must he marry Enrica?--he asked himself (he had come to that)--marry +the lady of the sonnet--Marescotti's love? He did not see how he could +help it. The contract was signed, and nothing proved against her. +Well--life was long, and the world wide, and full of pleasant things. +Well--he must bear it--unless there had been sin! Nobili did not see +it, nor did he hear it; but much that is never seen, nor heard, nor +known, is yet true--horribly true. He did see it, but as he thought +these cruel thoughts, and hardened himself in them, a pale, scared +face, with wild, pleading eyes, vanished with a shriek of anguish. + +Others had loved him well, Nobili reasoned--other women--"_Not so well +as I_" an inaudible voice would have whispered, but it was no longer +there to answer--others that had not been rejected--others fairer than +Enrica--Nera! + +With that name there came a world of comfort to him. Nera loved +him--she loved him! He had not seen Nera since that memorable night +she lay like one dead before him. Before he took a final resolve +(by-and-by he must investigate, inquire, know when, and how, and by +whom, all this talk had come), would it not be well to see Nera? It +was a duty, he told himself, he owed her; a duty delayed too long; +only Enrica had so absorbed him. Nera would have heard the town-talk. +How would she take it? Would she be glad, or sorry, he wondered? Then +came a longing upon Nobili he could not resist, to know if Nera still +loved him. If so, what constancy! It deserved reward. He had treated +her shamefully. How sweet her company would be if she would see him! +At all events, he could but try. At this point he rose and rang the +bell. + +When the servant came, Nobili ordered his dinner. He was hungry, he +said, and would eat at once. His carriage he should require later. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +NERA. + + +Close to the Church of San Michele, where a brazen archangel with +outstretched wings flaunts in the blue sky, is the narrow, crypt-like +street of San Salvador. Here stands the Boccarini Palace. It is an +ancient structure, square and large, with an overhanging roof and +open, pillared gallery. On the first floor there is a stone balcony. +Four rows of windows divide the front. The lower ones, barred with +iron, are dismal to the eye. Over the principal entrance are the +Boccarini arms, carved on a stone escutcheon, supported by two angels, +the whole so moss-eaten the details cannot be traced. Above is a +marquis's coronet in which a swallow has built its nest. Both in and +out it is a house where poverty has set its seal. The family is dying +out. When Marchesa Boccarini dies, the palace will be sold, and the +money divided among her daughters. + +As dusk was settling into night a carriage rattled along the deserted +street. The horses--a pair of splendid bays--struck sparks out of the +granite pavement. With a bang they draw up at the entrance, under an +archway, guarded by a _grille_ of rusty iron. A bell is rung; it only +echoes through the gloomy court. The bell was rung again, but no one +came. At last steps were heard, and a dried-up old man, with a face +like parchment, and little ferret eyes, appeared, hastily dragging his +arms into a coat much too large for him. + +He shuffled to the front and bowed. Taking a key from his pocket he +unlocked the iron gates, then planted himself on the threshold, and +turned his ear toward the well-appointed brougham, and Count Nobili +seated within. + +"Do the ladies receive?" Nobili called out. The old man nodded, +bringing his best ear and ferret eyes to bear upon him. + +"Yes, the ladies do receive. Will the excellency descend?" + +Count Nobili jumped out and hurried through the archway into a court +surrounded by a colonnade. + +It is very dark. The palace rises upward four lofty stories. Above is +a square patch of sky, on which a star trembles. The court is full +of damp, unwholesome odors. The foot slips upon the slimy pavement. +Nobili stopped. The old man came limping after, buttoning his coat +together. + +"Ah! poor me!--The excellency is young!" He spoke in the odd, muffled +voice, peculiar to the deaf. "The excellency goes so fast he will fall +if he does not mind. Our court-yard is very damp; the stairs are old." + +"Which is the way up-stairs?" Nobili asked, impatiently. "It is so +dark I have forgotten the turn." + +"Here, excellency--here to the right. By the Madonna there, in the +niche, with the light before it. A thousand excuses! The excellency +will excuse me, but I have not yet lit the lamp on the stairs. I +was resting. There are so many visitors to the Signora Marchesa. The +excellency will not tell the Signora Marchesa that it was dark upon +the stairs? Per pieta!" + +The shriveled old man placed himself full in Nobili's path, and held +out his hands like claws entreatingly. + +"A thousand devils!--no," was Nobili's irate reply, pushing him back. +"Let me go up; I shall say nothing. Cospetto! What is it to me?" + +"Thanks! thanks! The excellency is full of mercy to an old, overworked +servant. There was a time when the Boccarini--" + +Nobili did not wait to hear more, but strode through the darkness at +hazard, to find the stairs. + +"Stop! stop! the excellency will break his limbs against the wall!" +the old man shouted. + +He fumbled in his pocket, and drew out some matches. He struck one +against the wall, held it above his head, and pointed with his bony +finger to a broad stone stair under an inner arch. + +Nobili ascended rapidly; he was in no mood for delay. The old man, +standing at the foot, struck match after match to light him. + +"Above, excellency, you will find our usual lamps. You must go on to +the second story." + +On the landing at the first floor there was still a little daylight +from a window as big as if set in the tribune of a cathedral. Here a +lamp was placed on an old painted table. Some moth-eaten tapestry hung +from a mildewed wall. Here and there a rusty nail had given way, and +the stuff fell in downward folds. Nobili paused. His head was hot and +dizzy. He had dined well, and he had drunk freely. His eyes traveled +upward to the old tapestry--(it was the daughter of Herodias dancing +before Herod the cancan of the day). Something in the face and figure +of the girl recalled Nera to him, or he fancied it--his mind being +full of her. Nobili envied Herod in a dreamy way, who, with round, +leaden eyes, a crown upon his head--watched the dancing girl as she +flung about her lissome limbs. Nobili envied Herod--and the thought +came across him, how pleasant it would be to sit royally enthroned, +and see Nera gambol so! From that--quicker than I can write it--his +thoughts traveled backward to that night when he had danced with Nera +at the Orsetti ball. Again the refrain of that waltz buzzed in +his ear. Again the measure rose and fell in floods of luscious +sweetness--again Nera lay within his arms--her breath was on his +cheek--the perfume of the flowers in her flossy hair was wafted in the +air--the blood stirred in his veins. + +The old man said truly. All the way up the second stair was lit by +little lamps, fed by mouldy oil; and all the way up that waltz rang +in Nobili's ear. It mounted to his brain like fumes of new wine tapped +from the skin. A green door of faded baize faced him on the upper +landing, and another bell--a red tassel fastened to a bit of whipcord. +He rang it hastily. This time a servant came promptly. He carried in +his hand a lamp of brass. + +"Did the ladies receive?" + +"They did," was the answer; and the servant held the lamp aloft to +light Nobili into the anteroom. + +This anteroom was as naked as a barrack. The walls were painted in +a Raphaelesque pattern, the coronet and arms of the Boccarini in the +centre. + +Count Nobili and the servant passed through many lofty rooms of faded +splendor. Chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and reflected the +light of the brass lamp on a thousand crystal facets. The tall mirrors +in the antique frames repeated it. In a cavern-like saloon, hung with +rows of dark pictures upon amber satin, Nobili and the servant stopped +before a door. The servant knocked; A voice said, "Enter." It was the +voice of Marchesa Boccarini. She was sitting with her three daughters. +A lamp, with a colored shade, stood in the centre of a small room, +bearing some aspect of life and comfort. The marchesa and two of her +daughters were working at some mysterious garments, which rapidly +vanished out of sight. Nera was leaning back on a sofa, superbly +idle--staring idly at an opposite window, where the daylight still +lingered. When Count Nobili was announced, they all rose and spoke +together with the loud peacock voices, and the rapid utterance, which +in Italy are supposed to mark a special welcome. Strange that in +the land of song the talking voices of women should be so harsh and +strident! Yet so it is. + +"How long is it since we have seen you, Count Nobili?" It was the +sad-faced marchesa who spoke, and tried to smile a welcome to him. "I +have to thank you for many inquiries, and all sorts of luxuries sent +to my dear child. But we expected you. You never came." + +The two sisters echoed, "You never came." + +Nera did not speak then, but when they had finished, she rose from the +sofa and stood before Nobili drawn up to her full height, radiant +in sovereign beauty. "I have to thank you most." As Nera spoke, her +cheeks flushed, and she dropped her hand into his. It was a simple +act, but full of purpose as Nera did it. Nera intended it should be +so. She reseated herself. As his eye met hers, Nobili grew crimson. +The twilight and the shaded lamp hid this in part, but Nera observed +it, and noted it for future use. + +Count Nobili placed himself beside the marchesa. + +"I am overwhelmed with shame," he said. "What you say is too true. +I had intended coming. Indeed, I waited until your daughter"--and he +glanced at Nera--"could receive me, and satisfy me herself she was not +hurt. I longed to make my penitent excuses for the accident." + +"Oh! it was nothing," said Nera, with a smile, answering for her +mother. + +"What I suffered, no words can tell," continued, Nobili. "Even now I +shudder to think of it--to be the cause--" + +"No, not the cause," answered Marchesa Boccarini. + +The elder sisters echoed-- + +"Not the cause." + +"It was the ribbon," continued the marchesa. "Nera was entangled with +the ribbon when she rose; she did not know it." + +"I ought to have held her up," returned Nobili with a glance at Nera, +who, with a kind of queenly calm, looked him full in the face with her +bold, black eyes. + +"I assure you, marchesa, it was the horror of what I had done that +kept me from calling on you." + +This was not true, and Nera knew it was not true. Nobili had not come, +because he dreaded his weakness and her power. Nobili had not come, +because he doted on Enrica to that excess, a thought alien to her +seemed then to him a crime. What folly! Now he knew Enrica better! All +that was changed. + +"We have felt very grateful," went on to say the marchesa, "I assure +you, Count Nobili, very grateful." + +The poor lady was much exercised in spirit as to how she could frame +an available excuse for leaving the count alone with Nera. Had she +only known beforehand, she would have arranged a little plan to do +so, naturally. But it must be done, she knew. It must be done at any +price, or Nera would never forgive her. + +"You have been so agreeably occupied, too," Nera said, in a firm, full +voice. "No wonder, Count Nobili, you had no time to visit us." + +There was a mute reproach in these few words that made Nobili wince. + +"I have been absent," he replied, much confused. + +"Yes, absent in mind and body," and Nera laughed a cruel little laugh. +"You have been at Corellia, I believe?" she added, significantly, +fixing him with her lustrous eyes. + +"Yes, I have been at Corellia, shooting." Nobili shrank from shame +at the lack of courtesy on his part which had made these social lies +needful. How brilliant Nera was! + +A type of perfect womanhood. Fresh, and strong, and healthy--a mother +for heroes. + +"We have heard of you," went on Nera, throwing her grand head +backward, a quiet deliberation in each word, as if she were dropping +them out, word by word, like poison. "A case of Perseus and Andromeda, +only you rescued the lady from the flames. You half killed me, Count +Nobili, and _en revanche_ you have saved another lady. She must be +very grateful." + +"O Nera!" one of her sisters exclaimed, reproachfully. These innocent +sisters never could accommodate themselves to Nera's caustic tongue. + +Nera gave her sister a look. She rose at once; then the other sister +rose also. They both slipped out of the room. + +"Now," thought the marchesa, "I must go, too." + +"May I be permitted," she said, rising, "before I leave the room +to speak to my confessor, who is waiting for me, on a matter of +business"--this was an excellent sham, and sounded decorous and +natural--"may I be permitted, Count Nobili, to congratulate you on +your approaching marriage? I do not know Enrica Guinigi, but I hear +that she is lovely." + +Nobili bowed with evident constraint. + +"And I," said Nera, softly, directing a broadside upon him from her +brilliant eyes--"allow me to congratulate you also." + +"Thank you," murmured Nobili, scarcely able to form the words. + +"Excuse me," the marchesa said. She courtesied to Nobili and left the +room. + +Nobili and Nera were now alone. Nobili watched her under his eyelids. +Yes, she was splendid. A luxuriant form, a skin mellow and ruddy as a +ripe peach, and such eyes! + +Nera was silent. She guessed his thoughts. She knew men so well. Men +had been her special study. Nera was only twenty-four, but she was +clever, and would have excelled in any thing she pleased. To draw men +to her, as the magnet draws the needle, was the passion of her life; +whether she cared for them or not, to draw them. Not to succeed argued +a want of skill. That maddened her. She was keen and hot upon the +scent, knocking over her man as a sportsman does his bird, full in +the breast. Her aim was marriage. Count Nobili would have suited +her exactly. She had felt for him a warmth that rarely quickened her +pulses. Nobili had evaded her. But revenge is sweet. Now his hour is +come. + +"Count Nobili"--Nera's tempting looks spoke more than words--"come and +sit down by me." She signed to him to place himself upon the sofa. + +Nobili rose as she bade him. He came upon his fate without a word. +Seated so near to Nera, he gazed into her starry eyes, and felt it did +him good. + +"You look ill," Nera said, tuning her voice to a tone of tender pity; +"you have grown older too since I last saw you. Is it love, or grief, +or jealousy, or what?" + +Nobili heaved a deep sigh. His hand, which rested near hers, slipped +forward, and touched her fingers. Nera withdrew them to smooth +the braids of her glossy hair. While she did so she scanned Nobili +closely. "You are not a triumphant lover, certainly. What is the +matter?" + +"You are very good to care," answered Nobili, sighing again, gazing +into her face; "once I thought that my fate did touch you." + +"Yes, once," Nera rejoined. "Once--long ago." She gave an airy laugh +that grated on Nobili's ears. "But we meet so seldom." + +"True, true," he answered hurriedly, "too seldom." His manner was +most constrained. It was plain his mind was running upon some unspoken +thought. + +"Yes," Nera said. "Spite of your absence, however you make yourself +remembered. You give us so much to talk of! Such a succession of +surprises!" + +One by one Nera's phrases dropped out, suggesting so much behind. + +Nobili, greatly excited, felt he must speak or flee. + +"I must confess," she added, giving a stealthy glance out of the +corners of her eyes, "you have surprised me. When do you bring your +wife home, Count Nobili?" As Nera asked this question she bent over +Nobili, so that her breath just swept his heated cheek. + +"Never, perhaps!" cried Nobili, wildly. He could contain himself no +longer. His heart beat almost to bursting. A desperate seduction was +stealing over him. "Never, perhaps!" he repeated. + +Nera gave a little start; then she drew back and leaned against the +sofa, gazing at him. + +"I am come to you, Nera"--Nobili spoke in a hoarse voice--his features +worked with agitation--"I am come to tell you all; to ask you what I +shall do. I am distracted, heart-broken, degraded! Nera, dear Nera, +will you help me? In mercy say you will!" + +He had grasped her hand--he was covering it with hot kisses. He was +so heated with wine and beauty, and a sense of wrong, he had lost all +self-command. + +Nera did not withdraw her hand. Her eyelids dropped, and she replied, +softly: + +"Help you? Oh! so willingly. Could you see my heart you would +understand me." + +She stopped. + +"You can make all right," urged Nobili, maddened by her seductions. + +Again that waltz was buzzing in his ears. Nobili was about to clasp +her in his arms, and ask her he knew not what, when Nera rose, and +seated herself upon a chair opposite to him. + +"You leave me," cried Nobili, piteously, seizing her dress. "That is +not helping me." + +"I must know what you want," she answered, settling the folds of her +dress about her. "Of course, in making this marriage, you have weighed +all the consequences? I take that for granted." + +As Nera spoke she leaned her head upon her hand; the rich beauty of +her face was brought under the lamp's full light. + +"I thought I had," was Nobili's reply, recalled by her movement to +himself, and speaking with more composure--"I thought I had--but +within the last three hours every thing is changed. I have been +insulted at the club." + +"Ah!--you must expect that sort of thing if you marry Enrica Guinigi. +That is inevitable." + +Nobili knit his brows. This was hard from her. + +"What reason do you give for this?" he asked, trying to master his +feelings. "I came to ask you this." + +"Reason, my dear count?" and a smile parted Nera's lips. "A very +obvious reason. Why force me to name it? No one can respect you if you +make such a marriage. You will be always liked--you are so charming." +She paused to fling an amorous glance upon him. "Why did you select +the Guinigi girl?" The question was sharply put. "The marchesa would +never receive you. Why choose her niece?" + +"Because I liked her." Nobili was driven to bay. "A man chooses the +woman he likes." + +"How strange!" exclaimed Nera, throwing up her hands. "How strange!--A +pale-faced school-girl! But--ha! ha!"--(that discordant laugh almost +betrayed her)--"she is not so, it seems." + +Nobili changed color. With every word Nera uttered, he grew hot or +cold, soothed or wild, by turns. Nera watched it all. She read Nobili +like a book. + +"How cunning Enrica Guinigi must be!--very cunning!" Nera repeated as +if the idea had just struck her. "The marchesa's tool!--They are so +poor!--Her niece! Chè vuole!--The family blood! Anyhow, Enrica has +caught you, Nobili." + +Nera leaned back, drew out a fan from behind a cushion, and swayed it +to and fro. + +"Not yet," gasped Nobili--"not yet." + +And Nobili had listened to Nera's cruel words, and had not risen up +and torn out the lying tongue that uttered them! He had sat and heard +Enrica torn to pieces as a panting dove is severed by a hawk limb by +limb! Even now Nobili's better nature, spite of the glamour of this +woman, told him he was a coward to listen to such words, but his good +angel had veiled her wings and fled. + +"I am glad you say 'not yet.' I hope you will take time to consider. +If I can help you, you may command me, Count Nobili." And Nera paused +and sighed. + +"Help me, Nera!--You can save me!" He started to his feet. "I am so +wretched--so wounded--so desperate!" + +"Sit down," she answered, pointing to the sofa. + +Mechanically he obeyed. + +"You are nothing of all this if you do not marry Enrica Guinigi; if +you do, you are all you say." + +"What am I to do?" exclaimed Nobili. "I have signed the contract." + +"Break it"--Nera spoke the words boldly out--"break it, or you will +be dishonored. Do you think you can live in Lucca with a wife that you +have bought?" + +Nobili bounded from his chair. + +"O God!" he said, and clinched his hands. + +"You must be calm," she said, hastily, "or my mother will hear you." +(All she can do, she thinks, is not worse than Nobili deserves, after +that ball.) "Bought!--Yes. Will any one believe the marchesa would +have given her niece to you otherwise?" + +Nobili was pale and silent now. Nera's words had called up long trains +of thought, opening out into horrible vistas. There was a dreadful +logic about all she said that brought instant conviction with it. All +the blood within him seemed whirling in his brain. + +"But Nera, how can I--in honor--break this marriage?" he urged. + +"Break it! well, by going away. No one can force you to marry a girl +who allowed herself to be hawked about here and there--offered to +Marescotti, and refused--to others probably." + +"She may not have known it," said Nobili, roused by her bitter words. + +"Oh, folly! Why come to me, Count Nobili? You are still in love with +her." + +At these words Nobili rose and approached Nera. Something in her +expression checked him; he drew back. With all her allurements, there +was a gulf between them Nobili dared not pass. + +"O Nera! do not drive me mad! Help me, or banish me." + +"I am helping you," she replied, with what seemed passionate +earnestness. "Have you seen the sonnet?" + +"No." + +"If you mean to marry her, do not. Take advice. My mother has seen +it," Nera added, with well-simulated horror. "She would not let me +read it." + +Now this was the sheerest malice. Madame Boccarini had never seen +the sonnet. But if she had, there was not one word in the sonnet that +might not have been addressed to the Blessed Virgin herself. + +"No, I will not see the sonnet," said Nobili, firmly. "Not that I +will marry her, but because I do not choose to see the woman I loved +befouled. If it is what you say--and I believe you implicitly--let it +lie like other dirt, I will not stir it." + +"A generous fellow!" thought Nera. "How I could have loved him! But +not now, not now." + +"You have been the object of a base fraud," continued Nera. Nera would +follow to the end artistically; not leave her work half done. + +"She has deceived me. I know she has deceived me," cried Nobili, with +a pang he could not hide. "She has deceived me, and I loved her!" + +His voice sounded like the cry of a hunted animal. + +Nera did not like this. Her work was not complete. Nobili's obstinate +clinging to Enrica chafed her. + +"Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to Count Marescotti?" +she asked. She grew impatient, and must probe the wound. + +"Never," he answered, shrinking back. + +"Heavens! What falseness! Why, she has passed days and days alone with +him." + +"No, not alone," interrupted Nobili, stung with a sense of his own +shame. + +"Oh, you excuse her!" Nera laughed bitterly. "Poor count, believe me. +I tell you what others conceal." + +Nobili shuddered. His face grew black as night. + +"Do not see that sonnet if you persist in marriage. If not, your +course is clear--fly. If Enrica Guinigi has the smallest sense of +decency, she cannot urge the marriage." + +And Nobili heard this in silence! Oh, shame, and weakness and passion +of hot blood; and women's eyes, and cruel, bitter tongues; and +jealousy, maddening jealousy, hideous, formless, vague, reaching he +knew not whither I Oh, shame! + +"Write to her, and say you have discovered that she was in league with +her aunt, and had other lovers. Every one knows it." + +"But, Nera, if I do, will you comfort me? I shall need it." Nobili +opened both his arms. His eyes clung wildly to hers. She was his only +hope. + +Nera did not move; only she turned her head away to hide her face from +him. She dared not let Nobili move her. Poor Nobili! She could have +loved him dearly! + +Seeing her thus, Nobili's arms dropped to his side hopelessly; a wan +look came over his face. + +"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me, Nera! I offer you a broken heart; have +pity on me! Say, can you love me, Nera? Only a little. Speak! tell +me!" + +Nobili was on his knees before her; every feature of his bright young +face formed into an agony of entreaty. + +There was a flash of triumph in Nera's black eyes as she bent them on +Nobili, that chilled him to the soul. Kneeling before her, he feels +it. He doubts her love, doubts all. She has wrought upon him until he +is desperate. + +"Rise, dear Nobili," Nera whispered softly, touching his lips with +hers, but so slightly. "To-morrow--come again to-morrow. I can +say nothing now." Her manner was constrained. She spoke in little +sentences. "It is late. Supper is ready. My mother waiting. +To-morrow." She pressed the hand he had laid imploringly upon her +knee. She touched the curls upon his brow with her light finger-tips; +but those fixed, despairing eyes beneath she dared not meet. + +"Not one word?" urged Nobili, in a faltering voice. "Send me away +without one word of hope? I shall struggle with horrible thoughts all +night. O Nera, speak one word--but one!" He clasped her hands, and +looked up into her face. He dared do no more. "Love me a little, +Nera," he pleaded, and he laid her warm, full hand upon his throbbing +heart. + +Nera trembled. She rose hastily from her chair, and raised Nobili up +also. + +"I--I--" (she hesitated, and avoided his passionate glance)--"I have +given you good advice. To-morrow I will tell you more about myself." + +"To-morrow, Nera! Why not to-night?" + +Spite of himself Nobili was shocked at her reserve. She was so +self-possessed. He had flung his all upon the die. + +"You have advised me," he answered, stung by her coldness. "You have +convinced me, I shall obey you. Now I must go, unless you bid me +stay." + +Again his eyes pleaded with hers; again found no response. Nera held +out her hand to him. + +"To-morrow," the full, ripe lips uttered--"to-morrow." + +Seeing that he hesitated, Nera pointed with a gesture toward the door, +and Nobili departed. + +When the door had closed, and the sound of his retreating footsteps +along the empty rooms had ceased, Nera raised her hand, then let it +fall heavily upon the table. + +"I have done it!" she exclaimed, triumphantly. "Now I can bear to +think of that Orsetti ball. Poor Nobili! if he had spoken then! But he +did not. It is his own fault." + +After standing a minute or two thinking, Nora uncovered the lamp. Then +she took it up in both her hands, stepped to a mirror that hung near, +and, turning the light hither and thither, looked at her blooming +face, in full and in profile. Then she replaced the lamp upon the +table, yawned, and left the room. + +Next morning a note was put into Count Nobili's hand at breakfast. It +bore the Boccarini arms and the initials of the marchesa. The contents +were these: + +MOST ESTEEMED COUNT: As a friend of our family, I have the honor of +informing you that the marriage of my dear daughter Nera with Prince +Ruspoli is arranged, and will take place in a week. I hope you will +be present. I have the honor to assure you of my most sincere and +distinguished sentiments. + +"MARCHESA AGNESA BOCCARINI." + +In the night train from Lucca that evening, Count Nobili was seated. +"He was about to travel," he had informed his household. "Later he +would send them his address." Before he left, he wrote a letter to +Enrica, and sent it to Corellia. + + + + +PART IV. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +WAITING AND LONGING. + + +It was the morning of the fourth day since Count Nobili had left +Corellia. All had been very quiet about the house. The marchesa +herself took little heed of any thing. She sat much in her own room. +She was silent and preoccupied; but she was not displeased. The one +dominant passion of her soul--the triumph of the Guinigi name--was +now attained. Now she could bear to think of the grand old palace at +Lucca, the seigneurial throne, the nuptial-chamber; now she could gaze +in peace on the countenance of the great Castruccio. No spoiler would +dare to tread these sacred floors. No irreverent hand would presume +to handle her ancestral treasures; no vulgar eye would rest on +the effigies of her race gathered on these walls. All would now be +safe--safe under the protection of wealth, enormous wealth--wealth to +guard, to preserve, to possess. + +Enrica had been the agent by which all this had been effected, +therefore she regarded Enrica at this time with more consideration +than she had ever done before. As to any real sentiments of affection, +the marchesa was incapable of them--a cold, hard woman from her youth, +now vindictive, as well as cold. + +The day after the signing of the contract she called Enrica to her. +Enrica trod lightly across the stuccoed floor to where her aunt was +standing; then she stopped and waited for her to address her. The +marchesa took Enrica's hand within her own for some minutes, and +silently stroked each rosy finger. + +"My child Enrica, are you content?" This question was accompanied by +an inquiring look, as if she would read Enrica through and through. A +sweet smile of ineffable happiness stole over Enrica's soft face. The +marchesa, still holding her hand, uttered something which might +almost be called a sigh. "I hope this will last, else--" She broke off +abruptly. + +Enrica, resenting the implied doubt, disengaged her hand, and drew +back from her. The marchesa, not appearing to observe this, continued: + +"I had other views for you, Enrica; but, before you knew any thing, +you chose a husband for yourself. What do you know about a husband? It +is a bad choice." + +Again Enrica drew back still farther from her aunt, and lifted up her +head as if in remonstrance. But the marchesa was not to be stopped. + +"I hate Count Nobili!" she burst out. "I have had my eye upon him ever +since he came to Lucca. I know him--you do not. It is possible he may +change, but if he does not--" + +For the second time the marchesa did not finish the sentence. + +"And do you think he loves you?" + +As she asked this question she seated herself, and contemplated Enrica +with a cynical smile. + +"Yes, he loves me. It is you who do not know him!" exclaimed Enrica. +"He is so good, so generous, so true; there is no one in the world +like him." + +How pure Enrica looked, pleading for her lover!--her face thrown out +in sharp profile against the dark wall; her short upper lip raised +by her eager speech; the dazzling fairness of her complexion; and her +soft hair hanging loose about her head and neck. + +"I think I do--I think I know him better than you do," the marchesa +answered, somewhat absently. + +She was struck by Enrica's exceeding beauty, which seemed within the +last few days to have suddenly developed and matured. + +"The young man appreciates you, too, I do not doubt. I am told he is a +lover of beauty." + +This was added with a sneer. Enrica grew crimson. + +"Well, well," the marchesa went on to say, "it is too late now--the +thing is done. But remember I have warned you. You chose Count Nobili, +not I. Enrica, I have done my duty to you and to my own name. Now go +and tell the cavaliere I want him." + +The marchesa was always wanting the cavaliere; she was closeted +with him for hours at a time. These conferences all ended in one +conclusion--that she was irretrievably ruined. No one knew this better +than the marchesa herself; but her haughty reluctance either to accept +Count Nobili's money, or to give up Enrica, was the cause of unknown +distress to Trenta. + +Meanwhile the prospect of the wedding had stirred up every one in the +house to a sort of aimless activity. Adamo strode about, his sad, lazy +eyes gazing nowhere in particular. Adamo affected to work hard, but +in reality he did nothing but sweep the leaves away from the border +of the fountain, and remove the _débris_ caused by the fire. Then he +would go down and feed the dogs, who, when at home, lived in a sort +of cave cut out of the cliff under the tower--Argo, the long-haired +mastiff, and Tootsey, the rat-terrier, and Juno, the lurcher, and the +useless bull-dog, who grinned horribly--Adamo fed them, then let them +out to run at will over the flowers, while he went to his mid-day +meal. + +Adamo had no soul for flowers, or he could not have done this; he +could not have seen a bright, many-eyed balsam, or an amber-leaved +zinnia with tufted yellow breast, die miserably on their earthy +beds, trampled under the dogs' feet. Even the marchesa, who concerned +herself so little with such things, had often hidden him for his +carelessness; but Adamo had a way of his own, and by that way he +abided, slowly returning to it, spite of argument or remonstrance. + +"Domine Dio orders the weather, not I," Adamo said in a grunt to Pipa +when his mistress had specially upbraided him for not watering the +lemon-trees ranged along the terraces. "Am I expected to give holy oil +to the plants as Fra Pacifico does to the sick? Chè! chè! what will be +will be!" + +So Adamo went to his dinner in all peace; and Argo and his friends +knocked down the flowers, and scratched deep holes in the gravel, +barking wildly all the time. + +The marchesa, sitting in grave confabulation with Cavaliere Trenta, +rubbed her white hands as she listened. + +There was neither portcullis, nor moat, nor drawbridge to her feudal +stronghold at Corellia, but there was big, white Argo. Argo alone +would pin any one to the earth. + +"Let out the dogs, Adamo," the marchesa would say. "I like to hear +them. They are my soldiers--they defend me." + +"Yes, padrona," Adamo would reply, stolidly. "Surely the Signora +Marchesa wants no other. Argo has the sense of a man when I discourse +to him." + +So Argo barked and yelped, and tore up and down undisturbed, followed +by the pack in full chase after imaginary enemies. Woe betide the +calves of any stranger arriving at that period of the day at the +villa! They might feel Argo's glistening teeth meeting in them, or +be hurled on the ground, for Argo had a nasty trick of clutching +stealthily from behind. Woe betide all but Fra Pacifico, who had so +often licked him in drawn battles, when the dog had leaped upon him, +that now Argo fled at sight of his priestly garments with a howl! + +Adamo, who, after his mid-day meal, required tobacco and repose, would +not move to save any one's soul, much less his body. + +"Argo is a lunatic without me," he would observe, blandly, to Pipa, if +roused by a special outburst of barking, the smoke of his pipe curling +round his bullet-head the while. "Lunatics, either among men or +beasts, are not worth attending to. A sweating horse, a crying woman, +and a yelping cur, heed not." + +Adamo added many more grave remarks between the puffs of his pipe, +turning to Pipa, who sat beside him, distaff in hand, the silver pins, +stuck into her glossy plaits, glistening in the sun. + +When Adamo ceased he nodded his head like an oracle that had spoken, +and dozed, leaning against the wall, until the sun had sunk to rest +into a bed of orange and saffron, and the air was cooled by evening +dews. Not till then did Adamo rise up to work. + +Pipa, who, next to Adamo and the marchesa, loved Enrica with all the +strength of her warm heart, sings all day those unwritten songs of +Tuscany that rise and fall with such spontaneous cadence among the +vineyards, and in the olive-grounds, that they seem bred in the +air--Pipa sings all day for gladness that the signorina is going +to marry a rich and handsome gentleman. Marriage, to Pipa's simple +mind--especially marriage with money--must bring certain blessings, +and crowds of children; she would as soon doubt the seven wounds of +the Madonna as doubt this. Pipa has seen Count Nobili. She approves +of him. His curly auburn hair, so short and crisp; his bold look and +gracious smile--not to speak of certain notes he slipped into her +hand--have quite conquered her. Besides, had Count Nobili not come +down, the noble gentleman, like San Michele, with golden wings behind +him, and a terrible lance in his hand, as set forth in a dingy fresco +in the church at Corellia--come down and rescued the dear signorina +when--oh, horrible!--she had been forgotten in the burning tower? +Pipa's joy develops itself in a vain endeavor to clean the entire +villa. With characteristic discernment, she has begun her labors in +the upper story, which, being unfurnished, no one ever enters. Pipa +has set open all the windows, and thrown back all the blinds; Pipa +sweeps and sprinkles, and sweeps again, combating with dust, and fleas +and insects innumerable, grown bold by a quiet tenancy of nearly fifty +years. While she sweeps, Pipa sings: + + "I'll build a house round, round, quite round, + For us to live at ease, all three; + Father and mother there shall dwell, + And my true love with me." + +Poor Pipa! It is so pleasant to hear her clear voice caroling overhead +like a bird from the open window, and to see her bright face looking +out now and then, her gold ear-rings bobbing to and fro--her black +rippling hair, and her merry eyes blinded with dust and flue--to +swallow a breath of air. Adamo does not work, but Pipa does. If she +goes on like this, Pipa may hope to clean the entire floor in a month; +of the great sala below, and the other rooms where people live, Pipa +does not think. It is not her way to think; she lives by happy, rosy +instinct. + +Pipa chatters much to Enrica about Count Nobili and her marriage when +she is not sweeping or spinning. Enrica continually catches sight of +her staring at her with open mouth and curious eyes, her head a little +on one side the better to observe her. + +"Sweet innocent! she knows nothing that is coming on her," Pipa is +thinking; and then Pipa winks, and laughs outright--laughs to the +empty walls, which echo the laugh back with a hollow sound. + +But if any thing lurks there that mocks Pipa's mirth, it is not +visible to Pipa's outward eye, so she continues addressing herself to +Enrica, who is utterly bewildered by her strange ways. + +Pipa cannot bear to think that Enrica never dressed for her betrothed. +"Poverina!" she says to her, "not dress--not dress! What degradation! +Why, when the Gobbina--a little starved hump-backed bastard--married +the blind beggar Gianni at Corellia, for the sake of the pence he got +sitting all day shaking his box by the _café_--even the Gobbina had +a white dress and a wreath--and you, beloved lady, not so much as to +care to change your clothes! What must the Signore Conte have thought? +Misera mia! We must all seem pagans to him!" And Pipa's heart smote +her sorely, remembering the notes. "Caro Gesù! When you are to be +married we must find you something to wear. To be sure, the marchesa's +luggage was chiefly burnt in the fire, but one box is left. Out of +that box something will come," Pipa feels sure (miracles are nothing +to Pipa, who believes in pilgrimages and the evil-eye); she feels sure +that it will be so. After much talk with Enrica, who only answers her +with a smile, and says absently, looking at the mountains which she +does not see-- + +"Dear Pipa, we will look in the box, as you say." + +"But when, signorina?" insists Pipa, and she kisses Enrica's hand, and +strokes her dress. "But when?" + +"To-morrow," says Enrica, absently. "To-morrow, dear Pipa, not +to-day." + +"Holy mother!" is Pipa's reply, "it has been 'to-morrow' for four +days." "Always to-morrow," mutters Pipa to herself, as she makes the +dust fly with her broom; "and the Signore Conte is to return in a +week! Always to-morrow. What can I do? Such a disgrace was never +known. No bridal dress. No veil. The signorina is too young to +understand such things, and the marchesa is not like other ladies, +or one might venture to speak to her about it. She would only give me +'accidenti' if I did, and that is so unlucky! To-morrow I must make +the signorina search that box. There will be a white dress and a +veil. I dreamed so. Good dreams come from heaven. I have had a candle +lighted for luck before the Santissima in the market-place, and fresh +flowers put into the pots. There will be sure to be a white dress and +a veil--the saints will send them to the signorina." + +Pipa sweeps and sings. Her children, Angelo and Gigi, are roasting +chestnuts under the window outside. + +This time she sings a nursery rhyme: + + "Little Trot, that trots so gayly, + And without legs can walk so bravely! + Trottolin! Trottolino!-- + Via! via!" + +Pipa, in her motherly heart looking out, blesses little Gigi--a chubby +child blackened by the sun--to see him sitting so meek and good beside +his brother. Angelo is a naughty boy. Pipa does not love him so well +as Gigi. Perhaps this is the reason Angelo is so ill-furnished in +point of clothes. His patched and ragged trousers are hitched on with +a piece of string. Shirt he has none; only a little dingy waistcoat +buttoned over his chest, on which lies a silver medal of the Madonna. +Angelo's arms are bare, his face mahogany-color, his head a hopeless +tangle of colorless hair. But Angelo has a pair of eyes that dance, +and a broad, red-lipped mouth, out of which two rows of white teeth +shine like pearls. Angelo has just burnt his fingers picking a +chestnut out of the ashes. He turns very red, but he is too proud to +cry. Angelo's hands and feet are so hard he does not feel the pointed +rocks that break the turf in the forest, nor does he fear the young +snakes, as plenty as lizards, in the warm nooks. All yesterday Angelo +had run up and down to look for chestnuts, on his naked feet. He dared +not mount into the trees, for that would be stealing; but he leaped, +and skipped, and slid when a russet-coated chestnut caught his eye. +Gigi was with him, trusted to his care by Pipa, with many abjurations +and terrible threats of future punishment should he ill-use him. + +Ah! if Pipa knew!--if Pipa had only seen little Gigi lonely in +the woods, and heard his roars for help! Angelo, having found Gigi +troublesome, had tied him by a twisted cord of grass to the trunk of +an ancient chestnut. Gigi was trepanned into this thralldom by a +heap of flowers artful Angelo had brought him--purple crocuses and +cyclamens, and Canterbury bells, and gaudy pea-stalks, all thrown +before the child. Gigi, in his little torn petticoat, had swallowed +the bait, and flung himself upon the bright blossoms, grasping them in +his dirty fingers. Presently the delighted babe turned his eyes upon +cunning Angelo standing behind him, showing his white teeth. Satisfied +that Angelo was there, Gigi buried himself among the flowers. He +crowed to them in his baby way, and flung them here and there. Gigi +would run and catch them, too; but suddenly he felt something which +stopped him. It was a grass cord which Angelo had secretly woven +standing behind Gigi--then had made it fast round Gigi's waist and +knotted it to a tree. A cloud came over Gigi's jolly little face--a +momentary cloud--when he found he could not run after the flowers. +But it soon passed away, and he squatted down upon the grass (the +inveigled child), and again clutched the tempting blossoms. Then his +little eyes peered round for Angelo to play with him. Alas!--Angelo +was gone! + +Gigi sobbed a little to himself silently, but the treacherous flowers +had still power to console him; at least, he could tear them to +pieces. But by-and-by when the sun mounted high over the tops of the +forest-clad mountains, and poured down its burning rays, swallowing up +all the shade and glittering like flame on every leaf, Gigi grew hot +and weary. He was very empty, too; it was just the time that Pipa fed +him. His stomach craved for food. He craved for Pipa, too, for home, +for the soft pressure of Pipa's ample bosom, where he lay so snug. + +Gigi looked round. He did not sob now, but set up a hideous roar, +the big tears coursing down his fat cheeks, marking their course by +furrows in the dirt and grime. The wood echoed to Gigi's roars. He +roared for mammy, for daddy (Angelo Gigi cannot say, it is too long +a word). He kicked away the flowers with his pretty dimpled feet, +the false flowers that had betrayed him. The babe cannot reason, but +instinct tells him that those painted leaves have wronged him. They +are faded now, and lie soiled and crumpled, the ghosts of what they +were. Again Gigi tries to rise and run, but he is drawn roughly down +by the grass rope. He tries to tear it asunder, in vain; Angelo had +taken care of that. At last, hoarse and weary, Gigi subsided into +terrible sobs, that heave his little breast. Sobbing thus, with +pouting lips and heavy eyes, he waits his fate. + +It comes with Angelo!--Angelo, leaping downward through the checkered +glades, his pockets stuffed with chestnuts. Like an angel with healing +in his wings, Angelo comes to Gigi. When he spies him out, Gigi rises, +unsteady on his little feet--rises up, forgetting all, and clasps his +hands. When Angelo comes near, and stands beside him, Gigi flings his +chubby arms about his neck, and nestles to him. + +Angelo, when he sees Gigi's disfigured face and sodden eyes, feels +his conscience prick him. With his pockets full of chestnuts he +pities Gigi; he kisses him, he takes him up, and bears him in his arms +quickly toward home. The happy child closes his weary eyes, and falls +asleep on Angelo's shoulder. Pipa, when she sees Angelo return--so +careful of his little brother--praises him, and gives him a new-baked +cake. Gigi can tell no tales, and Angelo is silent. + +While Pipa sweeps and sings, Angelo and Gigi are roasting these very +chestnuts on a heap of ashes under the window outside. Enrica sat near +them--a little apart--on a low wall, that bordered the summit of the +cliff. The zone of mighty mountains rose sharp and clear before her. +It seemed to her as if she had only to stretch out her hand to touch +them. The morning lights rested on them with a fresh glory; the crisp +air, laden with a scent of herbs, came circling round, and stirred the +curls upon her pretty head. Enrica wore the same quaintly-cut dress, +that swept upon the ground, as when Nobili was there. She had no +other. All had been burnt in the fire. Sitting there, she plucked the +moss that grew upon the wall, and watched it as it dropped into the +abyss. This was shrouded in deepest shadow. The rush of the distant +river in the valley below was audible. Enrica raised her head and +listened. That river flowed round the walls of Lucca. Nobili was +there. Happy river! Oh, that it would bear her to him on its frothy +current!--Surely her life-path lay straight before her now!--straight +into paradise! Not a stone is on that path; not a rise, not a fall. + +"In a week I will return," Nobili had said. In a week. And his eyes +had rested upon her as he spoke the words in a mist of love. Enrica's +face was pale and almost stern, and her blue eyes had strange lights +and shadows in them. How came it that, since he had left her, the +world had grown so old and gray?--that all the impulse of her nature, +the quick ebb and flow of youth and hope, was stilled and faded out, +and all her thoughts absorbed into a dreadful longing? She could not +tell, nor could she tell what ailed her; but she felt that she was +changed. She tried to listen to the prattle of the two children--to +Pipa singing above: + + "Come out! come out! + Never despair! + Father and mother and sweetheart, + All will be there!" + +Enrica could not listen. It was the dark abyss below that drew her +toward its silent bosom. She hung over the wall, her eyes measuring +its depths. What ailed her? Was she smitten mad by the wild tumult of +joy that had swept over her as she stood hand-in-hand with Nobili? Or +was she on the eve of some crisis?--a crisis of life and death? Oh! +why had Nobili left her? When would he return? She could not tell. All +she knew was, that in the streaming sunlight of this wondrous morning, +when earth and heaven were as fair as on the first creation-day, +without him all was dark, sad, and dreary. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A STORM AT THE VILLA. + + +A footstep was heard upon the gravel. The dogs shut up in the cave +scratched furiously, then barked loudly. Following the footsteps a +bareheaded peasant appeared, his red shirt open, showing his sunburnt +chest. He ran up to the open door, a letter in his hand. Seeing Enrica +sitting on the low wall, he stopped and made her a rustic bow. + +"Who are you?" Enrica asked, her heart beating wildly. + +"Illustrissima," and the man bowed again, "I am Giacomo--Giacomo +protected by his reverence Fra Pacifico. You have heard of Giacomo?" + +Enrica shook her head impatiently. + +"Surely you are the Signorina Enrica?" + +"Yes, I am." + +"Then this letter is for you." And Giacomo stepped up and gave it +into her outstretched hand. "I was to tell the illustrissima that the +letter had come express from Lucca to Fra Pacifico. Fra Pacifico could +not bring it down himself, because the wife of the baker Pietro is +ill, and he is nursing her." + +Enrica took the letter, then stared at Giacomo so fixedly, before he +turned to go, it haunted him many days after, for fear the signorina +had given him the evil-eye. + +Enrica held the letter in her hand. She gazed at it (standing on the +spot where she had taken it, midway between the door and the low wall, +a glint of sunshine striking upon her hair, turning it to threads of +gold) in silent ecstasy. It was Nobili's first letter to her. His name +was in the corner, his monogram on the seal. The letter came to her in +her loneliness like Nobili's visible presence. Ah! who does not recall +the rapture of a first love-letter!--the tangible assurance it brings +that our lover is still our own--the hungry eye that runs over every +line traced by that dear hand--the oft-repeated words his voice +has spoken stamped on the page--the hidden sense--the half-dropped +sentences--all echoing within us as note to note in chords of music! + +Enrica's eyes wandered over the address, "To the Noble Signorina +Enrica Guinigi, Corellia," as if each word had been some wonder. She +dwelt upon every crooked line and twist, each tail and flourish, that +Nobili's hand had traced. She pressed the letter to her lips, then +laid it upon her lap and gazed at it, eking out every second of +suspense to its utmost limit. Suddenly a burning curiosity possessed +her to know when he would come. With a gasp that almost stopped her +breath she tore the cover open. The paper shook so violently in her +unsteady hand that the lines seemed to run up and down and dance. +She could distinguish nothing. She pressed her hand to her forehead, +steadied herself, then read: + +ENRICA: When this comes to you I am gone from you forever. You have +betrayed me--how much I do not care to know. Perhaps I think you less +guilty than you are. Of all women, my heart clung to you. I loved you +as men only love once in their lives. For the sake of that love, I +will still screen you all I can. But it is known in Lucca that Count +Marescotti was your accepted lover when you promised yourself to me. +Also, that Count Marescotti refused to marry you when you were offered +by the Marchesa Guinigi. From this knowledge I cannot screen you. +God is my witness, I go, not desiring by my presence or my words to +reproach you further. But, as a man who prizes the honor of his house +and home, I cannot marry you. Tell the marchesa I shall keep my word +to her, although I break the marriage-contract. She will find the +money placed as she desired. + +MARIO NOBILI. + +"PALAZZO NOBILI, LUCCA." + + +Little by little Enrica read the whole, sentence by sentence. At first +the full horror of the words was veiled. They came to her in a dazed, +stupid way. A mist gathered about her. There was a buzzing in her ears +that deadened her brain. She forced herself to read over the letter +again. Then her heart stood still with terror--her cheeks burned--her +head reeled. A deadly cold came over her. Of all within that letter +she understood nothing but the words, "I am gone from you forever." +Gone!--Nobili gone! Never to speak to her again in that sweet +voice!--never to press his lips to hers!--never to gather her to him +in those firm, strong arms! O God! then she must die! If Nobili were +gone, she must die! A terrible pang shot through her; then a great +calmness came over her, and she was very still. "Die!--yes--why +not?--Die!" + +Clutching the letter in her icy hand, Enrica looked round with pale, +tremulous eyes, from which the light has faded. It could not be the +same world of an hour ago. Death had come into it--she is about to +die. Yet the sun shone fiercely upon her face as she turned it upward +and struck upon her eyes. The children laughed over the chestnuts +spluttering in the ashes. Pipa sang merrily above at the open window. +A bird--was it a raven?--poised itself in the air; the cattle grazed +peacefully on the green slopes of the opposite mountain, and a drove +of pigs ran downward to drink at a little pool. She alone has changed. + +A dull, dim consciousness drew her forward toward the low wall, and +the abyss that yawned beneath. There she should lie at peace. There +the stillness would quiet her heart that beat so hard against her +side--surely her heart must burst! She had a dumb instinct that she +should like to sleep; she was so weary. Stronger grew the passion of +her longing to cast herself on that cold bed--deep, deep below--to +rest forever. She tried to move, but could not. She tottered and +almost fell. Then all swam before her. She sank backward against the +door; with her two hands she clutched the post. Her white face was +set. But in her agony not a sound escaped her. Her secret--Nobili's +secret--must be kept, she told herself. No one must ever know that +Nobili had left her--that she was about to die--no one, no one! + +With a last effort she tried to rush forward to take that leap below +which would end all. In vain. All nature rushed in a wild whirlwind +around her! A deadly sickness seized her. Her eyes closed. She dropped +beside the door, a little ruffled heap upon the ground, Nobili's +letter clasped tightly in her hand. + + "My love he is to Lucca gone, + To Lucca fair, a lord to be, + And I would fain a message send, + But who will tell my tale for me?" + +Sang out Pipa from above. + + "All the folk say that I am brown; + The earth is brown, yet gives good corn; + The clove-pink, too, although 'tis brown, + In hands of gentlefolk is borne." + + "They say my love is brown; but he + Shines like an angel-form to me; + They say my love is dark as night, + To me he seems an angel bright!" + +Not hearing the children's voices, and fearing some trick of naughty +Angelo against the peace of her precious Gigi, Pipa leaned put over +the window-sill. "My babe, my babe, where art thou?" was on her lips +to cry; instead, Pipa gave a piercing scream. It broke the mid-day +silence. Argo barked loudly. + +"Dio Gesù!" Pipa cried wildly out. "The signorina, she is dead! Help! +help!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH + + +Many hours had passed. Enrica lay still unconscious upon her bed, her +face framed in her golden hair, her blue eyes open, her limbs stiff, +her body cold. Sometimes her lips parted, and a smile rippled over her +face; then she shuddered, and drew herself, as it were, together. All +this time Nobili's letter was within her hand; her fingers tightened +over it with a convulsive grasp. + +Pipa and the cavaliere were with her. They had done all they could +to revive her, but without effect. Trenta, sitting there, his hands +crossed upon his knees, his eyes fixed upon Enrica, looked suddenly +aged. How all this had come about he could not even guess. He had +heard Pipa's screams, and so had the marchesa, and he had come, and he +and Pipa together had raised her up and placed her on her bed; and the +marchesa had charged him to watch her, and let her know when she came +to her senses. Neither the cavaliere nor Pipa knew that Enrica had had +a letter from Nobili. Pipa noticed a paper in her hand, but did not +know what it was. The signorina had been struck down in a fit, was +Pipa's explanation. It was very terrible, but God or the devil--she +could not tell which--did send fits. They must be borne. An end would +come. She had done all she could. Seeing no present change, Trenta +rose to go to the marchesa. His joints were so stiff he could not move +at all without his stick, and the furrows which had deepened upon his +face were moistened with tears. + +"Is Enrica no better?" the marchesa asked him, in a voice she tried to +steady, but could not. She trembled all over. + +"Enrica is no better," he answered. + +"Will she die?" the marchesa asked again. + +"Who can tell? She is in the hands of God." + +As he spoke, Trenta shot an angry scowl at his friend--he knew her +so well. If Enrica died the Guinigi race was doomed--that made her +tremble, not affection for Enrica. A word more from the marchesa, and +Trenta would have told her this to her face. + +"We are all in the hands of God," the marchesa repeated, solemnly, and +crossed herself. "I believe little in doctors." + +"Still," said Trenta, "if there is no change, it is our duty to send +for one. Is there any doctor at Corellia?" + +"None nearer than Lucca," she replied. "Send for Fra Pacifico. If he +thinks it of any use, a man shall be dispatched to Lucca immediately." + +"Surely you will let Count Nobili know the danger Enrica is in?" + +"No, no!" cried the marchesa, fiercely. "Count Nobili comes back here +to marry Enrica or not at all. I will not have him on any other terms. +If the child dies, he will not come. That at least will be a gain." + +Even on the brink of death and ruin she could think of this! + +"Enrica will not die! she will not die!" sobbed the poor old +cavaliere, breaking down all at once. He sank upon a chair and covered +his face. + +The marchesa rose and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Her heart was +bleeding, too, but from another cause. She bore her wounds in silence. +To complain was not in the marchesa's nature. It would have increased +her suffering rather than have relieved it. Still she pitied her old +friend, although no word expressed it; nothing but the pressure of her +hand resting upon his shoulder. Trenta's sobs were the only sound that +broke the silence. + +"This is losing time," she said. "Send at once for Fra Pacifico. Until +he comes, we know nothing." + +When Fra Pacifico's rugged, mountainous figure entered Enrica's room, +he seemed to fill it. First, he blessed the sweet girl lying before +him with such a terrible mockery of life in her widely-opened eyes. +His deep voice shook and his grave face twitched as he pronounced the +"Beatus." Leaning over the bed, Fra Pacifico proceeded to examine her +in silence. He uncovered her feet, and felt her heart, her hands, +her forehead, lifting up the shining curls as he did so with a tender +touch, and laying them out upon the pillow, as reverently as he would +replace a relic. + +Cavaliere Trenta stood beside him in breathless silence. Was it life +or death? Looking into Fra Pacifico's motionless face, none could +tell. Pipa was kneeling in a corner, running her rosary between her +fingers; she was listening also, with mouth and eyes wide open. + +"Her pulse still beats," Fra Pacifico said at last, betraying no +outward emotion. "It beats, but very feebly. There is a little warmth +about her heart." + +"San Ricardo be thanked!" ejaculated Trenta, clasping his hands. + +With the mention of his ancestral saint, the cavaliere's thoughts ran +on to the Trenta chapel in the church of San Frediano, where they had +all stood so lately together, Enrica blooming in health and beauty at +his side. His sobs choked his voice. + +"Shall I send to Lucca for a doctor?" Trenta asked, as soon as he +could compose himself. + +"As you please. Her condition is very precarious; nothing can be done, +however, but to keep her warm. That I see has been attended to. She +could swallow nothing, therefore no doctor could help her. With such +a pulse, to bleed her would be madness. Her youth may save her. It +is plain to me some shock or horror must have struck her down and +paralyzed the vital powers. How could this have been?" + +The priest stood over her, lost in thought, his bushy eyebrows knit; +then he turned to Pipa. + +"Has any thing happened, Pipa," he asked, "to account for this?" + +"Nothing your reverence," she answered. "I saw the signorina, +and spoke to her, not ten minutes before I found her lying in the +doorway." + +"Had any one seen her?" + +"No one." + +"I sent a letter to her from Count Nobili. Did you see the messenger +arrive?" + +"No; I was cleaning in the upper story. He might have come and gone, +and I not seen him." + +"I heard of no letter," put in the bewildered Trenta. "What letter? No +one mentioned a letter." + +"Possibly," answered Fra Pacifico, in his quiet, impassible way, "but +there was a letter." He turned again to interrogate Pipa. "Then the +signorina must have taken the letter herself." Slightly raising his +eyebrows, a sudden light came into his eyes. "That letter has done +this. What can Nobili have said to her? Did you see any letter beside +her, Pipa, when she fell?" + +Pipa rose up from the corner where she had been kneeling, raised the +sheet, and pointed to a paper clasped in Enrica's hand. As she did so, +Pipa pressed her warm lips upon the colorless little hand. She would +have covered the hand again to keep it warm, but Fra Pacifico stopped +her. + +"We must see that letter; it is absolutely needful--I her confessor, +and you, cavaliere, Enrica's best friend; indeed, her only friend." + +At a touch of his strong hand the letter fell from Enrica's fingers, +though they clung to it convulsively. + +"Of course we must see the letter," the cavaliere responded with +emphasis, waking up from the apathy of grief into which he had been +plunged. + +Fra Pacifico, casting a look of unutterable pity on Enrica, whose +secret it seemed sacrilege to violate while she lay helpless before +them, unfolded the letter. He and the cavaliere, standing on tiptoe +at his side, his head hardly reaching the priest's elbow, read it +together. When Trenta had finished, an expression of horror and rage +came into his face. He threw his arms wildly above his head. + +"The villain!" he exclaimed, "'Gone forever!'--'You have betrayed +me!'--'Cannot marry you!'--'Marescotti!'" + +Here Trenta stopped, remembering suddenly what had passed between +himself and Count Marescotti at their interview, which he justly +considered as confidential. Trenta's first feeling was one of +amazement how Nobili had come to know it. Then he remembered what he +had said to Baldassare in the street, to quiet him, that "it was all +right, and that Enrica would consent to her aunt's commands, and to +his wishes." + +"Beast!" he muttered, "this is what I get by associating with one who +is no gentleman. I'll punish him!" + +A blank terror took possession of the cavaliere. He glanced at Enrica, +so life-like with her fixed, open eyes, and asked himself, if she +recovered, would she ever forgive him? + +"I did it for the best!" he murmured, shaking his white head. "God +knows I did it for the best!--the dear, blessed one!--to give her +a home, and a husband to protect her. I knew nothing about Count +Nobili.--Why did you not tell me, my sweetest?" he said, leaning over +the bed, and addressing Enrica in his bewilderment. + +Alas! the glassy blue eyes stared at him fixedly, the white lips were +motionless. + +The effect of all this on Fra Pacifico had been very different. Under +the strongest excitement, the long habit of his office had taught him +a certain outward composure. He was ignorant of much which was known +to the cavaliere. Fra Pacifico watched his excessive agitation with +grave curiosity. + +"What does this mean about Count Marescotti?" he asked, somewhat +sternly. "What has Count Marescotti to do with her?" + +As he asked this question he stretched his arm authoritatively over +Enrica. Protection to the weak was the first thought of the strong +man. His great bodily strength had been given him for that purpose, +Fra Pacifico always said. + +"I offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti," answered the +cavaliere, lifting up his aged head, and meeting the priest's +suspicious glance with a look of gentle reproach. "What do you think I +could have done but this?" + +"And Count Marescotti refused her?" + +"Yes, he refused her because he was a communist. Nothing passed +between them, nothing. They never met but twice, both times in my +presence." + +Fra Pacifico was satisfied. + +"God be praised!" he muttered to himself. + +Still holding the letter in his hand, the priest turned toward +Enrica. Again he felt her pulse, and passed his broad hand across her +forehead. + +"No change!" he said, sadly--"no change! Poor child, how she must +have suffered! And alone, too! There is some mistake--obviously some +mistake." + +"No mistake about the wretch having forsaken her," interrupted Trenta, +firing up at what he considered Fra Pacifico's ill-placed leniency. +"Domine Dio! No mistake about that." + +"Yes, but there must be," insisted the other. "I have known Nobili +from a boy. He is incapable of such villainy. I tell you, cavaliere, +Nobili is utterly incapable of it. He has been deceived. By-and-by he +will bitterly repent this," and Fra Pacifico held up the letter. + +"Yes," answered Trenta, bitterly--"yes, if she lives. If he has killed +her, what will his repentance matter?" + +"Better wait, however, until we know more. Nobili may be hot-headed, +vain, and credulous, but he is generous to a fault. If he cannot +justify himself, why, then"--the priest's voice changed, his swarthy +face flushed with a dark glow--"I am willing to give him the benefit +of the doubt--charity demands this--but if Nobili cannot justify +himself"--(the cavaliere made an indignant gesture)--"leave him to +me. You shall be satisfied, cavaliere. God deals with men's souls +hereafter, but he permits bodily punishment in this world. Nobili +shall have his, I promise you!" + +Fra Pacifico clinched his huge fist menacingly, and dealt a blow in +the air that would have felled a giant. + +Having given vent to his feelings, to the unmitigated delight of +the cavaliere, who nodded and smiled--for an instant forgetting his +sorrow, and Enrica lying there--Fra Pacifico composed himself. + +"The marchesa must see that letter," he said, in his usual manner. +"Take it to her, cavaliere. Hear what she says." + +The cavaliere took the letter in silence. Then he shrugged his +shoulders despairingly. + +"I must go now to Corellia. I will return soon. That Enrica still +lives is full of hope." Fra Pacifico said this, turning toward the +little bed with its modest shroud of white linen curtains. "But I can +do nothing. The feeble spark of life that still lingers in her frame +would fly forever if tormented by remedies. I have hope in God only." +And he gave a heavy sigh. + +Before Fra Pacifico departed, he took some holy water from a little +vessel near the bed, and sprinkled it upon Enrica. He ordered Pipa to +keep her very warm, and to watch every breath she drew. Then he glided +from the room with the light step of one well used to sickness. + +Cavaliere Trenta followed him slowly. He paused motionless in the +open doorway, his eyes, from which the tears were streaming, fixed on +Enrica--the fatal letter in his hand. At length he tore himself away, +closed the door, and, crossing the sala, knocked at the door of the +marchesa's apartment. + + * * * * * + +In the gray of the early morning of the second day, just as the sun +rose and cast a few straggling gleams into the room, Enrica called +faintly to Pipa. She knew Pipa when she came. It seemed as if +Enrica had waked out of a long, deep sleep. She felt no pain, but an +excessive weakness. She touched her forehead and her hair. She handled +the sheets--then extended both her hands to Pipa, as if she had been +buried and asked to be raised up again. She tried to sit up, but--she +fell back upon her pillow. Pipa's arms were round her in an instant. +She put back the long hair that fell upon Enrica's face, and poured +into her mouth a few drops of a cordial Fra Pacifico had left for her. +Pipa dared not speak--Pipa dared not breathe--so great was her joy. At +length she ventured to take one of Enrica's hands in hers, pressed it +gently and said to her in a low voice: + +"You must be very quiet. We are all here." + +Enrica looked up at Pipa, surprised and frightened; then her eyes +wandered round in search of something. She was evidently dwelling +upon some idea she could not express. She raised her hand, opened it +slowly, and gazed at it. Her hand was empty. + +"Where is--?" Enrica asked, in a voice like a sigh--then she stopped, +and gazed up again distressfully into Pipa's face. Pipa knew that +Count Nobili's letter had been taken by Fra Pacifico. Now she bent +over Enrica in an agony of fear lest, when her reason came and she +missed that letter, she should sink back again and die. + +With the sound of her own voice all came back to Enrica in an instant. +She closed her eyes, and longed never to open them again! "Gone! gone! +forever!" sounded in her ears like a rushing of great waters. Then she +lay for a long time quite still. She could not bear to speak to Pipa. +His name--Nobili's name--was sacred. If Pipa knew what Nobili had +done, she might speak ill of him. That Enrica could not bear. Yet she +should like to know who had taken his letter. + +Her brain was very weak, yet it worked incessantly. She asked herself +all manner of questions in a helpless way; but as her fluttering +pulses settled, and the blood returned to its accustomed +channels, faintly coloring her cheek, the truth came to her. +Insulted!--abandoned!--forgotten! She thought it all over bit by bit. +Each thought as it rose in her mind seemed to freeze the returning +warmth within her. That letter--oh, if she could only find that +letter! She tried to recall every phrase and put a sense to it. How +had she deceived him? What could Nobili mean? What had she done to +be talked of in Lucca? Marescotti--who was he? At first she was +so stunned she forgot his name; then it came to her. Yes, the +poet--Marescotti--Trenta's friend--who had raved on the Guinigi Tower. +What was he to her? Marry Marescotti! Oh! who could have said it? + +Gradually, as Enrica's mind became clearer, lying there so still with +no sound but Pipa's measured breathing, she felt to its full extent +how Nobili had wronged her. Why had he not come himself and asked her +if all this were true? To leave her thus forever! Without even asking +her--oh, how cruel! She believed in him, why did he not believe in +her? No one had ever yet told her a lie; within herself she felt +no power of deceit. She could not understand it in others, nor the +falseness of the world. Now she must learn it! Then a great longing +and tenderness came over her. She loved Nobili still. Even though +he had smitten her so sorely, she loved him--she loved him, and she +forgave him! But stronger and stronger grew the thought, even while +these longings swept over her like great waves, that Nobili was +unworthy of her. Should she love him less for that? Oh, no! He was +unworthy of her--yet she yearned after him. He had left her--but in +her heart Nobili should forever sit enthroned--and she would worship +him! + +And they had been so happy, so more than happy--from the first moment +they had met--and he had shattered it! Oh, his love for her was dead +and buried out of sight! What was life to her without Nobili? Oh, +those forebodings that had clung about her from the very moment he +had left Corellia! Now she could understand them. Never to see him +again!--was it possible? A great pity came upon her for herself. No +one, she was sure, could ever have suffered like her--no one--no one. +This thought for some time pursued her closely. There was a terrible +comfort in it. Alas! all her life would be suffering now! + +As Enrica lay there, her face turned toward the wall, and her eyes +closed (Pipa watching her, thinking she had dozed), suddenly her bosom +heaved. She gave a wild cry. The pent-up tears came pouring down her +cheeks, and sob after sob shook her from head to foot. + +This burst of grief saved her--Fra Pacifico said so when he came down +later. "Death had passed very near her," he said, "but now she would +recover." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA. + + +On the evening of that day the marchesa was in her own room, opening +from the sala. The little furniture the room contained was collected +around the marchesa, forming a species of oasis on the broad desert +of the scagliola floor. A brass lamp, placed on a table, formed the +centre of this habitable spot. The marchesa sat in deep shadow, but +in the outline of her tall, slight figure, and in the carriage of +her head and neck, there was the same indomitable pride, courage, and +energy, as before. A paper lay on the ground near her; it was Nobili's +letter. Fra Pacifico sat opposite to her. He was speaking. His +deep-set luminous eyes were fixed on the marchesa. His straight, +coarse hair was pushed up erect upon his brow; there was at all times +something of a mane about it. His cassock sat loosely about his big, +well-made limbs; his priestly stock was loosed, showing the dark skin +of his throat and chin. In the turn of his eye, in the expression of +his countenance, there were anxiety, restlessness, and distrust. + +"Yes--Enrica has recovered for the present," he was saying, "but such +an attack saps and weakens the very issues of life. Count Nobili, if +not brought to reason, would break her heart." She was obstinately +silent. The balance of her mind was partially upset. "'I shall never +see Nobili again,' was all she would say to me. It is a pity, I think, +that you sent the cavaliere away to Lucca. Enrica might have opened +her mind to him." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico crossed one of his legs over the other, and +arranged the heavy folds of his cassock over his knees. + +"And who says Enrica shall not see Nobili again?" asked the marchesa, +defiantly. "Holy saints! That is my affair. I want no advice. My honor +is now as much concerned in the completion of this marriage as it was +before to prevent it. The contract has been signed in my presence. +The money agreed upon has been paid over to me. The marriage must take +place. I have sent Trenta to Lucca to make preliminary arrangements." + +"I rejoice to hear it," answered Fra Pacifico, his countenance +brightening. "There must be some extraordinary mistake. The cavaliere +will explain it. Some enemies of your family must have misled Count +Nobili, especially as there was a certain appearance of concealment +respecting Count Marescotti. It will all come right. I only feared +lest the language of that letter would have, in your opinion, rendered +the marriage impossible." + +"That letter does not move me in the least," answered the marchesa +haughtily, speaking out of the shadow. She gave the letter a kick, +sending it farther from her. "I care neither for praise nor insult +from such a fellow. He is but an instrument in my hand. He has, +however, justified my bad opinion of him. I am glad of that. Do you +imagine, my father," she added, leaning forward, and bringing her head +for an instant within the circle of the light--"do you imagine any +thing but absolute necessity would have induced me to allow Count +Nobili ever to enter my presence?" + +"I am bound to tell you that your pride is un-Christian, my daughter." +Fra Pacifico spoke with warmth. "I cannot permit such language in my +presence." + +The marchesa waved her hand contemptuously, then contemplated him, a +smile upon her face. + +"I have long known Count Nobili. He has the faults of his age. He +is impulsive--vain, perhaps--but at the same time he is loyal and +generous. He was not himself when he wrote that letter. There is a +passionate sorrow about it that convinces me of this. He has been +misled. The offer you sanctioned of Enrica's hand to Count Marescotti, +has been misrepresented to him. Undoubtedly Nobili ought to have +sought an explanation before he left Lucca; but, the more he loved +Enrica, the more he must have suffered before he could so address +her." + +"You justify Count Nobili, then, my father, not only for abandoning +my niece, but for endeavoring to blast her character? Is this your +Christianity?" The marchesa asked this question with bitter scorn; +her keen eyes shone mockingly out of the darkness. "I told you what he +was, remember. I have some knowledge of him and of his father." + +"My daughter, I do not defend him. If need be, I have sworn to punish +him with my own hand. But, until I know all the circumstances, I pity +him; I repeat, I pity him. Some powerful influence must have been +brought to bear upon Nobili. It may have been a woman." + +"Ha! ha!" laughed the marchesa, contemptuously. "You admit, then, +Nobili has a taste for women?" + +Fra Pacifico rose suddenly from his chair. An expression of deep +displeasure was on his face, which had grown crimson under the +marchesa's taunts. + +"I desire no altercation, marchesa, nor will I permit you to address +such unseemly words to me. What I deem fitting I shall say, now and +always. It is my duty. You have called me here. What do you want? How +can I help you? In all things lawful I am ready to do so. Nay, I will +take the whole matter on myself if you desire." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico stooped and raised Nobili's crumpled letter +from the floor. He spread it out open on the table. The marchesa +motioned to him to reseat himself. He did so. + +"What I want?" she said, taking up the priest's words. "I will tell +you. When I bring Count Nobili here"--the marchesa spoke very slowly, +and stretched out her long fingers, as though she held him already in +her grasp--"when I bring Count Nobili here, I want you to perform +the marriage ceremony. It must take place immediately. Under the +circumstances the marriage had better be private." + +"I shall not perform the ceremony," answered Fra Pacifico, his full, +deep voice ringing through the room, "at your bidding only. Enrica +must also consent. Enrica must consent in my presence." + +As the light of the lamp struck upon Fra Pacifico, the lines about his +mouth deepened, and that look of courage and of command the people of +Corellia knew so well was marked upon his countenance. A rock might +have been moved, but not Fra Pacifico. + +"Enrica shall obey me!" cried the marchesa. Her temper was rising +beyond control at the idea of any opposition at such a critical +moment. She had made her plan, settled it with Trenta; her plan must +be carried out. "Enrica shall obey me," she repeated. "Enrica will +obey me unless instigated by you, Fra Pacifico." + +"My daughter," replied the priest, "if you forget the respect due to +my office, I shall leave you." + +"Pardon me, my father," and the marchesa bowed stiffly; "but I appeal +to your justice. Can I allow that reprobate to break my niece's +heart?--to tarnish her good name? If there were a single Guinigi left, +he would stab Nobili like a dog! Such a fellow is unworthy the name +of gentleman. Marriage alone can remove the stain he has cast upon +Enrica. It is no question of sentiment. The marriage is essential +to the honor of my house. Enrica must be _called_ Countess Nobili, +whether Nobili pleases it or not. Else how can I keep his money? And +without his money--" She paused suddenly. In the warmth of speech the +marchesa had been actually led into the confession that Nobili was +necessary to her "I have the contract," she added. "Thank Heaven, I +have the contract! Nobili is legally bound by the contract." + +"Yes, that may be," answered Fra Pacifico, reflectively, "if you +choose to force him. But I warn you that I will put no violence on +Enrica's feelings. She must decide for herself." + +"But if Enrica still loves him," urged the marchesa, determined if +possible to avoid an appeal to her niece--"if Enrica still loves him, +as you assure me she does, may we not look upon her acquiescence as +obtained?" + +Fra Pacifico shook his head. He was perfectly unmoved by the +marchesa's violence. + +"Life, honor, position, reputation, all rest on this marriage. I have +accepted Count Nobili's money; Count Nobili must accept my niece." + +"Your niece must nevertheless consent. I can permit no other +arrangement. Then you have to find Count Nobili. He must voluntarily +appear at the altar." + +Fra Pacifico turned his resolute face full upon the marchesa. Her +whole attitude betrayed intense excitement. + +"Your niece must consent, Count Nobili must appear voluntarily before +the altar, else the Church cannot sanction the union. It would be +sacrilege. How do you propose to overcome Count Nobili's refusal?" + +"By the law!" exclaimed the marchesa, imperiously. + +Fra Pacifico turned aside his head to conceal a smile. The law had not +hitherto favored the marchesa. Her constant appeal to the law had been +the principal cause of her present troubles. + +"By the law," the marchesa repeated. Her sallow face glowed for a +moment. "Surely, Fra Pacifico--surely you will not oppose me? You +talk of the Church. The Church, indeed! Did not the wretch sign the +marriage-contract in your presence? The Church must enable him to +complete his contract. In your presence too, as priest and civil +delegate; and you talk of sacrilege, my father! Che! che! Dio buono!" +she exclaimed, losing all self-control in the conviction her own +argument brought to her--"Fra Pacifico, you must be mad!" + +"I only ask for Enrica's consent," answered the priest. "That given, +if Count Nobili comes, I will consent to marry them." + +"Count Nobili--he shall come--never fear," and the marchesa gave a +short, scornful laugh. "After I have been to Lucca he will come. I +shall have done my duty. It is all very well," added the marchesa, +loftily, "for low people to pair like animals, from inclination. Such +vulgar motives have no place in the world in which I live. Persons +of my rank form alliances among themselves from more elevated +considerations; from political and prudential motives; for the sake +of great wealth when wealth is required; to shed fresh lustre on +an historic name by adding to it the splendor of another equally +illustrious. My own marriage was arranged for this end. Again I remind +you, my father, that nothing but necessity would have forced me to +permit a usurer's son to dare to aspire to the hand of my niece. It is +a horrible degradation--the first blot on a spotless escutcheon." + +"Again I warn you, my daughter, such pride is unseemly. Summon Enrica +at once. Let us hear what she says." + +The marchesa drew back into the shadow, and was silent. As long as she +could bring her battery of arguments against Fra Pacifico, she felt +safe. What Enrica might say, who could tell? One word from Enrica +might overturn all her subtle combinations. That Fra Pacifico should +assist her was indispensable. Another priest, less interested in +Enrica, might, under the circumstances, refuse to unite them. Even if +that difficulty could be got over, the marchesa was fully alive to the +fact that a painful scene would probably occur--such a scene as ought +not to be witnessed by a stranger. Hence her hesitation in calling +Enrica. + +During this pause Fra Pacifico crossed his arms upon his breast and +waited in silence. + +"Let Enrica come," said the marchesa at last; "I have no objection." +She threw herself back on her seat, and doggedly awaited the result. + +Fra Pacifico rose and opened a door on the other side of the room, +communicating with the vaulted passage which had connected the villa +with the tower. + +"Who is there?" he called. (Bells were a luxury unknown at Corellia.) + +"I," answered Angelo, running forward, his eyes gleaming like two +stars. Angelo sometimes acted as acolyte to Fra Pacifico. Angelo was +proud to show his alacrity to his reverence, who had often cuffed +him for his mischievous pranks; specially on one occasion, when Fra +Pacifico had found him in the act of pushing Gigi stealthily into the +marble basin of the fountain, to see if, being small, Gigi would swim +like the gold-fish. + +"Go to the Signorina Enrica, Angelo, and tell her that the marchesa +wants her." + +As long as Enrica was ill, Fra Pacifico went freely in and out of her +room; now that she was recovered, and had risen from her bed, it was +not suitable for him to seek her there himself. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? + + +When Angelo knocked at Enrica's door, Pipa, who was with her, opened +it, and gave her Fra Pacifico's message. The summons was so sudden +Enrica had no time to think, but a wild, unmeaning delight possessed +her. It was so rare for her aunt to send for her she must be going to +tell her something about Nobili. With his name upon her lips, Enrica +started up from the chair on which she had been half lying, and ran +toward the door. + +"Softly, softly, my blessed angel!" cried Pipa, following her with +outstretched arms as if she were a baby taking its first steps. "You +were all but dead this morning, and now you run like little Gigi when +I call to him." + +"I can walk very well, Pipa." Enrica opened the door with feverish +haste. "I must not keep my aunt waiting." + +"Let me put a shawl round you," insisted kind Pipa. "The evening is +fresh." + +She wrapped a large white shawl about her, that made Enrica look paler +and more ghost-like than before. + +"Nobody loves me like you, Pipa--nobody--dear Pipa!" + +Enrica threw her soft arms around Pipa as she said this. She felt so +lonely the tears came into her eyes, already swollen with excessive +weeping. + +"Who knows?" was Pipa's grave reply. "It is a strange world. You must +not judge a man always by what he does." + +Enrica gave a deep sigh. She had hurried out of her room into the sala +with a headlong impulse to rush to her aunt. Now she dreaded what her +aunt might have to say to her. The little strength she had suddenly +left her. The warm blood that had mounted to her head chilled within +her veins. For a few moments she leaned against Pipa, who watched her +with anxious eyes. Then, disengaging herself from her, she trod feebly +across the floor. The sala was in darkness. Enrica stretched out +her hands before her to feel for the door. When she had found it she +stopped terrified. What was she about to hear? The deep voice of Fra +Pacifico was audible from within. Enrica placed her hand upon the +handle of the door--then she withdrew it. Without the autumn wind +moaned round the corners of the house. How it must roar in the abyss +under the cliffs! Enrica thought. How dark it must be down there in +the blackness of the night! Like letters written in fire, Nobili's +words rose up before her--"I am gone from you forever!" Oh! why was +she not dead?--Why was she not lying deep below, buried among the cold +rocks?--Enrica felt very faint. A groan escaped her. + +Fra Pacifico, accustomed to listen to the almost inaudible sounds of +the sick and the dying, heard it. + +The door opened. Enrica found herself within the room. + +"Enrica," said the marchesa, addressing her blandly (did not all now +depend upon her?)--"Enrica, you look very pale." + +She made no reply, but looked round vacantly. The light of the lamp, +coming suddenly out of the darkness, the finding herself face to face +with the marchesa, dazzled and alarmed her. + +Fra Pacifico took both Enrica's hands in his, drew an arm-chair +forward, and placed her in it. + +"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question," the marchesa +spoke. + +At the sound of her aunt's voice, Enrica shuddered visibly. Was it +not, after all, the marchesa's fault that Nobili had left her? Why had +the marchesa thrown her into Count Marescotti's company? Why had the +marchesa offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti without telling +her? At this moment Enrica loathed her. Something of all this passed +over her pallid face as she turned her eyes beseechingly toward Fra +Pacifico. The marchesa watched her with secret rage. + +Was this silly, love-sick child about to annihilate the labors of her +life? Was this daughter of her husband's cousin, Antonio--a collateral +branch--about to consign the Guinigi name to the tomb? She could have +lifted up her voice and cursed her where she stood. + +"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question." Spite of her +efforts to be calm, there was a strange ring in her voice that made +Enrica look up at her. "Enrica, do you still love Count Nobili?" + +"This is not a fair question," interrupted Fra Pacifico, coming to +the rescue of the distressed Enrica, who sat speechless before her +terrible aunt. "I know she still loves him. The love of a heart like +hers is not to be destroyed by such a letter as that, and the unjust +accusations it contains." + +Fra Pacifico pointed with his finger to Nobili's letter lying where he +had placed it on the table. Seeing the letter, Enrica started back and +shivered. + +"Is it not so, Enrica?" + +The little blond head and the sad blue eyes bowed themselves gently in +response. A faint smile flitted across Enrica's face. Fra Pacifico had +spoken all her mind, which she in her weakness could not have done, +especially with her aunt's dark eyes riveted upon her. + +"Then you still love Count Nobili?" The marchesa accentuated each word +with bitter emphasis. + +"I do," answered Enrica, faintly. + +"If Count Nobili returns here, will you marry him?" + +As the marchesa spoke, Enrica trembled like a leaf. "What was she +to answer?" The little composure she had been able to assume utterly +forsook her. She who had believed that nothing was left but to die, +was suddenly called upon to live! + +"O my aunt," Enrica cried, springing to her feet, "how can I look +Nobili in the face after that letter? He thinks I have deceived him." + +Enrica stopped; the words seemed to choke her. With an imploring look, +she turned toward Fra Pacifico. Without knowing what she did Enrica +flung herself on the floor at his feet; she clasped his knees--she +turned her beseeching eyes into his. + +"O my father, help me! Nobili is my very life. How can I refuse what +is my very life? When Nobili left me, my first thought was to die!" + +"Surely, my daughter, not by a violent death?" asked Fra Pacifico, +stooping over her. + +"Yes, yes," and Enrica wrung her hands, "yes, I would have done it--I +could not bear to live without him." + +A look of sorrow and reproach darkened Fra Pacifico's brow. He crossed +himself. "God be praised," he exclaimed, "you were saved from that +wickedness!" + +"My father"--Enrica extended her arms toward him--"I implore you, for +the love of Jesus, let me enter a convent!" + +In these few and simple words Enrica had tried all her powers of +persuasion. The words were addressed to the priest; but her blue eyes, +filled with tears, gathered themselves upon the marchesa imploringly. +Enrica awaited her fate in silence. The priest rose and gently +replaced her on her chair. All the benevolence of his manly nature +was called forth. He cast a searching glance at the marchesa. Nothing +betrayed her feelings. + +"Calm yourself, Enrica," Fra Pacifico said, soothingly. "No one seeks +to hurry or to force you. But I could not for a moment sanction your +entering a convent. In your present state of mind it would be an +unholy and an unnatural act." + +Although outwardly unmoved, never in her life had the marchesa felt +such exultation. Had Fra Pacifico seconded Enrica's proposal to enter +a convent, all would have been lost! Still nothing was absolutely +decided. It was possible Fra Pacifico might yet frustrate her plans. +She ventured another question. + +"If Count Nobili meets you at the altar, you will not then refuse to +marry him?" + +There was an imperceptible tremor in the marchesa's voice. The +suspense was becoming intolerable to her. + +"Refuse to marry him? Refuse Nobili? No, no, I can refuse Nobili +nothing," answered Enrica, dreamily. "But he will not come!--he is +gone forever!" + +"He will come," insisted the marchesa, pushing her advantage +skillfully. + +"But will he love me?" asked the tender young voice. "Will he believe +that I love him? Oh, tell me that!--Father Pacifico, help me! I cannot +think." Enrica pressed her hands to her forehead. She had suffered so +much, now that the crisis had come she was stunned, she had no power +to decide. "Dare I marry him?--Ought we to part forever?" A flush +gathered on her cheek, an ineffable longing shone from her eyes. +More than life was in the balance--not only to Enrica, but to +the marchesa--the marchesa, who, wrapped within the veil of her +impenetrable reserve, breathlessly awaited, an answer. + +Fra Pacifico showed unmistakable signs of agitation. He rose from his +chair, and for some minutes strode rapidly up and down the room, the +floor creaking under his heavy tread. The life of this fragile girl +lay in his hands. How could he resist that pleading look? Enrica had +done nothing wrong. Was Enrica to suffer--die, perhaps--because Nobili +had wrongfully accused her? Fra Pacifico passed his large, muscular +hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven chin, then stopped to gaze +upon her. Her lips were parted, her eyes dilated to their utmost +limit. + +"My child," he said at last, laying his hand upon her head with +fatherly tenderness--"my child, if Count Nobili returns here, you will +be justified in marrying him." + +Enrica sank back and closed her eyes. A great leap of joy overwhelmed +her. She dared not question her happiness. To behold Nobili once +more--only to behold him--filled her with rapture. + +"What is your answer, Enrica? I must hear your answer from yourself." + +The marchesa spoke out of the darkness. She shrank from allowing Fra +Pacifico to scrutinize the exultation marked on her every feature. + +"My aunt, if Nobili comes here to claim me, I will marry him," +answered Enrica, more firmly. "But stop"--her eye had meanwhile +traveled to the letter still lying on the table--a horrible doubt +crossed her mind. "Will Nobili know that I am not what he says +there--in that letter?" + +Enrica could bring herself to say no more. She longed to ask all that +had happened about Count Marescotti, and how her name had been mixed +up with his, but the words refused to come. + +"Leave that to me," answered the marchesa, imperiously. "If Count +Nobili comes to marry you, is not that proof enough that he is +satisfied?" + +Enrica felt that it must be so. A wild joy possessed her. This joy was +harder to bear than the pain. Enrica was actually sinking under the +hope that Nobili might return to her! + +Fra Pacifico noticed the gray shadow that was creeping over her face. + +"Enrica must go at once to her room," he said abruptly, "else I cannot +answer for the consequences. Her strength is overtaxed." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico hastily opened the door leading into the +sala. He took Enrica by the hand and raised her. She was perfectly +passive. The marchesa rose also; for the first time she came into +the full light of the lamp. Enrica stooped and kissed her hand +mechanically. + +"My niece, you may prepare for your approaching marriage. Count Nobili +will be here shortly--never fear." + +The marchesa's manner was strange, almost menacing. Fra Pacifico led +Enrica across the sala to her own door. When he returned, the marchesa +was again reading Count Nobili's letter. + +"A love-match in the Guinigi family!" She was laughing with derision. +"What are we coming to?" + +She tore the letter into innumerable fragments. + +"My father, I shall leave for Lucca early to-morrow. You must look +after Enrica. I am satisfied with what has passed." + +"God send we have done right!" answered the priest, gloomily. "Now at +least she has a chance of life." + +"Adieu, Fra Pacifico. When next we meet it will be at the marriage." + +Fra Pacifico withdrew. Had he done his duty?--Fra Pacifico dared not +ask himself the question. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. + + +Ten days after the departure of the marchesa, Fra Pacifico received +the following letter: + +REVEREND AND ESTEEMED FATHER: I have put the matter of Enrica's +marriage into the hands of the well-known advocate, Maestro Guglielmi, +of Lucca. He at once left for Rome. By extraordinary diligence he +procured a summons for Count Nobili to appear within fifteen +days before the tribunal, to answer in person for his breach of +marriage-contract--unless, before the expiration of that time, he +should make the contract good by marriage. The citation was left with +the secretary at Count Nobili's own house. Maestro Guglielmi also +informed the secretary, by my order, that, in default of his--Count +Nobili's--appearance, a detailed account of the whole transaction with +my niece, and of other transactions touching Count Nobili's father, +known to me--of which I have informed Maestro Guglielmi--would be +published--upon my authority--in every newspaper in all the cities +throughout Italy, with such explanations and particulars as I might +see fit to insert. Also that the name of Count Nobili, as a slanderer +and a perjurer, should be placarded on all the spare walls of +Lucca, at Florence, and throughout Tuscany. The secretary denies any +knowledge of his master's present address. He declared that he was +unable, therefore, to communicate with him. + +In the mean time a knowledge of the facts has spread through this +city. The public voice is with us to a man. Once more the citizens +have rallied round the great Guinigi name. Crowds assemble daily +before Count Nobili's palace. His name is loudly execrated by the +citizens. Stones have been thrown, and windows broken; indeed, +there are threats of burning the palace. The authorities have not +interfered. Count Nobili has now, I hear, returned privately to Lucca. +He dares not show himself, or he would be stabbed; but Count Nobili's +lawyer has had a conference with Maestro Guglielmi. Cavaliere Trenta +insisted upon being present. This was against my will. Cavaliere +Trenta always says too much. Maestro Guglielmi gave Count Nobili's +lawyer three days to decide. At the expiration of that time Signore +Guglielmi met him again. Count Nobili's lawyer declared that with the +utmost difficulty he had prevailed upon his client to make good +the contract by the religious ceremony of marriage. Let every thing +therefore be ready for the ceremony. This letter is private. You will +say nothing further to my niece than that Count Nobili will arrive +at Corellia at two o'clock the day after to-morrow to marry her. +Farewell. + +Your friend and well-wisher, + +"MARCHESA GUINIGI." + +The morning of the third day rose gray and chill at Corellia. Much +rain had fallen during the night, and a damp mist streamed up from the +valleys, shutting out the mighty range of mountains. In the plains of +Pisa and Florence the October sun still blazed glorious as ever on the +lush grass and flowery meadows--on the sluggish streams and the rich +blossoms. There, the trees still rustled in green luxuriance, to +soft breezes perfumed with orange-trees and roses. But in the +mountain-fastnesses of the Apennines autumn had come on apace. Such +faded leaves as clung to the shrubs about the villa were drooping +under the weight of the rain-drops, and a few autumnal flowers that +still lit up the broad borders lay prostrate on the earth. Each tiny +stream and brawling water-course--even mere little humble rills +that dried up in summer--now rushed downward over rocks and stones +blackened with moss, to pour themselves into the river Serchio. In the +forest the turf was carpeted with yellow leaves, carried hither and +thither by the winds. The stems and branches of the chestnuts ranged +themselves, tier above tier, like silver pillars, against the red +sandstone of the rocks. The year was dying out, and with the year all +Nature was dying out likewise. + +Within the villa a table was spread in the great sala, with wine and +such simple refreshments as the brief notice allowed. As the morning +advanced, clouds gathered more thickly over the heavens. The gloomy +daylight coming in at the doors, and through the many windows, caught +up no ray within. The vaguely-sailing ships painted upon the wall, +destined never to find a port in those unknown seas for which their +sails were set--and that exasperating company opposite, that +through all changes of weal or woe danced remorselessly under the +greenwood--were shrouded in misty shadows. + +Not a sound broke the silence--nothing save the striking of the clock +at Corellia, bringing with it visions of the dark old church--the +kneeling women--and the peace of God within. Even Argo and his +friends--Juno and Tuzzi, and the bull-dog--were mute. + +About twelve o'clock the marchesa arrived from Lucca. In her company +came the Cavaliere Trenta and Maestro Guglielmi. Fra Pacifico was in +waiting. He received them with grave courtesy. Adamo, arrayed by Pipa +in his Sunday clothes, with a flower behind his ear, and Silvestro, +stood uncovered at the entrance. Once, and once only, Silvestro +abstained from addressing his mistress with his usual question about +her health. + +Maestro Guglielmi was formally presented to Fra Pacifico by the +punctilious cavaliere, now restored to his usual health and spirits. +The cavaliere had arrayed himself in his official uniform--dark-purple +velvet embroidered with gold. Not having worn the uniform, however, +for more than twenty years, the coat was much too small for him. In +his hand he carried a white staff of office. This served him as a +stick. Coming up from Lucca, the cavaliere had reflected that on him +solely must rest the care of imparting some show of dignity to the +ceremony about to take place. He resolved that he would be equal to +the occasion, whatever might occur. + +There was a strange hush upon each one of the little group met in the +sala. Each was busy with his own thoughts. The marriage about to take +place was to the marchesa the resurrection of the Guinigi name. To +Fra Pacifico it was the possible rescue of Enrica from a life of +suffering, perhaps an early death. To Guglielmi it was the triumph of +the keen lawyer, who had tracked and pursued his prey until that prey +had yielded. To the cavaliere it was simply an act of justice which +Count Nobili owed to Enrica, after the explanations he (Trenta) had +given to him through his lawyer, respecting Count Marescotti--such an +act of justice as the paternal government of his master the Duke +of Lucca would have forced, upon the strength of his absolute +prerogative, irrespective of law. The only person not outwardly +affected was the marchesa. The marchesa had said nothing since her +arrival, but there was a haughty alacrity of step and movement, as she +walked down the sala toward the door of her own apartment, that spoke +more than words. + +No sooner had the sound of her closing door died away in the echoes of +the sala than Trenta, with forward bows both to Fra Pacifico and the +lawyer, requested permission to leave them, in order to visit Enrica. +Guglielmi and Fra Pacifico were now alone. Guglielmi gave a cautious +glance round, then walked up to the table, and poured out a tumbler +of wine, which he swallowed slowly. As he did so, he was engaged in +closely scrutinizing Fra Pacifico, who, full of anxiety as to what was +about to happen, stood lost in thought. + +Maestro Guglielmi, whose age might be about forty, was a man, once +seen, not easily forgotten--a tall, slight man of quick subtile +movements, that betrayed the devouring activity within. Maestro +Guglielmi had a perfectly colorless face, a prominent, eager nose, +thin lips, that perpetually unclosed to a ghostly smile in which the +other features took no part; a brow already knitted with those fine +wrinkles indicative of constant study, and overhanging eyebrows that +framed a pair of eyes that read you like a book. It would have been a +bold man who, with those eyes fixed on him, would have told a lie to +Maestro Guglielmi, advocate in the High Court of Lucca. If any man had +so lied, those eyes would have gathered up the light, and flashed it +forth again in lightnings that might consume him. That they were dark +and flaming, and greatly dreaded by all on whom Guglielmi fixed them +in opposition, was generally admitted by his legal compeers. + +"Reverend sir," began Maestro Guglielmi, blandly, stepping up to where +the priest stood a little apart, and speaking in a metallic voice +audible in any court of law, be it ever so closely packed--"it +gratifies me much that chance has so ordered it that we two are left +alone." Guglielmi took out his watch. "We have a good half-hour to +spare." + +Fra Pacifico turned, and for the first time contemplated the lawyer +attentively. As he did so, he noted with surprise the power of his +eyes. + +"I earnestly desire some conversation with you," continued Guglielmi, +the semblance of a smile flitting over his hard face. "Can we speak +here securely?" And the lawyer glanced round at the various doors, and +particularly to an open one, which led from the sala to the chapel, +at the farther end of the house. Fra Pacifico moved forward and closed +it. + +"You are quite safe--say what you please," he answered, bluntly. His +frank nature rose involuntarily against the cunning of Guglielmi's +look and manner. "We have no spies here." + +"Pardon me, I did not mean to insinuate that. But what I have to say +is strictly private." + +Fra Pacifico eyed Guglielmi with no friendly expression. + +"I know you well by repute, reverend sir"--with one comprehensive +glance Guglielmi seemed to take in Fra Pacifico mentally and +physically--"therefore it is that I address myself to you." + +The priest crossed his arms and bowed. + +"The marchesa has confided to me the charge of this most delicate +case. Hitherto I have conducted it with success. It is not my habit +to fail. I have succeeded in convincing Count Nobili's lawyer, and +through him Count Nobili himself, that it would be suicidal to his +interests should he not make good the marriage-contract with the +Marchesa Guinigi's niece. If Count Nobili refuses, he must leave +the country. He has established himself in Lucca, and desires, as I +understand, to remain there. My noble client has done me the honor +to inform me that she is acquainted with, and can prove, some act of +villainy committed by his father, who, though he ended his life as +an eminent banker at Florence, began it as a money-lender at Leghorn. +Count Nobili's father filled in a blank check which a client had +incautiously left in his hands, to an enormous amount, or something of +that kind, I believe. I refused to notice this circumstance legally, +feeling sure that we were strong enough without it. I was also sure +that giving publicity to such a fact would only prejudice the position +of the future husband of the marchesa's niece. To return. Fortunately, +Count Nobili's lawyer saw the case as I put it to him. Count-Nobili +will, undoubtedly, be here at two o'clock." Again the lawyer took out +his watch, looked at it, and replaced it with rapidity. "A good deal +of hard work is comprised in that sentence, 'Count Nobili will be +here!'" Again there was the ghost of a smile. "Lawyers must not +always be judged by the result. In this case, however, the result is +favorable, eminently favorable." + +Fra Pacifico's face deepened into a look of disgust, but he said +nothing. + +"Count Nobili once here and joined to the young lady by the Church, +_we must keep him_. The spouses must pass twenty-four hours under the +same roof to complete and legalize the marriage. I am here officially, +to see that Count Nobili attends at the time appointed for the +ceremony. In reality, I am here to see that Count Nobili remains. This +must be no formal union. They must be bound together irrevocably. You +must help me, reverend sir." + +Maestro Guglielmi turned quickly upon Fra Pacifico. His eyes ran all +over him. The priest drew back. + +"I have already stretched my conscience to the utmost for the sake of +the lady. I can do nothing more." + +"But, my father, it is surely to the lady's advantage that, if the +count marries her, they should live together, that heirs should be +born to them," pleaded Guglielmi in a most persuasive voice. "If the +count separates from his wife after the ceremony, how can this be? +We do not live in the days of miracles, though we have an infallible +pope. Eh, my father? Not in the days of miracles." Guglielmi gave an +ironical laugh, and his eyes twinkled. "Besides, there is the civil +ceremony." + +"The Sindaco of Corellia can be present, if you please, for the civil +marriage." + +"Unfortunately, there is no time to call the sindaco now," replied +Guglielmi. "If Count Nobili remains the night in company with his +bride, we shall have no difficulty about the civil marriage to-morrow. +Count Nobili will not object then. Not likely." + +The lawyer gave a harsh, cynical laugh that grated offensively upon +the priest's ear. Fra Pacifico began to think Maestro Guglielmi +intolerable. + +"That is your affair. I will undertake no further responsibility," +responded Fra Pacifico, doggedly. + +"You cannot mean, my father, that you will not help me?" And Guglielmi +contemplated Fra Pacifico fixedly with all the lightnings he could +bring to bear upon him. To his amazement, he produced no effect +whatever. Fra Pacifico remained silent. Altogether this was a priest +different from any he had ever met with--Guglielmi hated priests--he +began to be interested in Fra Pacifico. + +"Well, well," was Guglielmi's reply, with an aspect of intense +chagrin, "I had better hopes. Your position, Fra Pacifico, as a +peace-maker--as a friend of the family--however"--here the lawyer +shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes wandered restlessly up and down +the room--"however, at least permit me to tell you what I intend to +do." + +Fra Pacifico bowed coldly. + +"As you please," was his reply. + +Maestro Guglielmi advanced close to Fra Pacifico, and lowered his +voice almost to a whisper. + +"The circumstances attending this marriage are becoming very public. +My client, the Marchesa Guinigi, considers her position so exalted she +dares to court publicity. She forgets we are not in the middle ages. +Ha! ha!" and Guglielmi showed his teeth in a smile that was nothing +but a grin--"publicity will be fatal to the young lady. This the +marchesa fails to see; but I see it, and you see it, my father." + +Fra Pacifico shook himself all over as though silently rejecting any +possible participation in Maestro Guglielmi's arguments. Guglielmi +quite understood the gesture, but continued, perfectly at his ease: + +"The high rank of the young lady--the wealth of the count--a +marriage-contract broken--an illustrious name libeled--Count Nobili, +a well-known member of the Jockey Club, in concealment--the Lucchese +populace roused to fury--all these details have reached the capital. +A certain royal personage"--here Guglielmi drew himself up pompously, +and waved his hand, as was his wont in the fervor of a grand +peroration--"a certain royal personage, who has reasons of his own +for avoiding unnecessary scandal (possibly because the royal personage +causes so much himself, and considers scandal his own prerogative) +"--Guglielmi emphasized his joke with such scintillation as would +metaphorically have taken any other man than Fra Pacifico off his +legs--even Fra Pacifico stared at him with astonishment--"a certain +royal personage, I say--earnestly desires that this affair should +be amicably arranged--that the republican party should not have the +gratification of gloating over a sensational trial between two noble +families (the republicans would make terrible capital out of +it)--a certain personage desires, I say, that the affair should be +arranged--amicably arranged--not only by a formal marriage--the +formal marriage, of course, we positively insist on--but by a complete +reconciliation between the parties. If this should not be so, the +present ceremony will infallibly lead to a lawsuit respecting the +civil marriage--the domicile--and the cohabitation--which it is +distinctly understood that Count Nobili will refuse, and that +the Marchesa Guinigi, acting for her niece, will maintain. It is +essential, therefore, that more than the formal ceremony shall take +place. It is essential that the subsequent cohabitation--" + +"I see your drift," interrupted downright Fra Pacifico, in his blunt +way; "no need to go into further details." + +Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico had become interested in the narrative. +The cunning lawyer intended that Fra Pacifico should become so +interested. What was the strong-fisted, simple-hearted priest beside +such a sophist as Maestro Guglielmi! + +"The royal personage in question," continued Guglielmi, who read in +Fra Pacifico's frank countenance that he had conquered his repugnance, +"has done me the high honor of communicating to me his august +sentiments. I have pledged myself to do all I can to prevent the +catastrophe of law. My official capacity, however, ends with Count +Nobili's presence here at the appointed hour." + +At the word "hour" Guglielmi hastily pulled out his watch. + +"Only a few minutes more," he muttered. "But this is not all. Listen, +my father." + +He gave a hasty glance round, then put his lips close to the priest's +ear. + +"If I succeed--may I say _we_?" he added, insinuatingly--"if _we_ +succeed, a canonry will be offered to you, Fra Pacifico; and I" +(Guglielmi's speaking eyes became brilliantly emphatic now)--"I shall +be appointed judge of the tribunal at Lucca." + +"Pshaw!" cried Fra Pacifico, retreating from him with an expression +of blank disappointment. "I a canon at Lucca! If that is to be +the consequence of success, you must depend on yourself, Signore +Guglielmi. I decline to help you. I would not be a canon at Lucca if +the King of Italy asked me in person." + +Guglielmi, whose tactics were, if he failed, never to show it, smiled +his falsest smile. + +"Noble disinterestedness!" he exclaimed, drawing his delicate hand +across his brow. "Nothing could have raised your reverence higher in +my esteem than this refusal!" + +To conceal his real annoyance, Maestro Guglielmi turned away and +coughed. It was a diplomatic cough, ready on all emergencies. Again he +consulted his watch. + +"Five minutes more, then we must assemble at the altar. A fine will be +levied upon Count Nobili, if he is not punctual." + +"If it is so near the time, I must beg you to excuse me," said Fra +Pacifico, glad to escape. + +Fra Pacifico, walked rapidly toward the door opening into the corridor +leading to the chapel. His retreating figure was followed by +a succession of fireworks from Guglielmi's eyes, indicative of +indignation and contempt. + +"He who sleeps catches no fish," the lawyer muttered to himself, +biting his lips. "But the priest will help me--spite of himself, he +will help me. A health to Holy Mother Church! She would not do much if +all her ministers were like this country clod. He is without ambition. +He has quite fatigued me." + +Saying this, Maestro Guglielmi poured out another glass of wine. He +critically examined the wine in the light before putting it to his +lips; then he swallowed it with an expression of approbation. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE HOUR STRIKES. + + +The chapel was approached by a door communicating with the corridor. +(There was another entrance from the garden; at this entrance Adamo +was stationed.) It was narrow and lofty, more like a gallery than a +chapel, except that the double windows at either end were arched and +filled with stained glass. The altar was placed in a recess facing the +door opening from the corridor. It was of dark marble raised on +steps, and was backed by a painting too much blackened by smoke to +be distinguished. Within the rails stood Fra Pacifico, arrayed in +a vestment of white and gold. The grand outline of his tall figure +filled the front of the altar. No one would have recognized the parish +priest in the stately ecclesiastic who wore his robes with so much +dignity. Beside Fra Pacifico was Angelo transformed into an acolyte, +wearing a linen surplice--Angelo awed into perfect propriety--swinging +a silver censer, and only to be recognized by the twinkling of his +wicked eyes (not even Fra Pacifico could tame them). To the right of +the altar stood the marchesa. Maestro Guglielmi, tablets in hand, +was beside her. Behind, at a respectful distance, appeared Silvestro, +gathered up into the smallest possible compass. + +As the slow moments passed, all stood so motionless--all save Angelo, +swinging the silver censer--they might have passed for a sculptured +group upon a marble tomb. One--two--struck from the old clock in the +Lombard Tower at Corellia. At the last stroke the door from the garden +was thrown open. Count Nobili stood in the doorway. At the moment of +Count Nobili's appearance Maestro Guglielmi drew out his watch; +then he proceeded to note upon his tablets that Count Nobili, having +observed the appointed time, was not subject to a fine. + +Count Nobili paused on the threshold, then he advanced to the altar. +That he had come in haste was apparent. His dress was travel-stained +and dusty; the locks of his abundant chestnut hair matted and rough; +his whole appearance wild and disordered. All the outward polish of +the man was gone; the happy smile contagious in its brightness; the +pleasant curl of the upper lip raising the fair mustache; the kindling +eye so capable of tenderness. His expression was of a man undergoing a +terrible ordeal; defiance, shame, anger, contended on his face. + +There was something in the studied negligence of Count Nobili's +appearance that irritated the marchesa to the last degree of +endurance. She bridled with rage, and exchanged a significant glance +with Guglielmi. + +Footsteps were now heard coming from the sala. It was Enrica, led +by the cavaliere. Enrica was whiter than her bridal veil. She had +suffered Pipa to array her as she pleased, without a word. Her hair +was arranged in a coronet upon her head; a whole sheaf of golden curls +hung down from it behind. There were the exquisite symmetry of form, +the natural grace, the dreamy beauty--all the soft harmony of color +upon her oval face--but the freshness of girlhood was gone. Enrica had +made a desperate effort to be calm. Nobili was under the same roof--in +the same room--Nobili was beside her. Would he not show some sign +that he still loved her?--Else why had he come?--One glance at him was +enough. Oh! he was changed!--She could not bear it. Enrica would have +fled had not Trenta held her. The marchesa, too, advanced a step or +two, and cast upon her a look so menacing that it filled her with +terror. Trembling all over, Enrica clung to the cavaliere. He led her +gently forward, and placed her beside Count Nobili standing at the +altar. Thus unsupported, Enrica tottered--she seemed about to fall. No +hand was stretched out to help her. + +Nobili had turned visibly pale as Enrica entered. His face was +averted. The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, ranged themselves on +either side. The marchesa and Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the +altar. Angelo waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails. +Pipa peeped in at the open doorway. Her eyes were red with weeping. +Pipa looked round aghast. + +"What a marriage was this! More like a death than a marriage! She +would not have married so--not if it had cost her her life--no music, +no rose-leaves, no dance, no wine. None had even changed their clothes +but the cavaliere and the signorina. And a bridegroom like that!--a +statue--not a living man! And the signorina--poverina--hardly able to +stand upon her feet! The signorina would be sure to faint, she was so +weak." + +Pipa had to muffle her face in her handkerchief to drown her sobs. +Then Fra Pacifico's impressive voice broke the silence with the +opening words of exhortation. + +"Deus Israel sit vobiscum." + +"Gloria patri," was the response in Angelo's childish treble. + +Enrica and Nobili now knelt side by side. Two lighted tapers, typical +of chaste love, were placed on the floor beside them on either hand. +The image of the Virgin on the altar was uncovered. The tall candles +flickered, Enrica and Nobili knelt side by side--the man who had +ceased to love, and the woman who still loved, but who dared not +confess her love! + +As Fra Pacifico proceeded, Count Nobili's face hardened. Was not the +basilisk eye of the marchesa upon him? Her lawyer, too, taking notes +of every look and gesture? + +"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wife?" asked the +priest. Turning from the altar, Fra Pacifico faced Count Nobili as he +put this question. + +A hot flush overspread Nobili's face. He opened his lips to speak, but +no words were audible. Would the words not come, or would Nobili at +the last moment refuse to utter them? + +"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" +sternly repeated Fra Pacifico, fixing his dark eyes upon him. + +"I will," answered Nobili. Whatever his feelings were, Nobili had +mastered them. + +For an instant Nobili's eye met Enrica's. He turned hastily away. +Enrica sighed. Whatever hopes had buoyed her up were gone. Nobili had +turned away from her! + +Fra Pacifico placed Enrica's hand in that of Nobili. Poor little +hand--how it trembled! Ah! would Nobili not recall how fondly he had +clasped it? What kisses he had showered upon each rosy little finger! +So lately, too! No--Nobili is impassive; not a feature of his face +changes. But the contact of Nobili's beloved hand utterly overcame +Enrica. The limit of her endurance was reached. Again the shadow of +death was upon her--the shadow that had led her to the dark abyss. + +When Nobili dropped her hand; Enrica leaned forward upon the edge +of the marble rails. She hid her head upon her arms. Her long hair, +escaped from the fastening, shrouded her face. + +"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus!" spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico. + +He made the sign of the cross. The address followed. The priest's last +words died away in sonorous echoes. It was done. They were man and +wife! + +Fra Pacifico had by no outward sign betrayed what he felt during the +discharge of his office; but his conscience sorely smote him. He asked +himself with dismay if, in helping Enrica, he had not committed a +mortal sin? Hitherto he had defended Count Nobili; now his whole soul +rose against him. "Would Nobili say nothing in justification?" +Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico's fists clinched themselves under his +vestments. + +But Nobili was about to speak. He gave a hurried glance round the +circle--upon Enrica kneeling at the altar; with the air of a man who +forces himself to do a hateful penance, he broke silence. + +"In the presence of the blessed sacrament"--his voice was thick and +hoarse--"I declare that, after the explanations given, I withdraw my +accusations. I hold that lady, now Countess Nobili"--and he pointed to +the motionless mass of white drapery kneeling beside him--"I hold +that lady innocent in thought and life. But I include her in the just +indignation with which I regard this house and its mistress, whose +agent she has made herself to deceive me." + +Count Nobili's kindling eye rested on the marchesa. She, in her turn, +shot a furious glance at the cavaliere. + +"'Explanations given!' Then Trenta had dared to exonerate Enrica! It +was degrading!" + +"This reparation made," continued Count Nobili--"my name and hand +given to her by the Church--honor is satisfied: I will never live with +her!" + +Was there no mercy in the man as he pronounced these last words? No +appeal? No mercy? Or had the marchesa driven him to bay? + +The marchesa!--Nobili's last words had shattered the whole fabric of +her ambition! Never for a moment had the marchesa doubted that, the +marriage once over, Nobili would have seriously refused the splendid +position she offered him. Look at her!--She cannot conceal her +consternation. + +"I invite you, therefore, Maestro Guglielmi"--the studied calmness of +Nobili's manner belied the agitation of his voice and aspect--"you, +Maestro Guglielmi, who have been called here expressly to insult me--I +invite you to advise the Marchesa Guinigi to accept what I am willing +to offer." + +"To insult you, Count Nobili?" exclaimed Guglielmi, looking round. +(Guglielmi had turned aside to write a few hurried words upon his +tablets, torn out the leaf, and slipped it into the marchesa's hand. +So rapidly was this done, no one had perceived it.) "To insult you? +Surely not to insult you! Allow me to explain." + +"Silence!" thundered Fra Pacifico standing before the altar. "In the +name of God, silence! Let those who desire to wrangle choose a fitter +place. There can be no contentions in the presence of the sacrament. +The declaration of Count Nobili's belief in the virtue of his wife +I permitted. I listened to what followed, praying that, if human +aid failed, God, hearing his blasphemy against the holy sacrament of +marriage, might touch his heart. In the hands of God I leave him!" + +Having thus spoken, Fra Pacifico replaced the Host in the ciborium, +and, assisted by Angelo, proceeded to divest himself of his robes, +which he laid one by one upon the altar. + +At this instant the marchesa rose and left the chapel. Count Nobili's +eyes followed her with a look of absolute loathing. Without one glance +at Enrica, still immovable, her head buried on her arms, Nobili left +the altar. He walked slowly to the window at the farther end of the +chapel. Turning his back upon all present, he took from his pocket a +parchment, which he perused with deep attention. + +All this time Cavaliere Trenta, radiant in his official costume, his +white staff of office in his right hand, had remained standing behind +Enrica. Each instant he expected to see her rise, when it would +devolve on him to lead her away; but she had not stirred. Now the +cavaliere felt that the fitting moment had fully come for Enrica to +withdraw. Indeed, he wondered within himself why she had remained so +long. + +"Enrica, rise, my child," he said, softly. "There is nothing more to +be done. The ceremony is over." + +Still Enrica did not move. Fra Pacifico leaned over the altar-rails, +and gently raised her head. It dropped back upon his hand--Enrica had +fainted. + +This discovery caused the most terrible commotion. Pipa, who had +watched every thing from the door, screamed and ran forward. Fra +Pacifico was bending over the prostrate girl, supported in the arms of +the cavaliere. + +"I feared this," Fra Pacifico whispered. "Thank God, I believe it is +only momentary! We must carry her instantly to her room. I will take +care of her." + +"Poor, broken flower!" cried Trenta, "who will raise thee up?" His +voice came thick, struggling with sobs. "Can you see that unmoved, +Count Nobili?" Trenta pointed to the retreating figure of Fra Pacifico +bearing Enrica in his arms. + +At the sound of Trenta's voice, Count Nobili started and turned +around. Enrica had already disappeared. + +"You will soon give her another bridegroom--he will not leave her +as you have done--that bridegroom will be Death! To-day it is the +bridal-veil--to-morrow it will be the shroud. Not a month ago she +lay upon what might have been her death-bed. Your infamous letter +did that!" The remembrance of that letter roused the cavaliere out of +himself; he cared not what he said. "That letter almost killed her. +Would to God she had died! What has she done? She is an angel! We were +all here when you signed the contract. Why did you break it?" Trenta's +shrill voice had risen into a kind of wail. "Do you mean to doubt what +I told you at Lucca? I swear to you that Enrica never knew that she +was offered in marriage to Count Marescotti--I swear it!--I did it--it +was my fault. I persuaded the marchesa. It was I. Enrica and Count +Marescotti never met but in my presence. And you revenge yourself on +her? If you had the heart of a man, you could not do it!" + +"It is because I have the heart of a man, I will not suffer +degradation!" cried Nobili. "It is because I have the heart of a man, +I will not sink into an unworthy tool! This is why I refuse to live +with her. She is one of a vile conspiracy. She has joined with the +marchesa against me. I have been forced to marry her. I will not live +with her!" + +Count Nobili stopped suddenly. An agonized expression came into his +face. + +"I screened her in the first fury of my anger--I screened her when +I believed her guilty. Now it is too late--God help her!" He turned +abruptly away. + +Cavaliere Trenta, whose vehemence had died away as suddenly as it had +risen, crept to the door. He threw up his hands in despair. There was +no help for Enrica! + +All this time Maestro Guglielmi's keen eyes had noted every thing. He +was on the lookout for evidence. Persons under strong emotions, as a +rule, commit themselves. Count Nobili was young and hot-headed. Count +Nobili would probably commit himself. Up to this time Count Nobili had +said nothing, however, that could be made use of. Guglielmi's ready +brain worked incessantly. If he could carry out the plan he had +formed, he might yet be a judge within the year. Already Guglielmi +feels the touch of the soft fur upon his official robes! + +After the cavaliere's departure, Guglielmi advanced. He had been +standing so entirely concealed in the shadow thrown by the altar, that +Nobili had forgotten his presence. Nobili now stared at him in angry +surprise. + +"With your permission," said the lawyer, with a low bow, accosting +Nobili, "I hope to convince you how much you have wronged me by your +accusation." + +"What accusation?" demanded the count, drawing back toward the window. +"I do not understand you." + +Guglielmi was the marchesa's adviser; Count Nobili hated him. + +"Your accusation that 'I am here to insult you.' If you will do me the +honor, Count Nobili, to speak to me in private"--Guglielmi glanced at +Silvestro, Adamo, and Angelo, peering out half hid by the altar--"if +you will do me this honor, I will prove to you that I am here to serve +you." + +"That is impossible," answered Nobili. "Nor do I care. I leave this +house immediately." + +"But allow me to observe, Count Nobili," and Maestro Guglielmi drew +himself up with an air of offended dignity, "you are bound as a +gentleman to retract those words, or to hear my explanation." (Delay +at any price was Guglielmi's object.) "Surely, Count Nobili, you +cannot refuse me this satisfaction?" + +Count Nobili hesitated. What could this strange man have to say to +him? + +Guglielmi watched him. + +"You will spare me half an hour?" he urged. "That will suffice." + +Count Nobili looked greatly embarrassed. + +"A thousand thanks!" exclaimed Guglielmi, accepting his silence for +consent. "I will not trespass needlessly on your time. Permit me to +find some one to conduct you to a room." + +Guglielmi looked round--Angelo came forward. + +"Conduct Count Nobili to the room prepared for him," said the lawyer. +"There, Count Nobili, I will attend you in a few minutes." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME. + + +When the marchesa entered the sala after she had left the chapel, her +steps were slow and measured. Count Nobili's words rang in her ear: "I +will not live with her." She could not put these words from her. For +the first time in her life the marchesa was shaken in the belief of +her mission. + +If Count Nobili refused to live with Enrica as his wife, all the law +in the world could not force him. If no heir was born to the Guinigi, +she had lived in vain. + +As the marchesa stood in the dull light of the misty afternoon, +leaning against the solid carved table on which refreshments were +spread, the old palace at Lucca rose up before her dyed with the ruddy +tints of summer sunsets. She trod again in thought those mysterious +rooms, shrouded in perpetual twilight. She gazed upon the faces of the +dead, looking down upon her from the walls. How could she answer +to those dead; for what had she done? That heroic face too with the +stern, soft eyes--how could she meet it? What was Count Nobili or his +wealth to her without an heir? By threats she had forced Nobili to +make Enrica his wife, but no threats could compel him to complete the +marriage. + +As she lingered in the sala, stunned by the blow that had fallen +upon her, the marchesa suddenly recollected the penciled lines which +Guglielmi had torn from his tablet and slipped into her hand. She drew +the paper from the folds of her dress and read these words: + + "_We are beaten if Count Nobili leaves the house to-night. + Keep him at all hazards_." + +A sudden revulsion seized her. She raised her head with that +snake-like action natural to her. The blood rushed to her face and +neck. Guglielmi then still had hope?--All was not lost. In an instant +her energy returned to her. What could she do to keep him? Would +Enrica--Enrica was still within the chapel. The marchesa heard the +murmur of voices coming through the corridor. No, though she worshiped +him, Enrica would never lend herself to tempt Nobili with the bait of +her beauty--no, even though she was his wife. It would be useless to +ask her. "Keep him--how?" the marchesa asked herself with feverish +impatience. Every moment was precious. She heard footsteps. They must +be leaving the chapel. Nobili, perhaps, was going. No. The door to the +garden, by which Nobili had entered the chapel, was now locked. Adamo +had given her the key. She must therefore see them when they passed +out through the sala. At this moment the howling of the dogs was +audible. They were chained up in the cave under the tower. Poor +beasts, they had been forgotten in the hurry of the day. The dogs +were hungry; were yelping for their food. Through the open door the +marchesa saw Adamo pass--a sudden thought struck her. + +"Adamo!" + +"Padrona." And Adamo's bullet-head and broad shoulders fill up the +doorway. + +"Where is Count Nobili?" + +"Along with the lawyer from Lucca." + +"He is safe, then, for the present," the marchesa told herself. + +Adamo could not speak for staring at his mistress as she stood +opposite to him full in the light. He had never seen such a look upon +her face all the years he had served her. + +She almost smiled at him. + +"Adamo," the marchesa addresses him eagerly, "come here. How many +years have you lived with me?" + +Adamo grins and shows two rows of white teeth. + +"Thirty years, padrona--I came when I was a little lad." + +"Have I treated you well, Adamo?" + +As she asks this question, the marchesa moves close to him. + +"Have I ever complained," is Adamo's answer, "that the marchesa asks +me?" + +"You saved my life, Adamo, not long ago, from the fire." The eager +look is growing intenser. "I have never thanked you. Adamo--" + +"Padrona"--he is more and more amazed at her--"she must be going to +die! Gesù mio! I wish she would swear at me," Adamo thought. "Padrona, +don't thank me--Domine Dio did it." + +"Take these"--and the marchesa puts her hand into her pocket and draws +out some notes--"take these, these are better than thanks." + +Adamo drew back much affronted. "Padrona, I don't want money." + +"Yes, yes, take them--for Pipa and the boys"--and she thrusts the +notes into his big red hands. + +"After all," thought Adamo to himself, "if the padrona is going to +die, I may as well have these notes as another." + +"I would save your life any day, padrona," Adamo says aloud. "It is a +pleasure." + +"Would you?" the marchesa fell into a muse. + +Again the dogs howled. Adamo makes a motion to go to them. + +"Were you going to feed the dogs when I called to you?" she asks. + +"Padrona, yes. I was going to feed them." + +"Are they very hungry?" + +"Very--poverini! they have had nothing since this morning. Now it is +five o'clock." + +"Don't feed them, Adamo, don't feed them." The marchesa is strangely +excited. She holds out her hand to detain him. + +Adamo stares at her in mute consternation. "The padrona is certainly +going mad before she dies," he mutters, trying to get away. + +"Adamo, come here!" He approaches her, secretly making horns against +the evil-eye with his fingers. "You saved my life, now you must save +my honor." + +The words came hissing into his ear. Adamo drew back a step or two. +"Blessed mother, what ails her?" But he held his tongue. + +The marchesa stands before him drawn up to her full height, every +nerve and muscle strained to the utmost. + +"Adamo, do you hear?--My honor, the honor of my name. Quick, quick!" + +She lays her hand on his rough jacket and grasps it. + +Adamo, struck with superstitious awe, cannot speak. He nods. + +"The dogs are hungry, you say. Let them loose without feeding. No one +must leave the house to-night. Do you understand? You must prevent it. +Let the dogs loose." + +Again Adamo nods. He is utterly bewildered. He will obey her, of +course, but what can she mean? + +"Is your gun loaded?" she asks, anxiously. + +"Yes, padrona." + +"That is well." A vindictive smile lights up her features. "No one +must leave the house to-night. You understand? The dogs will be +loose--the guns loaded.--Where is Pipa? Say nothing to Pipa. Do you +understand? Don't tell Pipa--" + +"Understand? No, diavalo! I don't understand," bursts out Adamo. "If +you want any one shot, tell me who it is, padrona, and I will do it." + +"That would be murder, Adamo." The marchesa is standing very near +him. Adamo sees the savage gleam that comes into her eyes. "If any one +leaves the house to-night except Fra Pacifico, stop him, Adamo, stop +him. You, or the dogs, or the gun--no matter. Stop him, I command you. +I have my reasons. If a life is lost I cannot help it--nor can you, +Adamo, eh?" + +She smiles grimly. Adamo smiles too, a stolid smile, and nods. He is +greatly relieved. The padrona is not mad, nor will she die. + +"You may sleep in peace, padrona." With the utmost respect Adamo +raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. "Next time ask Adamo to do +something more, and he will do it. Trust me, no one shall leave the +house to-night alive." + +The marchesa listens to Adamo breathlessly. "Go--go," she says; "we +must not be seen together." + +"The signora shall be obeyed," answers Adamo. He vanishes behind the +trees. + +"Now I can meet Guglielmi!" The marchesa rapidly crosses the sala to +the door of her own room, which she leaves ajar. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. + + +The room to which Angelo conducts Count Nobili is on the ground-floor, +in the same wing as the chapel. It is reached by the same corridor, +which traverses all that side of the house. Into this corridor many +other doors open. Pipa had chosen it because it was the best room in +the house. From the high ceiling, painted in gay frescoes, hangs a +large chandelier; the bed is covered with red damask curtains. Such +furniture as was available had been carried thither by Pipa and Adamo. +One large window, reaching to the ground, looks westward over the low +wall. + +The sun is setting. The mighty range of mountains are laced with gold; +light, fleecy cloudlets float across the sky. Behind rise banks of +deepest saffron. These shift and move at first in chaos; then they +take the form as of a fiery city. There are domes and towers and +pinnacles as of living flame, that burn and glisten. Another moment, +and the sun has sunk to rest. The phantom city fades; the ruddy +background melts into the gray mountain-side. Dim ghost-like streaks +linger about the double summits of La Pagna. They vanish. Nothing then +remains but masses of leaden clouds soon to darken into night. + +On entering the room, Count Nobili takes a long breath, gazes for a +moment on the mountains that rise before him, then turns toward +the door, awaiting the arrival of Guglielmi. His restless eye, his +shifting color, betray his agitation. The ordeal is not yet over; he +must hear what this man has to say. + +Maestro Guglielmi enters with a quick, brisk step and easy, confident +bearing; indeed, he is in the highest spirits. He had trembled lest +Nobili should have insisted upon leaving Corellia immediately after +the ceremony when it was still broad daylight. Several unforeseen +circumstances had prevented this--Enrica's fainting-fit; the +discussion that ensued upon it between Nobili and the old +chamberlain--all this had created delay, and afforded him an +appropriate opportunity of requesting a private interview. Besides, +the cunning lawyer had noted that, during that discussion in the +chapel with Cavaliere Trenta, Nobili had evinced indications of other +passions besides anger--indications of a certain tenderness in the +midst of his vehement sense of the wrong done him by the marchesa. +But, what was of far more consequence to Guglielmi was, that all +this had the effect of stopping Nobili's immediate departure. That +Guglielmi had prevailed upon Nobili to enter the room prepared for +him--that he had in so doing domiciled himself voluntarily under the +same roof as his wife--was an immense point gained. + +All this filled Maestro Guglielmi with the prescience of success. With +Nobili in the house, what might not the chapter of accidents produce? +All this had occurred, too, without taking into account what the +marchesa herself might have planned, when she had read the note of +instructions he had written upon a page of his tablets. Guglielmi +thought he knew his friend and client the Marchesa Guinigi but little, +if her fertile brain had not already created some complication that +would have the effect of preventing Count Nobili's departure that +night. The instant--the immediate instant--now lay with himself. He +was about to make the most of it. + +When Guglielmi entered the room, Count Nobili received him with an +expression of undisguised disgust. Summoned by Nobili in a peremptory +tone to say why he had brought him hither, Guglielmi broke forth with +extraordinary volubility. He had used, he declared, his influence with +the marchesa throughout for his (Count Nobili's) advantage--solely for +his advantage. One word from him, and the Marchesa Guinigi would +have availed herself of her legal claims in the most vindictive +manner--exposed family secrets--made the whole transaction of the +marriage public--and so revenged herself upon him that Count Nobili +would have no choice but to leave Lucca and Italy forever. + +"All this I have prevented," Guglielmi insisted emphatically. "How +could I serve you better?--Could a brother have guarded your honor +more jealously? You will come to see and acknowledge the obligation +in time--yes, Count Nobili--in time. Time brings all things to light. +Time will exhibit my integrity, my disinterested devotion to your +interests in their true aspect. All little difficulties settled with +my illustrious client, the Marchesa Guinigi (a high-minded and most +courageous lady of the heroic type), established in Lucca in the full +enjoyment of your enormous wealth--with the lovely lady I have just +seen by your side--the enlightened benefactor of the city--the patron +of art--the consoler of distress--a leader of the young generation +of nobles--the political head of the new Italian party--bearing the +grandest name (of course you will adopt that of Guinigi), adorning +that name with the example of noble actions--a splendid career opens +before you. Yes, Count Nobili--yes--a career worthy of the loftiest +ambition!" + +"All this I have been the happy means of procuring for you. Another +advocate might have exasperated the marchesa's passions for his own +purposes; it would have been most easy. But I," continued Guglielmi, +bringing his flaming eyes to bear upon Count Nobili, then raising them +from him outward toward the darkening mountains as though he would +call on the great Apennines to bear witness to his truth--"I have +scorned such base considerations. With unexampled magnanimity I have +brought about this marriage--all this I have done, actuated by the +purest, the most single-hearted motives. In return, Count Nobili, I +make one request--I entreat you to believe that I am your friend--" + +(Before the lawyer had concluded his peroration, professional zeal had +so far transported him that he had convinced himself all he said was +true--was he not indeed pleading for his judgeship?) + +Guglielmi extended his arms as if about to _embrace_ Count Nobili! + +All this time Nobili had stood as far removed from him as possible. +Nobili had neither moved nor raised his head once. He had listened +to Guglielmi, as the rocks listen to the splash of the seething waves +beating against their side. As the lawyer proceeded, a deep flush +gradually overspread his face--when he saw the lawyer's outstretched +arms, he retreated to the utmost limits of the room. Guglielmi's arms +fell to his side. + +"Whatever may be my opinion of you, Signore Avvocato," spoke the count +at length, contemplating Guglielmi fixedly, and speaking slowly, as +if exercising a strong control over himself--"whether I accept your +friendship, or whether I believe any one word you say, is immaterial. +It cannot affect in any way what is past. The declaration I made +before the altar is the declaration to which I adhere--I am not bound +to state my reasons. To me they are overwhelming. I must therefore +decline all discussion with you. It is for you to make such +arrangements with your client as will insure me a separation. That +done, our paths lie far apart." + +Who would have recognized the gracious, facile Count Nobili in these +hard words? The haughty tone in which they were uttered added to their +sting. + +We are at best the creatures of circumstances--circumstances had +entirely altered him. At that moment, Nobili was at war with all +the world. He hated himself--he hated and he mistrusted every one. +Guglielmi was not certainly adapted to restore faith in mankind. + +Legal habits had taught Maestro Guglielmi to shape his countenance +into a mask, fashioned to whatever expression he might desire to +assume. Never had the trick been so difficult! The intense rage +that possessed him was uncontrollable. For the first moment he stood +stolidly mute. Then he struck the heel of his boot loudly upon the +stuccoed floor--would he could crush Count Nobili thus!--crush him +and trample upon him--Nobili--the only obstacle to the high honors +awaiting him! The next instant Guglielmi was reproaching himself for +his want of control--the next instant he was conscious how needful it +was to dissemble. Was he--Guglielmi--who had flashed his sword in +a thousand battles, to be worsted by a stubborn boy? Outwitted by a +capricious lover? Never! + +"Excuse me, Count Nobili," he said, overmastering himself by a violent +effort--"it is a bitter pang to me, your devoted friend, to be asked +to become a party to an act fatal to your prospects. If you adhere +to your resolution, you can never return to Lucca--never inhabit the +palace your wealth has so superbly decorated. Public opinion would not +permit it. You, a stranger in the city, are held to have ill-used and +abandoned the niece of the Marchesa Guinigi." Nobili looked up; he +was about to reply. "Pardon me, count, I neither affirm nor deny this +accusation," continued Guglielmi, observing his movement; "I am giving +no opinion on the merits of the case. You have now espoused the lady. +If for a second time you abandon her, you will incur the increased +indignation of the public. Reconsider, I implore you, this last +resolve." + +The lawyer's metallic voice grew positively pathetic. + +"I will not reconsider it!" cried Count Nobili, indignantly. "I deny +your right to advise me. You have brought me into this room for no +purpose that I can comprehend. What have I in common with the advocate +of my enemy? I desire to leave Corellia. You are detaining me. Here +is the deed of separation "--Nobili drew from his breast-pocket the +parchment he had perused so attentively in the chapel--"it only needs +the lady's signature. Mine is already affixed. Let me tell you, and +through you the Marchesa Guinigi, without that deed--and my own free +will," he added in a lower tone, "neither you nor she would have +forced me here to this marriage; I came because I considered some +reparation was due to a young lady whose name has been cruelly +outraged. Else I would have died first! If the lady I have made my +wife desires, to make any amends to me for the insults that have +been heaped upon me through her, let her set me free from an odious +thralldom. I will not so much as look upon one who has permitted +herself to be made the tool of others to deceive me. She has been +treacherous to me in business--she has been treacherous to me in +love--no, I will never look upon her again! Live with her?--by God! +never!" + +The pent-up wrath within him, the maddening sense of wrong, blaze out. +Count Nobili is now striding up and down the room insensible to +any thing for the moment but the consciousness of his own outraged +feelings. + +As Count Nobili waxed furious, Maestro Guglielmi grew calm. His busy +brain was concocting all sorts of expedients. He leaned his chin +upon his hands. His false smile gave place to a sardonic grin, as +he watched Nobili--marked his well-set, muscular figure, his easy +movements, the graceful curve of his head and neck, his delicate, +regular features, his sunny complexion. But Nobili's face without a +smile was shorn of its chief charm: that smile, so bright in itself, +brought brightness to others. + +"A fine, generous fellow, a proper husband for any lady in Italy, +whoever she may be," was Guglielmi's reflection, as he watched him. +"The young countess has taste. He is not such a fool either, but +desperately provoking--like all boys with large fortunes, desperately +provoking--and dogged as a mule. But for all that he is a fine, +generous-hearted fellow. I like him--I like him for refusing to +be forced against his will. I would not live with an angel on such +terms." At this point Guglielmi's eyes exhibited a succession of +fireworks; his long teeth gleamed, and he smiled a stealthy smile. +"But he must be tamed, this youth--he must be tamed. Let me see, I +must take him on another tack--on the flank this time, and hit him +hard!" + +Nobili has now ceased striding up and down the room. He stands facing +the window. His ear has caught the barking of several dogs. A minute +after, one rushes past the window--raised only by a few stone steps +from the ground--formidable beast with long white hair, tail on end, +ears erect, open-mouthed, fiery-eyed--this is Argo--Argo let loose, +famished--maddened by Adamo's devices--Argo rushing at full speed and +tearing up a shower of gravel with his huge paws. Barking horribly, he +disappears into the shrubs. Argo's bark is taken up by the other dogs +from all round the house in various keys. Juno the lurcher gives a +short low yelp; the rat-terrier Tuzzi, a shrill, grating whine like +a rusty saw; the bull-terrier, a deep growl. In the solemn silence of +the untrodden Apennines that rise around, the loud voices of the dogs +echo from cliff to cliff boom down into the abyss, and rattle there +like thunder. The night-birds catch up the sound and screech; the +frightened bats circle round wildly. + +At this moment heavy footsteps creak upon the gravel under the shadow +of the wall. A low whistle passes through the air, and the dogs +disappear. + +"A savage pack, like their mistress," was Count Nobili's thought as +his eyes tried to pierce into the growing darkness. + +Night is coming on. Heavy vapors creep up from the earth and obscure +the air. Darker and denser clouds cover the heavens. Black shadows +gather within the room. The bed looms out from the lighter walls like +a funeral catafalque. + +A few pale gleams of light still linger on the horizon. These fall +upon Nobili's figure as he stands framed in the window. As the waning +light strikes upon his eyes, a presentiment of danger comes over him. +These dogs, these footsteps--what do they mean? + +Again a wild desire seizes him to be riding full speed on the +mountain-road to Lucca, to feel the fresh night air upon his heated +brow; the elastic spring of his good horse under him, each stride +bearing him farther from his enemies. He is about to leap out and +fly, when the warning hand of the lawyer is laid upon his arm. +Nobili shakes him off, but Guglielmi permits himself no indication +of offense. Dejection and grief are depicted on his countenance. He +shakes his head despondingly; his manner is dangerously fawning. He, +too, has heard the dogs, the footsteps, and the whistle. He has drawn +his own conclusions. + +"I perceive, Count Nobili," he says, "you are impatient." + +This was in response to a muttered curse from Nobili. + +"Let me go! A thousand devils! Let me go!" cried the count, putting +the lawyer back. "Impatient! I am maddened!" + +"But not before we have settled the matter in question. That is +impossible! Hear me, then. Count Nobili. With the deepest sorrow I +accept the separation you demand on the part of the marchesa; you +give me no choice. I venture no further remark," continues Guglielmi +meekly, drilling his eyes to a subdued expression. + +(His eyes are a continual curse to him; sometimes they will tell the +truth.) + +"But there is one point, my dear count, upon which we must understand +each other." + +In order to detain Nobili, Guglielmi is about to commit himself to a +deliberate lie. Lying is not his practice; not on principle, for +he has none. Expediency is his faith, pliancy his creed; lying is +inartistic, also dangerous. A lie may grow into a spectre, and haunt +you to your grave, perhaps beyond it. + +Guglielmi felt he must do something decisive, or that exalted +personage who desired to avoid all scandal not connected with himself +would be irretrievably offended, and he, Guglielmi, would never sit +on the judicial bench. Yet, unscrupulous as he was, the trickster +shuddered at the thought of what that lie might cost him. + +"It is my duty to inform you, Count Nobili"--Guglielmi is speaking +with pompous earnestness--he anxiously notes the effect his words +produce upon Count Nobili--"that, unless you remain under the same +roof with your wife to-night, the marriage will not be completed; +therefore no separation between you will be legal." + +Nobili turned pale. He struck his fist violently on the table. + +"What! a new difficulty? When will this torture end?" + +"It will end to-morrow morning, Count Nobili. To-morrow morning I +shall have the honor of waiting upon you, in company with the Mayor +of Corellia, for the civil marriage. Every requisition of the law will +then have been complied with." + +Maestro Guglielmi bows and moves toward the door. If by this means the +civil marriage can be brought about, Guglielmi will have clinched a +doubtful act into a legal certainty. + +"A moment, Signore Avvocato "--and Nobili is following Guglielmi to +the door, consternation and amazement depicted upon his countenance, +"Is this indeed so?" + +Nobili's manner indicates suspicion. + +"Absolutely so," answers the mendacious one. "To-morrow morning, +after the civil marriage, we shall be in readiness to sign the deed of +separation. Allow me in the mean time to peruse it." + +He holds out his hand. If all fails, he determines to destroy that +deed, and protest that he has lost it. + +"Dio Santo!" ejaculates Nobili, giving the deed to him--"twenty-four +hours at Corellia!" + +"Not twenty-four," suggests Guglielmi, blandly, putting the deed into +his pocket and taking out his watch with extraordinary rapidity, then +replacing it as rapidly; "it is now seven o'clock. At nine o'clock +to-morrow morning the deed of separation shall be signed, and you, +Count Nobili, will be free." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE LAWYER BAFFLED. + + +At that moment Fra Pacifico's tall figure barred the doorway. He +seemed to have risen suddenly out of the darkness. Nobili started back +and changed color. Of all living men, he most dreaded the priest at +that particular moment. The priest was now before him, stern, grave, +authoritative; searching him with those earnest eyes--the priest--a +living protest against all he had done, against all he was about to +do! + +The agile lawyer darted forward. He was about to speak. Fra Pacifico +waved him into silence. + +"Maestro Guglielmi," he said, with that sonorous voice which lent +importance to his slightest utterances, "I am glad to find you here. +You represent the marchesa.--My son," he continued, addressing Count +Nobili (as he did so, his face darkened into a look of mingled pain +and displeasure), "I come from your wife." + +At that word Fra Pacifico paused. Count Nobili reddened. His eyes fell +upon the floor; he dared not meet the reproving glance he felt was +upon him. + +"My son, I come from your wife," repeated Fra Pacifico. + +There was a dead silence. + +"You saw your wife borne from the altar fainting. She was mercifully +spared, therefore, hearing from your own lips that you repudiated her. +She has since been informed by Cavaliere Trenta that you did so. I am +here as her messenger. Your wife accepts the separation you desire." + +As each sentence fell from the priest's lips his countenance grew +sterner. + +"Accepts the separation! Gives me up!" exclaimed Nobili, quite taken +aback. "So much the better. We are both of the same mind." + +But, spite his words, there were irritation and surprise in Nobili's +manner. That Enrica herself should have consented to part from him was +altogether an astonishment! + +"If Countess Nobili accepts the separation"--and he turned sharply +upon Guglielmi--"nothing need detain you here, Signore Avvocato. You +hear what Fra Pacifico says. You have only, therefore, to inform the +Marchesa Guinigi. Probably her niece has already done so. We know that +they act in concert." Count Nobili laughed bitterly. + +"The marchesa is not even aware that I am here," interposed Fra +Pacifico. "Enrica is now married--she acts for herself. Her first act, +Count Nobili, is one of obedience--she sacrifices herself to you." + +Again the priest's deep-set eyes turned reprovingly upon Count Nobili. +Dare the headstrong boy affect to misunderstand that he had driven +Enrica to renounce him? Guglielmi remained standing near the +door--self-possessed, indeed, as usual, but utterly crestfallen. His +very soul sank within him as he listened to Fra Pacifico. Every thing +was going wrong, the judgeship in imminent peril, and this devil of a +priest, who ought to know better, doing every thing to divide them! + +"Signore Guglielmi," said Nobili, with a significant glance at the +open door, "allow me to repeat--we need not detain you. We shall now +act for ourselves. Without reference to the difficulties you have +raised--" + +"The difficulties I have raised have been for your own good, Count +Nobili," was Guglielmi's indignant reply. "Had I been supported +by"--and he glanced at Fra Pacifico--"by those whose duty teaches +them obedience to the ordinances of the Church, you would have saved +yourself and others the spectacle of a matrimonial scandal that will +degrade you before the eyes of all Italy." + +Count Nobili was rushing forward, with some undefined purpose of +chastising Guglielmi, when Fra Pacifico interposed. A quiet smile +parted his well-formed mouth; he shrugged his shoulders as he eyed the +enraged lawyer. + +"Allow me to judge of my duty as a priest. Look to your own as a +lawyer, or it may be the worse for you. What says the motto?--'Those +who seek gold may find sand.'" + +Guglielmi, greatly alarmed at what Fra Pacifico might reveal of their +previous conversation, waited to hear no more; he hastily disappeared. +Fra Pacifico watched the manner of his exit with silence, the quiet +smile of conscious power still on his lips. When he turned and +addressed Count Nobili, the smile had died out. + +Before Fra Pacifico can speak, the whole pack of dogs, attracted by +the loud voices, gather round the steps before the open window. They +are barking furiously. The smooth-skinned, treacherous bull-dog is +silent, but he stands foremost. True to his breed, the bull-dog is +silent. He creeps in noiselessly--his teeth gleam within an inch of +Nobili. Fra Pacifico spies him. With a furious kick he flings him out +far over the heads of the others. The bull-dog's howl of anguish rouses +the rest to frenzy. A moment more, and Fra Pacifico and Count Nobili +would have been attacked within the very room, but again footsteps are +heard passing in the shadow. A shot is fired close at hand. The dogs +rush off, the bull-dog whining and limping in the rear. + +Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico exchange glances. There is a knock at +the door. Pipa enters carrying a lighted lamp which she places on the +table. Pipa does not even salute Fra Pacifico, but fixes her eyes, +swollen with crying, upon Count Nobili. + +"What is the matter?" asks the priest. + +"Riverenza, I do not know. Adamo and Angelo are out watching." + +"But, Pipa, it is very strange. A shot was fired. The dogs, too, are +wilder than ever." + +"Riverenza, I know nothing. Perhaps there are some deserters about. +We are used to the dogs. I never hear them. I am come from the +signorina." + +At that name Count Nobili looks up and meets Pipa's gaze. If Pipa +could have stabbed him then and there with the silver dagger in her +black hair she would have done it, and counted it a righteous act. But +she must deliver her message. + +"Signore Conte"--Pipa flings her words at Nobili as if each word +were a stone, with which she would have hit him--"Signore Conte, the +marchesa has sent me. The marchesa bids me salute you. She desired +me to bring in this light. I was to say supper is served in the great +sala. She eats in her own room with the cavaliere, and hopes you will +excuse her." + +Before the count could answer, Pipa was gone. + +"My son," said Fra Pacifico, standing beside him in the dimly-lighted +room, "you have now had time to reflect. Do you accept the separation +offered to you by your wife?" + +"I do, my father." + +"Then she will enter a convent." Nobili sighed heavily. "You have +broken her heart." + +There was a depth of unexpressed reproach in the priest's look. Tears +gathered in his eyes, his deep voice shook. + +"But why if she ever loved me"--whispered Nobili into Fra Pacifico's +ear as though he shrank from letting the very walls hear what he was +about to say-- + +"If she loved you!" burst out Fra Pacifico with rising passion--"if +she loved you! You have my word that she loved you--nay, God help her, +that she loves you still!" + +Fra Pacifico drew back from Nobili as he said this. Again Nobili +approached him, speaking into his ear. + +"Why, then, if she loved me, could she join with the marchesa against +me? Was I not induced by my love for her to pay her aunt's debts? +Answer me that, my father. Why did she insist upon this ill-omened +marriage?--a proceeding as indelicate as it is--" + +"Silence!" thundered Fra Pacifico--"silence, I command you! What you +say of that pure and lovely girl whose soul is as crystal before me, +is absolute sacrilege. I will not listen to it!" + +Fra Pacifico's eyes flashed fire. He looked as if he would strike +Count Nobili where he stood. He checked himself, however; then he +continued with more calmness: "To become your wife was needful for the +honor of Enrica's name, which you had slandered. The child put herself +in my hands. I am responsible for this marriage--I only. As to the +marchesa, do you think she consults Enrica? The hawk and the dove +share not the same nest! No, no. Did the marchesa so much as tell +Enrica, when she offered her as wife to Count Marescotti?" + +At the sound of Marescotti's name Nobili's assumed composure utterly +gave way. His whole frame stiffened with rage. + +"Yes--Marescotti--curse him! And I am the husband of the woman he +refused!" + +"For shame, Count Nobili!--you have yourself exonerated her." + +"Enrica must have been an accomplice!" cried Nobili, transported +out of himself. Count Marescotti's name had exasperated him beyond +control. + +"Fool!" exclaimed Fra Pacifico. "Will you not listen to reason? Has +not Enrica by her own act renounced all claim to you as a wife? Is not +that enough?" + +Nobili was silent. Hitherto he had been driven on, goaded by the +promptings of passion, and the firm belief that Enrica was the mere +tool of her aunt. Now the same facts detailed by the priest placed +themselves in a new light. For the first time Nobili doubted whether +he was entirely justified in all that he had done--in all that he was +about to do. + +Meanwhile Fra Pacifico was losing all patience. His manly nature +rose within him at what he considered Nobili's deliberate cruelty. +Inflexible in right, Fra Pacifico was violent in face of wrong. + +"Why did you not let her die?" he exclaimed, bitterly. "It would +have saved her a world of suffering. I thought I knew you, Mario +Nobili--knew you from a boy," he added, contemplating him with a dark +scowl. "You have deceived me. Every word you utter only sinks you +lower in my esteem." + +"It would indeed have been better had we both perished in the flames!" +cried Nobili in a voice full of anguish--"perished--locked in each +other's arms! Poor Enrica!" He turned away, and a low sob burst from +his heart of hearts. "The marchesa has destroyed my love!--She has +blighted my life!" Nobili's voice sounded hollow in the dimly-lighted +room. At last Nobili was speaking out--speaking, as it were, from the +grave of his love! "Yes, I loved her," he continued dreamily--"I loved +her! How much I did not know!" + +He had forgotten he was not alone. The priest was but dimly visible. +He was leaning against the wall, his massive chin resting on his hand, +listening to Nobili. Now, hearing what he said, Fra Pacifico's anger +had vanished. After all, he had not been mistaken in his old pupil! +Nobili was neither cruel nor heartless; but he had been driven to bay! +Now he pitied him, profoundly. What could he say to him? He could urge +Nobili no more. He must work out his own fate! + +Again Nobili spoke. + +"When I saw her sweet face turned toward me as she entered the chapel, +I dared not look again! It was too late. My pride as a man, all that +is sacred to me as a gentleman, has been too deeply wounded. The +marchesa has done it. She alone is responsible. _She_ has left me +no alternative. I will never accept a wife forced upon me by +_her_--never, by Heaven! My father, these are my last words. Carry +them to Enrica." + +Count Nobili's head dropped upon his breast. He covered his face with +his hands. + +"My son, I leave you in the hands of God. May He lead you and comfort +you! But remember, the life of your wife is bound up in _your_ life. +Hitherto Enrica has lived upon hope. Deprived of hope, _she will +die_." + +When Nobili looked up, Fra Pacifico was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +FACE TO FACE. + + +The time had now come when Count Nobili must finally make up his mind. +He had told Fra Pacifico that his determination was unaltered. He had +told him that his dignity as a man, his honor as a gentleman, demanded +that he should free himself from the net-work of intrigues in which +the marchesa had entangled him. Of all earthly things, compliancy with +her desires most revolted him. Rather than live any longer the victim +either of her malice or her ambition, he had brought himself to +believe that it was his duty to renounce Enrica. Until Fra Pacifico +had entered that room within which he was again pacing up and down +with hasty strides, no doubt whatever had arisen in his mind as to +what it was incumbent upon him to do: to give Enrica the protection +of his name by marriage, then to separate. Whether to separate in +the manner pointed out by Guglielmi he had not decided. An innate +repulsion, now increased by suspicion, made him distrust any act +pressed upon him by that man, especially when urged in concert with +the marchesa. + +Every hour passed at Corellia was torture to him. Should he go at +once, or should he remain until the morning?--sign the deed?--complete +the sacrifice? Already what he had so loudly insisted on presented +itself now to him in the light of a sacrifice. Enrica loved him +still--he believed Fra Pacifico. The throbbing of his heart as he +thought of her told him that he returned that love. She was there near +him under the same roof. Could he leave her? Yes, he must leave her! +He would trust himself no longer in the hands of the marchesa or of +her agent. Instinct told him some subtle scheme lay under the urgings +of Guglielmi--the dangerous civilities of the marchesa. He would +go. The legal separation might be completed elsewhere. Why only at +Corellia? Why must those formalities insisted on by Guglielmi be +respected? What did they mean? Of the real drift of the delay Nobili +was utterly ignorant. Had he asked Fra Pacifico, he would have told +him the truth, but he had not done so. + +To meet Enrica in the morning; to meet her again in the presence of +her detested aunt; to meet her only to sign a deed separating them +forever under the mockery of mutual consent, was agony. Why should he +endure it? + +Nobili, wrought up to a pitch of excitement that almost robbed him of +reason, dares not trust himself to think. He seizes his hat, which lay +upon the table, and rushes out into the night. The murmur of voices +comes dimly to him in the freshness of the air out of a window next +his own. A circle of light shines on the glistening gravel before him. +There must be people within--people watching him, doubtless. As the +thought crosses his mind he is suddenly pinned to the earth. Argo is +watching for him--stealthy Argo--Argo springs upon him silently from +behind; he holds him tightly in his grip. The dog made no sound, nor +does he now, but he has laid Nobili flat on the ground. He stands over +him, his heavy paws planted upon his chest, his open jaws and dripping +tongue close upon his face, so close, that Nobili feels the dog's hot +breath upon his skin. Nobili cannot move; he looks up fixedly into +Argo's glaring, bloodshot eyes. His steady gaze daunts the dog. In the +very act of digging his big fangs into Nobili's throat Argo pauses; +he shrinks before those human eyes before which the brutish nature +quails. In an instant Nobili's strong hands close round his throat; +he presses it until the powerful paws slacken in their grip--until the +fiery eyes are starting from their sockets. + +Silent as is the struggle the other dogs are alarmed--they give tongue +from different sides. Footsteps are rapidly approaching--the barrel of +a gun gleams out of the darkness--a shot is fired--the report wanders +off in endless reverberation among the rocks--another shot, and +another, in instant succession, answer each other from behind the +villa. + +With a grasp of iron Nobili holds back gallant Argo--Argo foaming at +the mouth; his white-coated chest heaving, as if in his last agony! +Yet Argo is still immovable--his heavy paws upon Nobili's chest +pressing with all his weight upon him! + +Now the footsteps have turned the corner! Dim forms already shape +themselves in the night mist. The other dogs, barking savagely, are +behind--they are coming--they are at hand! Ah! Nobili, what can you do +now?--Nobili understands his danger. Quick as thought Nobili has +dealt Argo a tremendous blow under the left ear. He seizes him by his +milk-white hair so long and beautiful, he flings him against the low +wall almost insensible. Argo falls a shapeless mass. He is stunned and +motionless. Before the shadow of Adamo is upon him--before the dogs +noses touch him--Nobili is on his feet. With one bound he has leaped +through the window--the same from which the voices had come (it has +been opened in the scuffle)--in an instant he closes the sash! He is +safe! + +Coming suddenly out of the darkness, after the great force he had put +forth, Nobili feels giddy and bewildered. At first he sees nothing +but that there is a light in the centre of the room. As his eyes fix +themselves upon it the light almost blinds him. He puts his hand to +his forehead, where the veins had swollen out like cords upon his +fair skin. He puts up his hands to shade his dazzled eyes before +which clouds of stars dance desperately. He steadies himself and looks +round. + +Before him stands Enrica! + +By Pipa's care the bridegroom's chamber had been chosen next +the bride's when she prepared Count Nobili's room. Pipa was +straightforward and simple in her notions of matrimony, but, like a +wise woman, she had held her tongue. + +Nobili and Enrica are alone. A furtive glance passes between them. +Neither of them moves. Neither of them speaks. The first movement +comes from Enrica. She sinks backward upon a chair. The tangle of her +yellow hair closes round her face upon which a deep blush had risen +at sight of Nobili. When that blush had died out she looked resigned, +almost passionless. She knew that the moment had come which must +decide her fate. Before they two parted she would hear from the lips +of the man she loved if they were ever to meet again! Her eyes fell +to the ground. She dared not raise them. If she looked at Nobili, she +must fling herself into his arms. + +Nobili, standing on the same spot beyond the circle of the light, +gazes at Enrica in silence. He is overwhelmed by the most conflicting +emotions. But the spell of her beauty is upon him. His pulses beat +madly. For an instant he forgets where he is. He forgets all but +that Enrica is before him. For a moment! Then his brain clears. He +remembers every thing--remembers--oh, how bitterly!--that, after all +that has passed, his very presence in that room is an insult to her! +He feels he ought to go--yet an irresistible longing chains him to +the spot. He moves toward the door. To reach it he must pass close to +Enrica. When he is near the door he stops. The light shows that his +clothes are torn--that there is blood upon his face and hands. In +scarcely articulate words Nobili addresses her. + +"Enrica--countess, I mean"--Nobili hesitates--"pardon this +intrusion.--You saw the accident.--I did not know that this was _your_ +room." + +Again Nobili pauses, waiting for an answer. None comes. Would she not +speak to him? Alas! had he deserved that she should? Nobili takes a +step or two toward the door. With one hand upon the lock he pauses +once more, gazing at Enrica with lingering eyes. Then he turns to +leave the room. It is all over!--he had only to depart! A low cry from +Enrica stops him. + +"Nobili," Enrica says, "tell me--oh! tell me, are you hurt?" + +Enrica has risen from the chair. One hand rests on the table for +support. Her voice falters as she asks the question. Nobili, every +drop of whose blood runs fevered in his veins, turns toward her. + +"I am not hurt--a scratch or two--nothing." + +"Thank God!" Enrica utters, in a low voice. + +Nobili endeavors to approach her. She draws back. + +"As I am here"--he speaks with the utmost embarrassment--"here, as you +see, by accident"--his voice rests on the words--"I cannot go--" + +As Nobili speaks he perceives that Enrica gradually retreats farther +from him. The tender delight that had come into her eyes when he first +addressed her fades out into a scared look--a look like a defenseless +animal expecting to receive a death-wound. Nobili sees and understands +the expression. + +His heart smites him sorely. Great God!--has he become an object of +terror to her? + +"Enrica!"--she starts back as Nobili pronounces her name, yet he +speaks so softly the sound comes to her almost like a sigh--"Enrica, +do not fear me. I will say no word to offend you. I cannot go without +asking your pardon. As one who loved you once--as one who loves--" +He stops. What is he saying?--"I humbly beseech you to forgive me. +Enrica, let me hear you say that you forgive me." + +Still Enrica retreats from him, that suffering, saint-like look upon +her face he knows so well. Nobili follows her. He kneels at her feet. +He kneels at the feet of the woman from whom, not an hour before, he +had demanded a separation! + +"Say--can you forgive me before I go?" + +As Nobili speaks, his strong heart goes out to her in speechless +longings. If Enrica had looked into his eyes they would have told her +that he never had loved her as now! And they were parted! + +Enrica puts out her hand timidly. Her lips move as if to speak, but no +sound comes. Nobili rises; he takes her hand within both his own. He +kisses it reverently. + +"Dear hand--" he murmurs, "and it was mine!" + +Released from his, the dainty little hand falls to her side. She +sighs deeply. There is the old charm in Nobili's voice--so sweet, so +subtile. The tones fall upon her ear like strains of passionate music. +A storm of emotion sweeps across her face. She has forgotten all in +the rapture of his presence. Yes!--that voice! Had it not been raised +but a few hours before at the altar to repudiate her? How can she +believe in him? How surrender herself to the glamour of his words? +Remembering all this, despair comes over her. Again Enrica shrinks +from him. She bursts into tears and hides her face with her hands. + +Enrica's distrust of him, her silence, her tears, cut Nobili to the +soul. He knows he deserves it. Ah!--with her there before him, how +he curses himself for ever having doubted her! Every justification +suddenly leaves him. He is utterly confounded. The gossip of the +club--Count Marescotti and his miserable verses--the marchesa +herself--what are they all beside the purity of those saint-like eyes? +Nera, too--false, fickle, sensual Nera--a mere thing of flesh and +blood--he had left her for Nera! Was he mad? + +At that moment, of all living men, Count Nobili seemed to himself the +most unworthy! He must go--he did not deserve to stay! + +"Enrica--before I leave you, speak to me one word of forgiveness--I +implore you!" + +As he speaks their eyes meet. Yes, she is his own Enrica--unchanged, +unsullied!--the idol is intact within its shrine--the sanctuary is as +he had left it! No rude touch had soiled that atmosphere of purity and +freshness that floated like an aureole around her! + +How could he leave her?--if they must part, he would hear his fate +from her own lips. Enrica is leaning against the wall speechless, her +face shaded by her hand. Big tears are trickling through her fingers. +Unable to support herself she clings to a chair, then seats herself. +And Nobili, pale with passion stands by, and dares not so much as to +touch her--dares not touch her, although she is his wife! + +In the fury of his self-reproach, he digs his hands into the masses of +thick chestnut curls that lie disordered about his head. + +Fool, idiot!--had he lost her? A terrible misgiving overcomes him? It +fills him with horror. Was it too late? Would she never forgive him? +Nobili's troubled eyes, that wander all over her, ask the question. + +"Speak to me--speak to me!" he cries. "Curse me--but speak to me!" + +At this appeal Enrica turns her tear-bedewed face toward him. + +"Nobili," she says at last, very low, "would you have gone without +seeing me?" + +Nobili dares not lie to her. He makes no reply. + +"Oh, do not deceive me, Nobili!" and Enrica wrings her hands and looks +piteously into his face. "Tell me--would you have come to me?" + +It is only by a strong effort that Nobili can restrain himself +from folding Enrica in his arms and in one burning kiss burying the +remembrance of the miserable past. But he trembles lest by offending +her the tender flower before him may never again expand to the ardor +of his love. If Fra Pacifico has not by his arguments already shaken +Nobili's conviction of the righteousness of his own conduct, the sight +of Enrica utterly overcomes him. + +"Deceive you!" he exclaims, approaching her and seizing her hands +which she did not withdraw--"deceive you! How little you read my +heart!" + +He holds her soft hands firmly in his--he covers them with kisses. +Enrica feels the tender pressure of his lips pass through her whole +frame. But, can she trust him? + +"Did I not love you enough?" she asks, looking into his face. She +gently disengages her hands from his grasp. There is no reproach in +her look, but infinite sorrow. "Can I believe you?" And the soft blue +eyes rest upon him full of pathetic pleading. + +An expression of despair comes into Nobili's bright face. How can +he answer her? How can he satisfy her when he himself has shaken her +trust? Alas! would the golden past never come again? The past, tinted +with the passion of ardent summer? + +"Believe me?" he cries, in a tone of wildest passion. "Can you ask +me?" + +As he speaks he leans over her. Love is in his voice--his eyes--his +whole attitude. Would she not understand him? Would she reject him? + +Enrica draws back--she raises her hand in protest. + +"Let me again"--Nobili is following her closely--"let me implore your +forgiveness of my unmanly conduct." + +She presses her hands to her bosom as if in pain, but not a sound +comes to her lips. + +"Believe me," he urges, "I have been driven mad by the marchesa! It is +my only excuse." + +"Am I?" Enrica answers. "Have I not suffered enough from my aunt? +What had she to do between you and me? Did I love you less because +she hated you? Listen, Nobili"--Enrica with difficulty commands her +voice--"from the first time we met in the cathedral I gave myself to +you--you--you only." + +"But, Enrica--love--you consented to leave me. You sent Fra Pacifico +to say so." + +The thought that Enrica had so easily resigned him still rankled in +Nobili's heart. Spite of himself, there is bitterness in his tone. + +Enrica is standing aloof from him. The light of the lamp strikes upon +her golden hair, her downcast eyes, her cheeks mantling with blushes. + +"I leave you!"--a soft dew came into Enrica's eyes as she fixed them +upon Nobili--a dew that rapidly formed itself into two tears that +rolled silently down her cheek--"never--never!" + +Spite of the horrors of the past, these words, that look, tell him +she is his! Nobili's heart leaps within him. For a moment he is +breathless--speechless in the tumult of his great joy. + +"Oh! my beloved!" he cries, in a voice that penetrates her very soul. +"Come to me--here--to a heart all your own!" He springs forward and +clasps her in his arms. "Thus--thus let the past perish!" Nobili +whispers as his lips touch hers. Enrica's head nestles upon his +breast. She has once more found her home. + +A subdued knock is heard at the door. + +"Sangue di Dio!" mutters Nobili, disengaging himself from +Enrica--"what new torment is this? Is there no peace in this house? +Who is there?" + +"It is I, Count Nobili." Maestro Guglielmi puts in his hatchet face +and glaring teeth. In an instant his piercing eyes have traveled round +the room. He has taken in the whole situation--Count Nobili in the +middle of the floor--flushed--agitated--furious at this interruption; +Enrica--revived--conscious--blushing at his side. The investigation +is so perfectly satisfactory that Maestro Guglielmi cannot suppress a +grin of delight. + +"Believe me, Signore Conte," he says, advancing cautiously a step or +two forward into the room, a deprecating look on his face--"believe +me--this intrusion"--Guglielmi turns to Enrica, grins again palpably, +then bows--"is not of my seeking." + +"Tell me instantly what brings you here?" demands Nobili, advancing. +(Nobili would have liked beyond measure to relieve his feelings by +kicking him.) + +"It is just that"--Guglielmi cannot refrain from another glance round +before he proceeds--(yes, they are reconciled, no doubt of it. +The judgeship is his own! Evviva! The illustrious personage--so +notoriously careful of his subject's morals--who had deigned to +interest himself in the marriage, might possibly, at the birth of +a son and heir to the Guinigi, add a pension--who knows? At this +reflection the lawyer's eyes become altogether unmanageable)--"it is +just that," repeats Guglielmi, making a desperate effort to collect +himself. "Personally I should have declined it, personally; but the +marchesa's commands were absolute: 'You must go yourself, I will +permit no deputy.'" + +"Damn the marchesa! Shall I never be rid of the marchesa?" + +Nobili's aspect is becoming menacing. Maestro Guglielmi is not a man +easily daunted; yet once within the room, and the desired evidence +obtained, he cannot but feel all the awkwardness of his position. +Greatly as Guglielmi had been tickled at the notion of becoming +himself a witness in his own case, to do him justice he would not have +volunteered it. + +"The marchesa sent me," he stammers, conscious of Count Nobili's +indignation (with his arms crossed, Count Nobili is eying Guglielmi +from head to foot). "The marchesa sent me to know--" + +Nobili unfolds his arms, walks straight up to where Guglielmi is +standing, and shakes his fist in his face. + +"Do you know, Signore Avvocato, that you are committing an intolerable +impertinence? If you do not instantly quit this room, or give me +some excellent reason for remaining, you shall very speedily have my +opinion of your conduct in a very decided manner." + +Count Nobili is decidedly dangerous. He glares at Guglielmi like a +very devil. Guglielmi falls back. The false smile is upon his lips, +but his treacherous eyes express his terror. Guglielmi's combats are +only with words, his weapon the pen; otherwise he is powerless. + +"Excuse me, Count Nobili, excuse me," he stammers. He rubs his hands +nervously together and watches Nobili, who is following him step by +step. "It is not my fault--I give you my word--not my fault. Don't +look so, count; you really alarm me. I am here as a man of peace--I +entreated the marchesa to retire to rest. I represented to her the +peculiar delicacy of the position, but I grieve to say she insisted." + +Nobili is now close to him; his eyes are gathered upon him more +threateningly than ever. + +"Remember, sir, you are addressing me in the presence of my wife--be +careful." + +What a withering look Nobili gives Guglielmi as he says this! He can +with difficulty keep his hands off him! + +"Yes--yes--just so--just so--I applaud your sentiments, Count +Nobili--most appropriate. Now I will go." + +Alarmed as he is, Guglielmi cannot resist one parting glance at +Enrica. She is crimson. Then with an expression of infinite relief +he retreats to the door walking backward. Guglielmi has a strong +conviction that if he turns round Count Nobili may kick him, so, +keeping his eyes well balanced upon him, he fumbles with his hands +behind his back to find the handle of the door. In his confusion he +misses it. + +"Not for worlds, Signore Conte," says Guglielmi, nervously passing +his hand up and down the panel in search of the door-handle--"not for +worlds would I offend you! Believe me--(maledictions on the door--it +is bewitched!)" + +Now Guglielmi has it! Safely clutching the handle with both his hands, +Guglielmi's courage returns. His mocking eyes look up without blinking +into Nobili's, fierce and flashing as they are. + +"Before I go"--he bows with affected humility--"will you favor me, +count, and you, madame" (Guglielmi is clutching the door-handle +tightly, so as to be able to escape at any moment), "by informing me +whether you still desire the deed of separation to be prepared for +your signature in the morning?" + +"Leave the room!" roars Count Nobili, stamping furiously on the +floor--"leave the room, or, Domine Dio!--" + +Maestro Guglielmi had jumped out backward, before Count Nobili could +finish the sentence. + +"Enrica!" cries Nobili, turning toward her--he had banged-to the door +and locked it--"Enrica, if you love me, let us leave this accursed +villa to-night! This is more than I can bear!" + +What Enrica replied, or if Enrica ever replied at all, is, and ever +will remain, a mystery! + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +OH BELLO! + + +An hour or two has passed. A slow and cautious step, accompanied with +the tapping of a stick upon the stone flags of the floor, is audible +along the narrow passage leading from the sala to Pipa's room. It +is as dark as pitch. Whoever it is, is afraid of falling, and creeps +along cautiously, feeling by the wall. + +Pipa, expecting to be summoned to her mistress--Pipa, wondering +greatly indeed what Enrica can be about, and why she does not go +to bed, when she, the blessed dear, was so faint and tired, and +crying--oh, so pitifully!--when she left her--Pipa, leaning against +the door-post near the half-open door, dozing like a dog with one eye +open in case she should be called--listened and looked out into the +passage. A figure is standing within the light that streams out from +the door, a very well-remembered figure, stout and short--a little +bent forward on a stick--with a round, rosy face framed in snowy +curls, a world of pleasant wickedness in two twinkling eyes, on which +the light strikes, and a mouth puckered up for any mischief. + +"Madonna!" cries Pipa, rubbing her eyes--"the cavaliere! How you did +frighten me! I cannot bear to hear footsteps about when Adamo is +out;" and Pipa gazes up and down into the darkness with an unpleasant +consciousness that something ghostly might be watching her. + +"Pipa," says the cavaliere, putting his finger to his nose and +winking palpably, "hold your tongue, and don't scream when I tell you +something. Promise me." + +"O Gesù!" cries Pipa in a loud voice, starting back, forgetting his +injunction--"is it not about the signorina?" + +"Hold your tongue, Pipa, or I will tell you nothing." + +Pipa's head is instantly close to the cavaliere's, her face all +eagerness. + +"Yes, it is about the signorina--the countess. She is gone!" + +"Gone!" and Pipa, spite of warning, fairly shouts now "gone!" at which +the cavaliere shakes his stick at her, smiling, however, benignly all +the time. "Holy mother! gone! O cavaliere! tell me--she is not dead?" + +(Ever since Pipa had tended Enrica lying on her bed, so still and +cold, it seemed reasonable to her that she might die at any instant, +without warning given.) + +"Yes, Pipa," answers the cavaliere solemnly, his voice shaking +slightly, but he still smiles, though the dew of rising tears is in +his merry eyes--"yes, dead--dead to us, my Pipa--I fear dead to us." + +Pipa sinks back in speechless horror against the wall, and groans. + +"But only to us--(don't be a fool, Pipa)"--this in a parenthesis--"she +is gone with her husband." + +Pipa rises to her feet and stares at Trenta, at first wildly, then, as +little by little the hidden sense comes to her, her rosy lips slowly +part and lengthen out until every snowy tooth is visible. Then Pipa +covers her face with her apron, and shakes from head to foot in such +a fit of laughter, that she has to lean against the wall not to fall +down. "Oh hello!" is all she can say. This Pipa repeats at intervals +in gasps. + +"Come, Pipa, that will do," says the cavaliere, poking at her with his +stick--"I must get back before I am missed--no one must know it till +morning--least of all the marchesa and Guglielmi. They are shut up +together. The marchesa says she will sit up all night. But Count +Nobili and his wife are gone--really gone. Fra Pacifico managed it. He +got hold of Adamo, who was running round the house with a loaded +gun, all the dogs after him. Take care of Adamo when he comes back +to-night, Pipa. He is fastening up the dogs, and feeding them, and +taking care of poor Argo, who is badly hurt. He is quite mad, Adamo. +I never saw a man so wild. He would not come in. He said the marchesa +had told him to shoot some one. He swore he would do it yet. He nearly +fought with Fra Pacifico when he forced him in. Adamo is quite mad. +Tell him nothing to-night; he is not safe." + +Pipa has now let down her apron. Her bright olive-complexioned face +beams in one broad smile, like the full moon at harvest. She is still +shaking, and at intervals gives little spasmodic giggles. + +"Leave Adamo to me" (another giggle); "I will manage him" (another). +"Why, he might have shot the signorina's husband--the fool!" + +This thought steadies Pipa for an instant, but she bursts out again. +"Oh hello!"--Pipa gurgles like a stream that cannot stop running; then +she breaks off all at once, and listens. "Hush! hush! There is +Adamo coming, cavaliere--hush! hush! Make haste and go away. He is +coming--Adamo; I hear him on the gravel." + +"Say nothing until the morning," whispers the cavaliere. "Give them a +fair start. Ha! ha!" + +Pipa nods. Her face twitches all over. As Cavaliere Trenta turns to +go, Pipa catches him smartly by the shoulder, draws him to her, and +speaks into his ear: + +"To think the signorina has run away with her own husband! Oh bello!" + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12385 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b833256 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12385 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12385) diff --git a/old/12385-8.txt b/old/12385-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85a0d77 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12385-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14015 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Italians, by Frances Elliot + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Italians + +Author: Frances Elliot + +Release Date: May 19, 2004 [eBook #12385] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ITALIANS*** + + +E-text prepared by Curtis Weyant, Bill Hershey, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +THE ITALIANS: + +A Novel + +BY FRANCES ELLIOT + +AUTHOR OF "ROMANCE OF OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE," "THE DIARY OF AN IDLE +WOMAN IN ITALY," ETC., ETC. + +1875 + + + + + + +TO + +THE REAL ENRICA, + +WITH + +THE AUTHOR'S LOVE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I. + + I. LUCCA + II. THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA + III. THE THREE WITCHES + IV. THE MARCHESA GUINIGI + V. ENRICA + VI. MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME + VII. COUNT MARESCOTTI + VIII. THE CABINET COUNCIL + IX. THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL + + +PART II. + + I. CALUMNY + II. CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO + III. THE GUINIGI TOWER + IV. COUNT NOBILI + V. NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL + VI. A NEW PHILOSOPHY + VII. THE MARCHESA'S PASSION + VIII. ENRICA'S TRIAL + IX. WHAT CAME OF IT + + +PART III. + + + I. A LONELY TOWN + II. WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS + III. WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCHESA'S PAPERS + IV. WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE + V. "SAY NOT TOO MUCH" + VI. THE CONTRACT + VII. THE CLUB AT LUCCA + VIII. COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS + IX. NERA + + +PART IV. + + + I. WAITING AND LONGING + II. A STORM AT THE VILLA + III. BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH + IV. FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA + V. TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? + VI. THE CHURCH AND THE LAW + VII. THE HOUR STRIKES + VIII. FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME + IX. HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE + X. THE LAWYER BAFFLED + XI. FACE TO FACE + XII. OH BELLO! + + + + + + + +PART I. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +LUCCA. + + +We are at Lucca. It is the 13th of September, 1870--the anniversary of +the festival of the Volto Santo--a notable day, both in city, suburb, +and province. Lucca dearly loves its festivals--no city more; and of +all the festivals of the year that of the Volto Santo best. Now the +Volto Santo (_Anglicè_, Holy Countenance) is a miraculous crucifix, +which hangs, as may be seen, all by itself in a gorgeous chapel--more +like a pagoda than a chapel, and more like a glorified bird-cage than +either--built expressly for it among the stout Lombard pillars in the +nave of the cathedral. The crucifix is of cedar-wood, very black, and +very ugly, and it was carved by Nicodemus; of this fact no orthodox +Catholic entertains a doubt. But on what authority I cannot tell, nor +why, nor how, the Holy Countenance reached the snug little city of +Lucca, except by flying through the air like the Loretto house, or +springing out of the earth like the Madonna of Feltri. But here it is, +and here it has been for many a long year; and here it will remain +as a miraculous relic, bringing with it blessings and immunities +innumerable to the grateful city. + +What a glorious morning it is! The sun rose without a cloud. Now there +is a golden haze hanging over the plain, and glints as of living flame +on the flanks of the mountains. From all sides crowds are pressing +toward Lucca. Before six o'clock every high-road is alive. Down from +the highest mountain-top of Pizzorna, overlooking Florence and its +vine-garlanded campagna, comes the hermit, brown-draped, in hood and +mantle; staff in hand, he trudges along the dusty road. And down, +too, from his native lair among the pigs and the poultry, comes the +black-eyed, black-skinned, matted-haired urchin, who makes mud pies +under the tufted ilex-trees at Ponte a Moriano, and swears at the +hermit. + +They come! they come! From mountain-sides bordering the broad road +along the Serchio--mountains dotted with bright homesteads, each +gleaming out of its own cypress-grove, olive-patch, canebrake, and +vine-arbor, under which the children play--they come from solitary +hovels, hung up, as it were, in mid-air, over gloomy ravines, scored +and furrowed with red earth, down which dark torrents dash and spray. + +They come! they come! these Tuscan peasants, a trifle too fond of +holiday-keeping, like their betters--but what would you have? The land +is fertile, and corn and wine and oil and rosy flowering almonds grow +almost as of themselves. They come--tens and tens of miles away, from +out the deep shadows of primeval chestnut-woods, clothing the flanks +of rugged Apennines with emerald draperies. They come--through parting +rocks, bordering nameless streams--cool, delicious waters, over which +bend fig, peach, and plum, delicate ferns and unknown flowers. They +come--from hamlets and little burghs, gathered beside lush pastures, +where tiny rivulets trickle over fresh turf and fragrant herbs, +lulling the ear with softest echoes. + +They come--dark-eyed mothers and smiling daughters, decked with +gold pins, flapping Leghorn hats, lace veils or snowy handkerchiefs +gathered about their heads, coral beads, and golden crosses as big as +shields, upon their necks--escorted by lover, husband, or father--a +flower behind his ear, a slouch hat on his head, a jacket thrown over +one arm, every man shouldering a red umbrella, although to doubt the +weather to-day is absolute sacrilege! + +Carts clatter by every moment, drawn by swift Maremma nags, gay with +brass harness, tinkling bells, and tassels of crimson on reins and +frontlet. + +The carts are laden with peasants (nine, perhaps, ranged three +abreast)--treason to the gallant animal that, tossing its little head, +bravely struggles with the cruel load. A priest is stuck in bodkin +among his flock--a priest who leers and jests between pinches of +snuff, and who, save for his seedy black coat, knee-breeches, worsted +stockings, shoe-buckles, clerical hat, and smoothly-shaven chin, is +rougher than a peasant himself. + +Riders on Elba ponies, with heavy cloaks (for the early morning, spite +of its glories, is chill), spur by, adding to the dust raised by the +carts. + +Genteel flies and hired carriages with two horses, and hood and +foot-board--pass, repass, and out-race each other. These flies and +carriages are crammed with bailiffs from the neighboring villas, +shopkeepers, farmers, and small proprietors. Donkeys, too, there are +in plenty, carrying men bigger than themselves (under protest, be it +observed, for here, as in all countries, your donkey, though marked +for persecution, suffers neither willingly nor in silence). Begging +friars, tanned like red Indians, glide by, hot and grimy (thank +Heaven! not many now, for "New Italy" has sacked most of the convent +rookeries and dispersed the rooks), with wallets on their shoulders, +to carry back such plunder as can be secured, to far-off convents and +lonely churches, folded up tightly in forest fastnesses. + +All are hurrying onward with what haste they may, to reach the city +of Lucca, while broad shadows from the tall mountains on either hand +still fall athwart the roads, and cool morning air breathes up from +the rushing Serchio. + +The Serchio--a noble river, yet willful as a mountain-torrent--flows +round the embattled walls of Lucca, and falls into the Mediterranean +below Pisa. It is calm now, on this day of the great festival, +sweeping serenely by rocky capes, and rounding into fragrant bays, +where overarching boughs droop and feather. But there is a sullen +look about its current, that tells how wicked it can be, this Serchio, +lashed into madness by winter storms, and the overflowing of the +water-gates above, among the high Apennines--at the Abbetone at San +Marcello, or at windy, ice-bound Pracchia. + +How fair are thy banks, O mountain-bordered Serchio! How verdant +with near wood and neighboring forest! How gay with cottage +groups--open-galleried and garlanded with bunches of golden maize and +vine-branches--all laughing in the sun! The wine-shops, too, along the +road, how tempting, with snowy table-cloths spread upon dressers under +shady arbors of lemon--trees; pleasant odors from the fry cooking in +the stove, mixing with the perfume of the waxy flowers! Dear to +the nostrils of the passers-by are these odors. They snuff them +up--onions, fat, and macaroni, with delight. They can scarcely resist +stopping once for all here, instead of waiting for their journey's end +to eat at Lucca. + +But the butterflies--and they are many--are wiser in their generation. +The butterflies have a festival of their own to-day. They do not wait +for any city. They are fixed to no spot. They can hold their festival +anywhere under the blue sky, in the broad sunshine. + +See how they dance among the flowers! Be it spikes of wild-lavender, +or yellow down within the Canterbury bell, or horn of purple +cyclamens, or calyx of snowy myrtle, the soft bosom of tall lilies or +glowing petals of red cloves--nothing comes amiss to the butterflies. +They are citizens of the world, and can feast wherever fancy leads +them. + +Meanwhile, on comes the crowd, nearer and nearer to the city of their +pilgrimage, laughing, singing, talking, smoking. Your Italian peasant +must sleep or smoke, excepting when he plays at _morra_ (one, two, +three, and away!). Then he puts his pipe into his pocket. The +women are conversing in deep voices, in the _patois_ of the various +villages. The men, more silent, search out who is fairest--to lead +her on the way, to kneel beside her at the shrine, and, most prized of +all, to conduct her home. Each village has its belle, each belle her +circle of admirers. Belles and beaux all have their own particular +plan of diversion for the day. For is it not a great day? And is it +not stipulated in many of the marriage contracts among the mountain +tribes that the husband must, under a money penalty, conduct his wife +to the festival of the Holy Countenance once at least in four years? +The programme is this: First, they enter the cathedral, kneel at the +glistening shrine of the black crucifix, kiss its golden slipper, and +hear mass. Then they will grasp such goods as the gods provide them, +in street, _café_, eating-house, or day theatre; make purchases in the +shops and booths, and stroll upon the ramparts. Later, when the sun +sinks westward over the mountains, and the deep canopy of twilight +falls, they will return by the way that they have come, until the +coming year. + + * * * * * + +Within the city, from before daybreak, church-bells--and Lucca abounds +in belfries fretted tier upon tier, with galleries of delicate marble +colonnettes, all ablaze in the sunshine--have pealed out merrily. + +Every church-door, draped with gold tissue and silken stuffs, more +or less splendid, is thrown wide open. Every shop is closed, save +_cafés_, hotels, and tobacco-shops (where, by command of the King of +New Italy, infamous cigars are sold). Eating-tables are spread at the +corners of the streets and under the trees in the piazza, benches are +ranged everywhere where benches can stand. The streets are filling +every moment as fresh multitudes press through the city gates--those +grand old gates, where the marble lions of Lucca keep guard, looking +toward the mountains. + +For a carriage to pass anywhere in the streets would be impossible, so +tightly are flapping Leghorn hats, and veils, snowy handkerchiefs, and +red caps and brigand hats, packed together. Bells ring, and there are +waftings of military music borne through the air. Trumpet-calls at the +different barracks answer to each other. Cannons are fired. Each +man, woman, and child shouts, screams, and laughs. All down the dark, +cavernous streets, in the great piazza, at the sindaco's, at college, +at club, public offices, and hotels, at the grand old palaces, +untouched since the middle ages--the glory of the city--at every +house, great and small--flutter gaudy draperies; crimson, amber, +violet, and gold, according to purse and condition, either of richest +brocade, or of Eastern stuffs wrought in gold and needle-work, or--the +family carpet or bed-furniture hung out for show. Banners wave from +every house-top and tower, the Italian tricolor and the Savoy cross, +white, on a red ground; flowers and garlands are wreathed on the +fronts of the stern old walls. If peasants, and shopkeepers, and +monks, priests, beggars, and _hoi polloi_ generally, possess the +pavement, overhead every balcony, gallery, terrace, and casement, +is filled with company, representatives of the historic families of +Lucca, the Manfredi, Possenti, Navascoes, Bernardini, dal Portico, +Bocella, Manzi, da Gia, Orsetti, Ruspoli--feudal names dear to native +ears. The noble marquis, or his excellency the count, lord of broad +acres on the plains, or principalities in the mountains, or of hoarded +wealth at the National Bank--is he not Lucchese also to the backbone? +And does he not delight in the festival as keenly as that half-naked +beggar, who rattles his box for alms, with a broad grin on his dirty +face? + +Resplendent are the ladies in the balconies, dressed in their +best--like bands of fluttering ribbon stretched across the +sombre-fronted palaces; aristocratic daughters, and dainty consorts. +They are not chary of their charms. They laugh, fan themselves, lean +over sculptured balustrades, and eye the crowded streets, talking with +lip and fan, eye and gesture. + +In the long, narrow street of San Simone, behind the cathedral of San +Martino, stand the two Guinigi Palaces. They are face to face. One is +ditto of the other. Each is in the florid style of Venetian-Gothic, +dating from the beginning of the fourteenth century. Both were built +by Paolo Guinigi, head of the illustrious house of that name, for +forty years general and tyrant of the Republic of Lucca. Both palaces +bear his arms, graven on marble tablets beside the entrance. Both +are of brick, now dulled and mellowed into a reddish white. Both +have walls of enormous thickness. The windows of the upper +stories--quadruple casements divided, Venetian-like, by twisted +pillarettes richly carved--are faced and mullioned with marble. + +The lower windows (mere square apertures) are barred with iron. The +arched portals opening to the streets are low, dark, and narrow. The +inner courts gloomy, damp, and prison-like. Brass ornaments, sockets, +rings, and torch-holders of iron, sculptured emblems, crests, and +cognizances in colored marble, are let into the outer walls. In all +else, ornamentation is made subservient to defense. These are city +fortresses rather than ancestral palaces. They were constructed to +resist either attack or siege. + +Rising out of the overhanging roof (supported on wooden rafters) of +the largest and most stately of the two palaces, where twenty-three +groups of clustered casements, linked by slender pillars, extend in a +line along a single story--rises a mediaeval tower of defense of +many stories. Each story is pierced by loop-holes for firing into the +street below. On the machicolated summit is a square platform, where +in the course of many peaceful ages a bay-tree has come to grow of a +goodly size. About this bay-tree tangled weeds and tufted grasses +wave in the wind. Below, here and there, patches of blackened moss +or yellow lichen, a branch of mistletoe or a bunch of fern, break +the lines of the mediaeval brickwork. Sprays of wild-ivy cling to the +empty loop-holes, through which the blue sky peeps. + +The lesser of the two palaces--the one on the right hand as you ascend +the street of San Simone coming from the cathedral--is more decorated +to-day than any other in Lucca. A heavy sea of Leghorn hats and black +veils, with male accompaniments, is crowded beneath. They stare upward +and murmur with delight. Gold and silver stuffs, satin and taffeta, +striped brocades, and rich embroideries, flutter from the clustered +casement up to the overhanging roof. There are many flags (one with +a coat-of-arms, amber and purple on a gold ground) blazing in +the sunshine. The grim brick façade is festooned with wreaths of +freshly-plucked roses. Before the low-arched entrance on the pavement +there is a carpet of flower-petals fashioned into a monogram, bearing +the letters "M.N." Just within the entrance stands a porter, leaning +on a gold staff, as immovable in aspect as are the mediaeval walls +that close in behind him. A badge or baldric is passed across his +chest; he is otherwise so enveloped with gold-lace, embroidery, +buttons, trencher, and cocked-hat, that the whole inner man is +absorbed, not to say invisible. Beside him, in the livery of the +house, tall valets grin, lounge, and ogle the passers-by (wearers +of Leghorn hats, and veils, and white head-gear generally). This +particular Guinigi Palace belongs to Count Mario Nobili. He bought +it of the Marchesa Guinigi, who lives opposite. Nobili is the richest +young man in Lucca. No one calls upon him for help in vain; but, let +it be added, no one offends him with impunity. When Nobili first came +to Lucca, the old families looked coldly at him, his nobility being +of very recent date. It was bestowed on his father, a successful +banker--some said usurer, some said worse--by the Grand-duke Leopold, +for substantial assistance toward his pet hobby--the magnificent road +that zigzags up the mountain-side to Fiesole from Florence. + +But young Nobili soon conquered Lucchese prejudice. Now he is well +received by all--_all_ save the Marchesa Guinigi. She was, and is at +this time, still irreconcilable. Nobili stands in the central window +of his palace. He leans out over the street, a cigar in his mouth. +A servant beside him flings down from time to time some silver +coin among Leghorn hats and the beggars, who scramble for it on the +pavement. Nobili's eyes beam as the populace look up and cheer him: +"Long live Count Nobili! Evviva!" He takes off his hat and bows; more +silver coin comes clattering down on the pavement; there are fresh +evvivas, fresh bows, and more scramblers cover the street. "No one +like Nobili," the people say; "so affable, so open-handed--yes, and so +clever, too, for has he not traveled, and does he not know the world?" + +Beside Count Nobili some _jeunesse dorée_ of his own age (sons of the +best houses in Lucca) also lean over the Venetian casements. Like +the liveried giants at the entrance, these laugh, ogle, chaff, +and criticise the wearers of Leghorn hats, black veils, and white +head-gear, freely. They smoke, and drink _liqueurs_ and sherbet, and +crack sugar-plums out of crystal cup on silver plates, set on embossed +trays placed beside them. + +The profession of these young men is idleness. They excel in it. Let +us pause for a moment and ask what they do--this _jeunesse dorée_, to +whom the sacred mission is committed of regenerating an heroic people? +They could teach Ovid "the art of love." It comes to them in the air +they breathe. They do not love their neighbor as themselves, but they +love their neighbor's wives. Nothing is holy to them. "All for love, +and the world well lost," is their motto. They can smile in their best +friend's face, weep with him, rejoice with him, eat with him, drink +with him, and--betray him; they do this every day, and do it well. +They can also lie artistically, dressing up imaginary details with +great skill, gamble and sing, swear, and talk scandal. They can lead +a graceful, dissolute, _far niente_ life, loll in carriages, and be +whirled round for hours, say the Florence Cascine, the Roman Pincio, +and the park at Milan--smoking the while, and raising their hats to +the ladies. They can trot a well-broken horse--not too fresh, on a +hard road, and are wonderful in ruining his legs. A very few can +drive what they call a _stage_ (_Anglicè_, drag) with grave and +well-educated wheelers, on a very straight road--such as do this +are looked upon as heroes--shoot a hare sitting, also tom-tits and +sparrows. But they can neither hunt, nor fish, nor row. They are ready +of tongue and easy of offense. They can fight duels (with swords), +generally a harmless exercise. They can dance. They can hold strong +opinions on subjects on which they are crassly ignorant, and yield +neither to fact nor argument where their mediaeval usages are +concerned. All this the golden youths of Young Italy can do, and do it +well. + +Yet from such stuff as this are to come the future ministers, +prefects, deputies, financiers, diplomatists, and senators, who are to +regenerate the world's old mistress! Alas, poor Italy! + +The Guinigi Palace opposite forms a striking contrast to Count +Nobili's abode. It is as silent as the grave. Every shutter is closed. +The great wooden door to the street is locked; a heavy chain is drawn +across it. The Marchesa Guinigi has strictly commanded that it should +be so. She will have nothing to do with the festival of the Holy +Countenance. She will take no part in it whatever. Indeed, she has +come to Lucca on purpose to see that her orders are obeyed to the very +letter, else that rascal of a secretary might have hung out something +in spite of her. The marchesa, who has been for many years a widow, +and is absolute possessor of the palace and lands, calls herself a +liberal. But she is in practice the most thorough-going aristocrat +alive. In one respect she is a liberal. She despises priests, laughs +at miracles, and detests festivals. "A loss of time, and, if of time, +of money," she says. If the peasants and the people complain of the +taxes, and won't work six days in the week, "Let them starve," says +the marchesa--"let them starve; so much the better!" + +In her opinion, the legend of the Holy Countenance is a lie, got up by +priests for money; so she comes into the city from Corellia, and +shuts up her palace, publicly to show her opinion. As far as she is +concerned, she believes neither in St. Nicodemus nor in idleness. + +A good deal of this, be it said, _en passant_, is sheer obstinacy. The +marchesa is obstinate to folly, and full of contradictions. Besides, +there is another powerful motive that influences her--she hates Count +Nobili. Not that he has ever done any thing personally to offend her; +of this he is incapable--indeed, he has his own reasons for desiring +passionately to be on good terms with her--but he has, in her opinion, +injured her by purchasing the second Guinigi Palace. That she should +have been obliged to sell one of her ancestral palaces at all is to +her a bitter misfortune; but that any one connected with trade should +possess what had been inherited generation after generation by the +Guinigi, is intolerable. + +That a _parvenu_, the son of a banker, should live opposite to her, +that he should abound in money, which he flings about recklessly, +while she can with difficulty eke out the slender rents from the +greatly-reduced patrimony of the Guinigi, is more than she can bear. +His popularity and his liberality (and she cannot come to Lucca +without hearing of both), even that comely young face of his, which +she sees when she passes the club on the way to her afternoon drive +on the ramparts, are dire offenses in her eyes. Whatever Count Nobili +does, she (the Marchesa Guinigi) will do the reverse. He has opened +his house for the festival. Hers shall be closed. She is thoroughly +exceptional, however, in such conduct. Every one in Lucca save +herself, rich and poor, noble and villain, join heart and soul in +the national festival. Every one lays aside on this auspicious day +differences of politics, family feuds, and social animosities. Even +enemies join hands and kneel side by side at the same altar. It is the +mediaeval "God's truce" celebrated in the nineteenth century. + + * * * * * + +It is now eleven o'clock. A great deal of sausage and garlic, washed +down by new wine and light beer, has been by this time consumed in +eating-shops and on street tables; much coffee, _liqueurs_, cake, and +bonbons, inside the palaces. + +Suddenly all the church-bells, which have rung out since daybreak like +mad, stop; only the deep-toned cathedral-bell booms out from its snowy +campanile in half-minute strokes. There is an instant lull, the din +and clatter of the streets cease, the crowd surges, separates, and +disappears, the palace windows and balconies empty themselves, +the street forms are vacant. The procession in honor of the Holy +Countenance is forming; every one has rushed off to the cathedral. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA. + + +Martino, the cathedral of Lucca, stands on one side of a small piazza +behind the principal square. At the first glance, its venerable +aspect, vast proportions, and dignity of outline, do not sufficiently +seize upon the imagination; but, as the eye travels over the elaborate +façade, formed by successive galleries supported by truncated pillars, +these galleries in their turn resting on clustered columns of richest +sculpture forming the triple portals--the fine inlaid work, statues, +bass-relief, arabesques of fruit, foliage, and quaint animals--the +dome, and, above all, the campanile--light and airy as a dream, +springing upward on open arches where the sun burns hotly--the eye +comes to understand what a glorious Gothic monument it is. + +The three portals are now open. From the lofty atrium raised on broad +marble steps, with painted ceiling and sculptured walls--at one end a +bubbling fountain falling into a marble basin, at the other an arched +gate-way leading into grass-grown cloisters--the vast nave is visible +from end to end. This nave is absolutely empty. Every thing tells of +expectation, of anticipation. The mighty Lombard pillars on either +side--supporting a triforium gallery of circular arches and slender +pillars of marble fretwork, delicate as lace--are wreathed and +twined with red taffetas bound with golden bands. The gallery of the +triforium itself is draped with arras and rich draperies. Each dainty +column is decked with flags and pennons. The aisles and transepts +blaze with gorgeous hangings. Overhead saints, prophets, and martyrs, +standing immovable in the tinted glories of the stained windows, +fling broad patches of purple, emerald, and yellow, upon the intaglio +pavement. + +Along the nave (a hedge, as it were, on either side) are hung curtains +of cloth of gold. + +The high altar, inclosed by a balustrade of colored marble raised +on steps richly carpeted, glitters with gemmed chalices and crosses. +Behind, countless wax-lights illuminate the rich frescoes of the +tribune. The Chapel of the Holy Countenance (midway up the nave), +inclosed by a gilded net-work, is a dazzling mountain of light flung +from a thousand golden sconces. A black figure as large as life rests +upon the altar. It is stretched upon a cross. The eyes are white +and glassy; the thorn-crowned head leans on one side. The body +is enveloped in a damascened robe spangled with jewels. This robe +descends to the feet, which are cased in shoes of solid gold. The +right foot rests on a sacramental cup glittering with gems. On either +side are angels, with arms extended. One holds a massive sceptre, the +other the silver keys of the city of Lucca. + +All waits. The bride, glorious in her garment of needle-work, waits. +The bridegroom waits. The sacramental banquet is spread; the guests +are bidden. All waits the moment when the multitude, already buzzing +without at the western entrance, shall spread themselves over +the mosaic floor, and throng each chapel, altar, gallery, and +transept--when anthems of praise shall peal from the double doors of +the painted organ, and holy rites give a mystic language to the sacred +symbols around. + +Meanwhile the procession flashes from street to street. Banners +flutter in the hot mid-day air, tall crucifixes and golden crosses +reach to the upper stories. In the pauses the low hum of the chanted +canticles is caught up here and there along the line--now the +monks--then the canons with a nasal twang--then the laity. + +There are the judges, twelve in number, robed in black, scarlet, +and ermine, their broad crimson sashes sweeping the pavement. The +_gonfaloniere_--that ancient title of republican freedom still +remaining--walks behind, attired in antique robes. Next appear the +municipality--wealthy, oily-faced citizens, at this moment much +overcome by the heat. Following these are the Lucchese nobles, walking +two-and-two, in a precedence not prescribed by length of pedigree, but +of age. Next comes the prefect of the city; at his side the general in +command of the garrison of Lucca, escorted by a brilliant staff. Each +bears a tall lighted torch. + +The law and the army are closely followed by the church. All are +there, two-and-two--from the youngest deacon to the oldest canon--in +his robe of purple silk edged with gold--wearing a white mitre. The +church is generally corpulent; these dignitaries are no exception. + +Amid a cloud of incense walks the archbishop--a tall, stately man, +in the prime of life--under a canopy of crimson silk resting on gold +staves, borne over him by four canons habited in purple. He moves +along, a perfect mass of brocade, lace, and gold--literally aflame +in the sunshine. His mitred head is bent downward; his eyes are half +closed; his lips move. In his hands--which are raised almost level +with his face, and reverently covered by his vestments--he bears a +gemmed vessel containing the Host, to be laid by-and-by on the +altar of the Holy Countenance. All the church-bells are now ringing +furiously. Cannons fire, and military bands drown the low hum of +the chanting. Every head is uncovered--many, specially women, are +prostrate on the stones. + +Arrived at the basilica of San Frediano, the procession halts under +the Byzantine mosaic on a gold ground, over the entrance. The entire +chapter is assembled before the open doors. They kneel before the +archbishop carrying the Host. Again there is a halt before the snowy +façade of the church of San Michele, pillared to the summit with +slender columns of Carrara marble--on the topmost pinnacle a colossal +statue of the archangel, in golden bronze, the outstretched wings +glistening against the turquoise sky. Here the same ceremonies are +repeated as at the church of San Frediano. The archbishop halts, the +chanting ceases, the Host is elevated, the assembled priests adore it, +kneeling without the portal. + +It is one o'clock before the archbishop is enthroned within the +cathedral. The chapter, robed in red and purple, are ranged behind him +in the tribune at the back of the high altar, the grand old frescoes +hovering over them. The secular dignitaries are seated on benches +below the altar-steps. _Palchi_ (boxes), on either side of the +nave, are filled with Lucchese ladies, dark-haired, dark-eyed, +olive-skinned, backed by the crimson draperies with which the nave is +dressed. + +A soft fluttering of fans agitates feathers, lace, and ribbons. Fumes +of incense mix with the scent of strong perfumes. Not the smallest +attention is paid by the ladies to the mass which is celebrating at +the high altar and the altar of the Holy Countenance. Their jeweled +hands hold no missal, their knees are unbent, their lips utter no +prayer. Instead, there are bright glances from lustrous eyes, and +whispered words to favored golden youths (without religion, of +course--what has a golden youth to do with religion?) who have +insinuated themselves within the ladies seats, or lean over, gazing at +them with upturned faces. + +Peal after peal of musical thunder rolls from the double organs. It +is caught up by the two orchestras placed in gilt galleries on either +side of the nave. A vocal chorus on this side responds to exquisite +voices on that. Now a flute warbles a luscious solo, then a flageolet. +A grand barytone bursts forth, followed by a tenor soft as the notes +of a nightingale, accompanied by a boy on the violin. Then there is +the crash of many hundred voices, with the muffled roar of two organs. +It is the _Gloria in Excelsis_. As the music rolls down the pillared +nave out into the crowded piazza, where it dies away in harmonious +murmurs, an iron cresset, suspended from the vaulted ceiling of the +nave, filled with a bundle of flax, is fired. The flax blazes for a +moment, then passes away in a shower of glittering sparks that glitter +upon the inlaid floor. _Sic transit gloria mundi_ is the motto. (Now +the lighting of this flax is a special privilege accorded to the +Archbishop of Lucca by the pope, and jealously guarded by him.) + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE THREE WITCHES. + + +Many carriages wait outside the cathedral, in the shade near the +fountain. The fountain--gushing upward joyously in the beaming +sunshine out of a red-marble basin--is just beyond the atrium, +and visible through the arches on that side. Beyond the fountain, +terminating the piazza, there is a high wall. This wall supports a +broad marble terrace, with heavy balustrades, extending from the +back of a mediaeval palace. Over the wall green vine-branches trail, +sweeping the pavement, like ringlets that have fallen out of curl. +This wall and terrace communicate with the church of San Giovanni, an +ancient Lombard basilica on that side. Under the shadow of the heavy +roof some girls are trying to waltz to the sacred music from the +cathedral. After a few turns they find it difficult, and leave off. +The men in livery, waiting along with the carriages, laugh at them +lazily. The girls retreat, and group themselves on the steps of a +deeply-arched doorway with a bass-relief of the Virgin and angels, +leading into the church, and talk in low voices. + +A ragged boy from the Garfagnana, with a tray of plaster heads of +Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi, has put down his wares, and is turning +wheels upon the pavement, before the servants, for a penny. An old man +pulls out from under his cloak a dancing dog, with crimson collar and +bells, and collects a little crowd under the atrium of the cathedral. +A soldier, touched with compassion, takes a crust from his pocket to +reward the dancing dog, which, overcome by the temptation, drops on +his four legs, runs to him, and devours it, for which delinquency the +old man beats him severely. His yells echo loudly among the pillars, +and drown the rich tide of harmony that ebbs and flows through the +open portals. The beggars have betaken themselves to their accustomed +seats on the marble steps of the cathedral, San Martin of +Tours, parting his cloak--carved in alt-relief, over the central +entrance--looking down upon them encouragingly. These beggars clink +their metal boxes languidly, or sleep, lying flat on the stones. +A group of women have jammed themselves into a corner between the +cathedral and the hospital adjoining it on that side. They are waiting +to see the company pass out. Two of them standing close together are +talking eagerly. + +"My gracious! who would have thought that old witch, the Guinigi," +whispers Carlotta--Carlotta owned a little mercery-shop in a +side-street running by the palace, right under the tower--to her +gossip Brigitta, an occasional customer for cotton and buttons, "who +would have thought that she--gracious! who would have thought she +dared to shut up her palace the day of the festival? Did you see?" + +"Yes, I did," answers Brigitta. + +"Curses on her!" hisses out Carlotta, showing her black teeth. "Listen +to me, she will have a great misfortune--mark my words--a great +misfortune soon--the stingy old devil!" + +Hearing the organ at that instant, Brigitta kneels on the stones, and +crosses herself; then rises and looks at Carlotta. "St. Nicodemus will +have his revenge, never fear." + +Carlotta is still speaking. Brigitta shakes her head prophetically, +again looking at Carlotta, whose deep-sunk eyes are fixed upon her. + +"Checco says--Checco is a shoemaker, and he knows the daughter of the +man who helps the butler in Casa Guinigi--Checco says she laughs at +the Holy Countenance. Domine Dio! what an infamy!" cries Carlotta, in +a cracked voice, raising her skinny hands and shaking them in the air. +"I hate the Guinigi! I hate her! I spit on her, I curse her!" + +There is such venom in Carlotta's looks and in Carlotta's words that +Brigitta suddenly takes her eyes off a man with a red waistcoat whom +she is ogling, but who by no means reciprocates her attention, and +asks Carlotta sharply, "Why she hates the marchesa?" + +"Listen," answers Carlotta, holding up her finger. "One day, as I came +out of my little shop, _she_"--and Carlotta points with her thumb +over her shoulder toward the street of San Simone and the Guinigi +Palace--"_she_ was driving along the street in her old Noah's Ark of +a carriage. Alas! I am old and feeble, and the horses came along +quickly. I had no time to get into the little square of San Barnabo, +out of the way; the wheel struck me on the shoulder, I fell down. Yes, +I fell down on the hard pavement, Brigitta." And Carlotta sways her +grizzly head from side to side, and grasps the other's arm so tightly +that Brigitta screams. "Brigitta, the marchesa saw me. She saw me +lying there, but she never stopped nor turned her head. I lay on the +stones, sick and very sore, till a neighbor, Antonio the carpenter, +who works in the little square, a good lad, picked me up and carried +me home." + +As she speaks, Carlotta's eyes glitter like a serpent's. She shakes +all over. + +"Lord have mercy!" exclaims Brigitta, looking hard at her; "that was +bad!" Carlotta was over eighty; her face was like tanned leather, her +skin loose and shriveled; a handful of gray hair grew on the top of +her head, and was twisted up with a silver pin. Brigitta was also of a +goodly age, but younger than Carlotta, fat and portly, and round as +a barrel. She was pitted by the small-pox, and had but one eye; but, +being a widow, and well-to-do in the world, is not without certain +pretensions. She wears a yellow petticoat and a jacket trimmed with +black lace. In her hair, black and frizzly as a negro's, a rose +is stuck on one side.--The hair had been dressed that morning by a +barber, to whom she paid five francs a month for this adornment.--Some +rows of dirty seed-pearl are fastened round her fat throat; long gold +ear-rings bob in her ears, and in her hand is a bright paper fan, with +which she never ceases fanning herself. + +"She's never spent so much as a penny at my shop," Carlotta goes on to +say. "Not a penny. She'd not spare a flask of wine to a beggar +dying at her door. Stuck-up old devil! But she's ruined, ruined with +lawsuits. Ruined, I say. Ha! ha! Her time will come." + +Finding Carlotta wearisome, Brigitta's one eye has again wandered off +to the man with the red waistcoat. Carlotta sees this, watching her +out of her deep-set, glassy eyes. Speak Carlotta will, and Brigitta +shall listen, she was determined. + +"I could tell you things"--she lowers her voice and speaks into the +other's ear--"things--horrors--about Casa Guinigi!" + +Brigitta starts. "Gracious! You frighten me! What things?" + +"Ah, things that would make your hair stand on end. It is I who say +it," and Carlotta snaps her fingers and nods. + +"_You_ know things, Carlotta? You pretend to know what happens in Casa +Guinigi? Nonsense! You are mad!" + +"Am I?" retorts the other. "We shall see. Who wins boasts. I'm not so +mad, anyhow, as the marchesa, who shuts up her palace on the festival, +and offends St. Nicodemus and all the saints and martyrs," and +Carlotta's eyes flash, and her white eyebrows twitch. + +"However"--and again she lays her bony hand heavily on Brigitta's fat +arm--"if you don't want to hear what I know about Casa Guinigi, I will +not tell you." Carlotta shuts up her mouth and nods defiantly. + +This was not at all what Brigitta desired. If there was any thing to +be told, she would like to hear it. + +"Come, come, Carlotta, don't be angry. You may know much more than +I do; you are always in your shop, except on festivals. The door is +open, and you can see into the street of San Simone, up and down. But +speak low; for there are Lisa and Cassandra close behind, and they +will hear. Tell me, Carlotta, what is it?" + +Brigitta speaks very coaxingly. + +"Yes," replies the old woman, "I can see both the Guinigi palaces from +my door--both the palaces. If the marchesa knew--" + +"Go on, go on!" says Brigitta, nudging her. She leans forward to +listen. "Go on. People are coming out of the cathedral." + +Carlotta raises her head and grins, showing the few black teeth left +in her mouth. "Are they? Well, answer me. Who lives in the street +there--the street of San Simone--as well as the marchesa? Who has +a fine palace that the marchesa sold him, a palace on which he has +spent--ah! so much, so much? Who keeps open house, and has a French +cook, and fine furniture, and new clothes, and horses in his stable, +and six carriages? Who?--who?" As old Carlotta puts these questions +she sways her body to and fro, and raises her finger to her nose. + +"Who is strong, and square, and fair, and smooth?" "Who goes in and +out with a smile on his face? Who?--who?" + +"Why, Nobili, of course--Count Nobili. We all know that," answered +Brigitta, impatiently. "That's no news. But what has Nobili to do with +the marchesa?" + +"What has he to do with the marchesa? Listen, Madama Brigitta. I will +tell you. Do you know that, of all gentlemen in Lucca, the marchesa +hates Nobili?" + +"Well, and what then?" + +"She hates him because he is rich and spends his money freely, and +because she--the Guinigi--lives in the same street and sees it. It +turns sour upon her stomach, like milk in a thunder-storm. She hates +him." + +"Well, is that all?" interrupts Brigitta. + +Carlotta puts up her chin close to Brigitta's face, and clasps her +tightly by the shoulder with both her skinny hands. "That is not all. +The marchesa has her own niece, who lives with her--a doll of a girl, +with a white face--puff! not worth a feather to look at; only a cousin +of the marchesa's husband; but, she's the only one left, all the same. +They are so thin-blooded, the Guinigi, they have come to an end. The +old woman never had a child; she would have starved it." + +Carlotta lowers her voice, and speaks into Brigitta's ear. "Nobili +loves the niece. The marchesa would have the carbineers out if she +knew it." + +"Oh!" breaks from Brigitta, under her breath. "This is fine! splendid! +Are you sure of this, Carlotta? quite sure?" + +"As sure as that I like meat, and only get it on Sundays.--Sure?--I +have seen it with my own eyes. Checco knows the granddaughter of the +man who helps the cook--Nobili pays like a lord, as he is!--He spends +his money, he does!--Nobili writes to the niece, and she answers. +Listen. To-day, the marchesa shut up her palace and put a chain on +the door. But chains can be unloosed, locks broken. Enrica (that's the +niece) at daybreak comes out to the arched gate-way that opens +from the street into the Moorish garden at the farther side of the +palace--she comes out and talks to Nobili for half an hour, under +cover of the ivy that hangs over the wall on that side. Teresa, the +maid, was there too, but she stood behind. Nobili wore a long cloak +that covered him all over; Enrica had a thick veil fastened round +her head and face. They didn't see me, but I watched them from behind +Pietro's house, at the corner of the street opposite. First of all, +Enrica puts her head out of the gate-way. Teresa puts hers out next. +Then Enrica waves her hand toward the palace opposite, a side-door +opens piano, Nobili appears, and watches all round to see that no one +is near--ha! ha! his young eyes didn't spy out my old ones though, for +all that--Nobili appears, I say, then he puts his hand to his heart, +and gives such a look across the street!--Ahi! it makes my old blood +boil to see it. I was pretty once, and liked such looks.--You may +think my eyes are dim, but I can see as far as another." + +And the old hag chuckles spitefully, and winks at Brigitta, enjoying +her surprise. + +"Madre di Dio!" exclaims this one. "There will be fine work." + +"Yes, truly, very fine work. The marchesa shall know it; all Lucca +shall know it too--mark my words, all Lucca! Curses on the Guinigi +root and branch! I will humble them! Curses on them!" mumbles +Carlotta. + +"And what did Nobili do?" asks Brigitta. + +"Do?--Why, seeing no one, he came across and kissed Enrica's hand; I +saw it. He made as if he would have knelt upon the stones, only she +would not let him. Then they whispered for, as near as I can guess, +half an hour--Teresa standing apart. There was the sound of a cart +then coming along the street, and presto!--Enrica was within the +garden in an instant, the gate was closed, and Nobili disappeared." + +Any further talk is now cut short by the approach of Cassandra, +a friend of Brigitta's. Cassandra is a servant in a neighboring +eating-house, a tall, large-boned woman, a colored handkerchief tied +over her head, and much tawdry jewelry about her hands and neck. + +"What are you two chattering about?" asks Cassandra sharply. "It seems +entertaining. What's the news? I get paid for news at my shop. Tell me +directly." + +"Lotta here was only relating to me all about her grandchild," answers +Brigitta, with a whine.--Brigitta was rather in dread of Cassandra, +whose temper was fierce, and who, being strong, knocked people down +occasionally if they offended her. + +"Lotta was telling me, too, that she wants fresh stores for her shop, +but all her money is gone to the grandchild in the hospital, who is +ill, very ill!" and Brigitta sighs and turns up the whites of her +eyes. + +"Yes, yes," joins in Carlotta, a dismal look upon her shriveled old +face. "Yes--it is just that. All the money gone to the grandchild, +the son of my Beppo--that's the soldier who is with the king's +army.--Alas! all gone; my money, my son, and all." + +Here Carlotta affects to groan and wring her hands despairingly. + +The mass was now nearly over; many people were already leaving the +cathedral; but the swell of the organs and the sweet tones of voices +still burst forth from time to time. Festive masses are always +long. It might not seem so to the pretty ladies in the boxes, still +perseveringly fanning themselves, nor to the golden youths who +were diverting them; but the prospect of dinner and a siesta was a +temptation stronger than the older portion of the congregation could +resist. By twos and threes they slipped out. + +This is the moment for the three women to use their eyes and their +tongues--very softly indeed--for they were now elbowed by some of the +best people in Lucca--but to use them. + +"There's Baldassare, the chemist's son," whispers Brigitta, who was +using her one eye diligently. + +"Mercy! That new coat was never cut in Lucca. They need sell many +drugs at papa-chemist's to pay for Baldassare's clothes. Why, he's +combed and scented like a spice-tree. He's a good-looking fellow; +the great ladies like him." This was said with a knock-me-down air by +Cassandra. "He dines at our place every day. It's a pleasure to see +his black curls and smell his scented handkerchief." + +A cluster of listeners had now gathered round Cassandra, who, +conscious of an audience, thought it worth her while to hold forth. +Shaking out the folds of her gown, she leaned her back against the +wall, and pointed with a finger on which were some trumpery rings. +Cassandra knew everybody, and was determined to make those about her +aware of it. "That's young Count Orsetti and his mamma; they give a +grand ball to-night." (Cassandra is standing on tiptoe now, the better +to observe those who pass.) "There she goes to her carriage. Ahi! how +grand! The coachman and the valet with gold-lace and silk stockings. +I would fast for a week to ride once in such a carriage. Oh! I would +give any thing to splash the mud in people's faces. She's a fine +woman--the Orsetti. Observe her light hair. Madonna mia! What a +train of silk! Twelve shillings a yard--not a penny less. She's got a +cavaliere still.--He! he! a cavaliere!" + +Carlotta grins, and winks her wicked old eyes. "She wants to marry +her son to Teresa Ottolini. He's a poor silly little fellow; but +rich--very rich." + +"Who's that fat man in a brown coat?" asks Brigitta. "He's like a +maggot in a fresh nut!" + +"That's my master--a fine-made man," answers Cassandra, frowning and +pinching in her lips, with an affronted air, "Take care what you say +about my master, Brigitta; I shall allow no observations." + +Brigitta turns aside, puts her tongue in her cheek, and glances +maliciously at Carlotta, who nods. + +"How do you know how your master is made, Cassandra mia?" asks +Brigitta, looking round, with a short laugh. + +"Because I have eyes in my head," replies Cassandra, defiantly. "My +master, the padrone of the Pelican Hotel, is not a man one sees every +day in the week!" + +A tall priest now appears from within the church, coming down the +nave, in company with a rosy-faced old gentleman, who, although using +a stick, walks briskly and firmly. He has a calm and pleasant face, +and his hair, which lies in neat little curls upon his forehead, is +as white as snow. One moment the rosy old gentleman talks eagerly +with the priest; the next he sinks upon his knees on the pavement, +and murmurs prayers at a side altar. He does this so abruptly that +the tall priest stumbles over him. There are many apologies, and many +bows. Then the old gentleman rises, dusts his clothes carefully with +a white handkerchief, and walks on, talking eagerly as before. Both +he and the priest bend low to the high altar, dip their fingers in the +holy-water, cross themselves, bend again to the altar, turning right +and left--before leaving the cathedral. + +"That's Fra Pacifico," cries Carlotta, greatly excited--"Fra Pacifico, +the Marchesa Guinigi's chaplain. He's come down from Corellia for the +festival."--Carlotta is proud to show that she knows somebody, as well +as Cassandra. "When he is in Lucca, Fra Pacifico passes my shop every +morning to say mass in the marchesa's private chapel. He knows all her +sins." + +"And the old gentleman with him," puts in Cassandra, twitching her +hook nose, "is old Trenta--Cesare Trenta, the cavaliere. Bless his +dear old face! The duke loved him well. He was chamberlain at the +palace. He's a gentleman all over, is Cavaliere Trenta. There--there. +Look!"--and she points eagerly--"that's the Red count, Count +Marescotti, the republican." + +Cassandra lowers her voice, afraid to be overheard, and fixes her eyes +on a man whose every feature and gesture proclaimed him an aristocrat. + +Excited by the grandeur of the service, Marescotti's usually pale face +is suffused with color; his large black eyes shine with inner lights. +Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he walks through the +atrium, straight down the marble steps, into the piazza. As he passes +the three women they draw back against the wall. There is a dignity +about Marescotti that involuntarily awes them. + +"That's the man for the people!"--Cassandra still speaks under her +breath.--"He'll give us a republic yet." + +Following close on Count Marescotti comes Count Nobili. There are ease +and conscious strength and freedom in his every movement. He pauses +for a moment on the uppermost step under the central arch of the +atrium and gazes round. The sun strikes upon his fresh-complexioned +face and lights up his fair hair and restless eyes.--It is clear +to see no care has yet troubled that curly head of his.--Nobili +is closely followed by a lady of mature age, dark, thin, and +sharp-featured. She has a glass in her eye, with which she peers at +every thing and everybody. This is the Marchesa Boccarini. She is +followed by her three daughters; two of them of no special attraction, +but the youngest, Nera, dark and strikingly handsome. These three +young ladies, all matrimonially inclined, but Nera specially, had +carefully watched the instant when Nobili left his seat. Then they had +followed him closely. It was intended that he should escort them home. +Nera has already decided what she will say to him touching the Orsetti +ball that evening and the cotillon, which she means to dance with +him if she can. But Nobili, with whom they come up under the portico, +merely responds to their salutation with a low bow, raises his hat, +and stands aside to make way for them. He does not even offer to hand +them to their carriage. They pass, and are gone. + +As Count Nobili descends the three steps into the piazza, he is +conscious that all eyes are fixed upon him; that every head is +uncovered. He pauses, casts his eyes round at the upturned faces, +raises his hat and smiles, then puts his hand into his pocket, and +takes out a gold-piece, which he gives to the nearest beggar. The +beggar, seizing the gold-piece, blesses him, and hopes that "Heaven +will render to him according to his merits." Other beggars, from every +corner, are about to rush upon him; but Nobili deftly escapes from +these as he had escaped from the Marchesa Boccarini and her daughters, +and is gone. + +"A lucky face," mumbles old Carlotta, working her under lip, as she +fixes her bleared eyes on him--"a lucky face! He will choose the +winning number in the lottery, and the evil eye will never harm him." + +The music had now ceased. The mass was over. The vast congregation +poured through the triple doors into the piazza, and mingled with +the outer crowd. For a while both waved to and fro, like billows on +a rolling sea, then settled down into one compact current, which, +flowing onward, divided and dispersed itself through the openings into +the various streets abutting on the piazza. + +Last of all, Carlotta, Brigitta, and Cassandra, leave their corner. +They are speedily engulfed in the shadows of a neighboring alley, and +are seen no more. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MARCHESA GUINIGI. + + +The stern and repulsive aspect of the exterior of the Marchesa +Guinigi's palace belied the antique magnificence within. + +Turning to the right under an archway from the damp, moss-grown court +over which the tower throws a perpetual shadow, a broad staircase, +closed by a door of open ironwork, leads to the first story (the +_piano nobile_). Here an anteroom, with Etruscan urns and fragments +of mediaeval sculpture let into the walls, gives access to a great +_sala_, or hall, where Paolo Guinigi entertained the citizens and +magnates of Lucca with sumptuous hospitality. + +The vaulted ceiling, divided into compartments by heavy panels, is +profusely gilt, and painted in fresco by Venetian masters; but the +gold is dulled by age, and the frescoes are but dingy patches of what +once was color. The walls, ornamented with Flemish tapestry, represent +the Seven Labors of Hercules--the bright colors all faded out +and blurred like the frescoes. Above, on the surface of polished +walnut-wood, between the tapestry and the ceiling, are hung suits of +mail, helmets, shields, swords, lances, and tattered banners. + +Every separate piece has its history. Each lance, in the hand of some +mediaeval hero of the name, has transfixed a foe, every sword has been +dyed in the life-blood of a Ghibelline. + +At the four corners of the hall are four doorways corresponding +to each other. Before each doorway hang curtains of Genoa velvet, +embroidered in gold with the Guinigi arms surmounted by a princely +coronet. Time has mellowed these once crimson curtains to dingy red. +From the hall, entered by these four doors, open out endless suites +of rooms, enriched with the spoils of war and the splendor of feudal +times. Not a chair, not a table, has been renewed, or even shifted +from its place, since the fourteenth century, when Paolo Guinigi +reigned absolute in Lucca. + +On first entering, it is difficult to distinguish any thing in the +half-light. The narrow Gothic casements of the whole floor are closed, +both those toward the street and those facing inward upon the inner +court. The outer wooden shutters are also closely fastened. The +marchesa would consider it a sacrilege to allow light or even outer +air to penetrate in these rooms, sacred to the memory of her great +ancestors. + +First in order after the great hall is a long gallery paneled with +dark marble. It has a painted ceiling, and a mosaic floor. Statues and +antique busts, presented by the emperor to Paolo Guinigi, are ranged +on either side. This gallery leads through various antechambers to +the retiring-room, where, in feudal times, the consort of the reigning +lord presided when the noble dames of Lucca visited her on state +occasions--a victory gained over the Pisans or Florentines--the +conquest of a rebellious city, Pistoia perhaps--the birth of a son; +or--the anniversary of national festivals. Pale-blue satin stuffs and +delicate brocades, crossed with what was once glittering threads of +gold, cover the walls. Rows of Venetian-glass chandeliers, tinted +in every shade of loveliest color, fashioned into colored knots, +pendants, and flowers, hang from the painted rafters. Mirrors, set +in ponderous frames of old Florentine gilding, dimly reflect every +object; narrow, high-backed chairs and carved wooden benches, +sculptured mosaic tables and ponderous sideboards covered with choice +pottery from Gubbio and Savona, and Lucca della Robbia ware. Sunk +in recesses there are dark cupboards filled with mediaeval salvers, +goblets, and flagons, gold dishes, and plates, and vessels of filigree +and silver. Ivory carvings hang on the walls beside dingy pictures, +or are ranged on tables of Sicilian agate and Oriental jasper. Against +the walls are also placed cabinets and caskets of carved walnut-wood +and ebony inlaid with lapis-lazuli, jasper, and precious stones; also +long, narrow coffers, richly carved, within which the _corredo_, or +_trousseau_, of rich brides who had matched with a Guinigi, was laid. + +Beyond the retiring-room is the presence-chamber. On a dais, raised +on three broad steps, stands a chair of state, surmounted by a +dark-velvet canopy. Above appear the Guinigi arms, worked in gold and +black, tarnished now, as is the glory of the illustrious house they +represent. Overhead are suspended two cardinal's hats, dropping to +pieces with moth and mildew. On the wall opposite the dais, between +two ranges of narrow Venetian windows, looking into the court-yard, +hangs the historic portrait of Castruccio Castracani degli Antimelli, +the Napoleon of the middle ages, whose rapid conquests raised Lucca to +a sovereign state. + +The name of the great Castruccio (whose mother was a Guinigi) is +the glory of the house, his portrait more precious than any other +possession. + +A gleam of ruddy light strikes through a crevice in a red curtain +opposite; it falls full upon the chair of state. That chair is +not empty; a tall, dark figure is seated there. It is the Marchesa +Guinigi. She is so thin and pale and motionless, she might pass for a +ghost herself, haunting the ghosts of her ancestors! + +It is her custom twice a year, on the anniversary of the birth and +death of Castruccio Castracani--to-day is the anniversary of +his death--to unlock the door leading from the hall into these +state-apartments, and to remain here alone for many hours. The key is +always about her person, attached to her girdle. No other foot but her +own is ever permitted to tread these floors. + +She sits in the half-light, lost in thought as in a dream. Her head is +raised, her arms are extended over the sides of the antique chair; her +long, white hands hang down listlessly. Her eyes wander vaguely along +the floor; gradually they raise themselves to the portrait of her +great ancestor opposite. How well she knows every line and feature of +that stern but heroic countenance, every dark curl upon that classic +head, wreathed with ivy-leaves; that full, expressive eye, +aquiline nose, open nostril, and chiseled lip; every fold in that +ermine-bordered mantle--a present from the emperor, after the victory +of Altopasso, and the triumph of the Ghibellines! Looking into the +calmness of that impressive face, in the mystery of the darkened +presence-chamber, she can forget that the greatness of her house is +fallen, the broad lands sold or mortgaged, the treasures granted +by the state lavished, one even of the ancestral palaces sold; nay, +worse, not only sold, but desecrated by commerce in the person of +Count Nobili. + +Seated there, on the seigneurial chair, under the regal canopy, she +can forget all this. For a few short hours she can live again in the +splendor of the past--the past, when a Guinigi was the equal of kings, +his word more absolute than law, his frown more terrible than death! + +Before the marchesa is a square table of dark marble, on which in old +time was laid the sword of state (a special insignia of office), +borne before the Lord of Lucca in public processions, embassies, and +tournaments. This table is now covered with small piled-up heaps of +gold and silver coin (the gold much less in quantity than the silver). +There are a few jewels, and some diamond pendants in antique settings, +a diamond necklace, crosses, medals, and orders, and a few uncut gems +and antique intaglios. + +The marchesa takes up each object and examines it. She counts the +gold-pieces, putting them back again one by one in rows, by tens and +twenties. She handles the crisp bank-notes. She does this over and +over again so slowly and so carefully, it would seem, as if she +expected the money to grow under her fingers. She has placed all in +order before her--the jewels on one side, the money and the notes on +the other. As she moves them to and fro on the smooth marble with the +points of her long fingers, she shakes her head and sighs. Then she +touches a secret spring, and a drawer opens from under the table. Into +this drawer she deposits all that lies before her, her fingers still +clinging to the gold. + +After a while she rises, and casting a parting glance at the portrait +of Castruccio--among all her ancestors Castruccio was the object of +her special reverence--she moves leisurely onward through the various +apartments lying beyond the presence-chamber. + +The doors, draped with heavy tapestry curtains, are all open. It is a +long, gloomy suite of rooms, where the sun never shines, looking into +the inner court. + +The marchesa's steps are noiseless, her countenance grave and pale. +Here and there she pauses to gaze into the face of a picture, or to +brush off the dust from some object specially dear to her. She pauses, +minutely observing every thing around her. + +There is a dark closet, with a carved wooden cornice and open raftered +roof, the walls covered with stamped leather. Here the family councils +assembled. Next comes a long, narrow, low-roofed gallery, where row +after row of portraits and pictures illustrate the defunct Guinigi. In +that centre panel hangs Francesco dei Guinigi, who, for courtesy and +riches, surpassed all others in Lucca. (Francesco was the first to +note the valor of his young cousin Castruccio, to whom he taught the +art of war.) Near him hangs the portrait of Ridolfo, who triumphantly +defeated Uguccione della Faggiola, the tyrant of Pisa, under the +very walls of that city. Farther on, at the top of the room, is the +likeness of the great Paolo himself--a dark, olive-skinned man, with +a hard-lipped mouth, and resolute eyes, clad in a complete suit of +gold-embossed armor. By Paolo's side appears Battista, who followed +the Crusades, and entered Jerusalem with Godfrey de Bouillon; also +Gianni, grand-master of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John--the +golden rose presented to him by the pope in the corner of the picture. + +After the gallery come the armory and the chapel. Beyond at the end +of the vaulted passage, lighted from above, there is a closed door of +dark walnut-wood. + +When the marchesa enters this vaulted passage, her firm, quick step +falters. As she approaches the door, she is visibly agitated. Her hand +trembles as she places it on the heavy outside lock. The lock yields; +the door opens with a creak. She draws aside a heavy curtain, then +stands motionless. + +There is such a mist of dust, such a blackness of shadow, that +at first nothing is visible. Gradually, as the daylight faintly +penetrates by the open door, the shadows form themselves into definite +shapes. + +Within a deep alcove, inclosed by a balustrade, stands a bed--its +gilt cornice reaching to the ceiling, heavily curtained. This is the +nuptial-chamber of the Guinigi. Within that alcove, and in that bed, +generation after generation have seen the light. Not to be born in the +nuptial-chamber, and in that bed within the ancestral palace, is not +to be a true Guinigi. + +The marchesa has taken a step or two forward into the room. There, +wrapped in the shadows, she stands still and trembles. A terrible look +has come into her face--sorrow, and longing, and remorse. The history +of her whole life rises up before her. + +"Is the end, then, come?" she asks herself--"and with me?" + +From pale she had turned ashy. The long shadows from the dark curtains +stretch out and engulf her. She feels their dark touch, like a visible +presence of evil, she shivers all over. The cold damp air of the chill +room comes to her like wafts of deadly poison. She cannot breathe; a +convulsive tremor passes over her. + +She totters to the door, and leans for support against the side. Yet +she will not go; she forces herself to remain. To stand here, in this +room, before that bed, is her penance. To stand here like a criminal! +Ah, God! is she not childless? Why has she (and her hands are +clinched, and her breath comes thick), why has she been stricken with +barrenness? + +"Why, why?" she asks herself now, as she has asked herself year after +year, each year with a fresh agony. Until she came, a son had never +failed under that roof. Why was she condemned to be alone? She had +done nothing to deserve it. Had she not been a blameless wife? Why, +why was she so punished? Her haughty spirit stirs within her. + +"God is unjust," she mutters, half aloud. "God is my enemy." + +As the impious words fall from her lips they ring round the dark bed, +and die away among the black draperies. The echo of her own voice +fills her with dread. She rushes out. The door closes heavily after +her. + +Once removed from that fatal chamber, with its death-like shadows, she +gradually collects herself. She has so long fortified herself against +all sign of outward emotion, she has so hardened herself in an inner +life of secret remorse, this is easy--at least to outward appearance. +The calm, frigid look natural to her face returns. Her eyes have again +their dark sparkle. Not a trace remains to tell what her self-imposed +penance has cost her. + +Again she is the proud marchesa, the mistress of the feudal palace and +all its glorious memories.--Yes; and she casts her eyes round where +she stands, back again in the retiring-room. Yes--all is yet her own. +True, she is impoverished--worse, she is laden with debt, harassed by +creditors. The lands that are left are heavily mortgaged; the money +received from Count Nobili, as the price of the palace, already spent +in law. The hoard she has just counted--her savings--destined to dower +her niece Enrica, in whose marriage lies the sole remaining hope of +the preservation of the name (and that depending on the will of a +husband, who may, or may not, add the name of Guinigi to his own) is +most slender. She has been able to add nothing to it during these last +years--not a farthing. But there is one consolation. While she lives, +all is safe from spoliation. While she lives, no creditor lives bold +enough to pass that threshold. While she lives--and then? + +Further she forbids her thoughts to wander. She will not admit, even +to herself, that there is danger--that even, during her own life, she +may be forced to sell what is dearer to her than life--the palace and +the heirlooms! + +Meanwhile the consciousness of wealth is pleasant to her. She opens +the cupboards in the wall, and handles the precious vessels of +Venetian glass, the silver plates and golden flagons, the jeweled +cups; she examines the ancient bronzes and ivory carvings; unlocks the +caskets and the inlaid cabinets, and turns over the gold guipure lace, +the rich mediaeval embroideries, the christening-robes--these she +flings quickly by--and the silver ornaments. She uncloses the carved +coffers, and passes through her long fingers the wedding garments of +brides turned to dust centuries ago--the silver veils, bridal crowns, +and quaintly-cut robes of taffetas and brocade, once white, now turned +to dingy yellow. She assures herself that all is in its place. + +As she moves to and fro she catches sight of herself reflected in one +of the many mirrors encased in what were once gorgeous frames hanging +on the wall. She stops and fixes her keen black eyes upon her own worn +face. "I am not old," she says aloud, "only fifty-five this year. I +may live many years yet. Much may happen before I die! Cesare Trenta +says I am ruined"--as she speaks, she turns her face toward the +streaks of light that penetrate the shutters.--"Not yet, not ruined +yet. Who knows? I may live to redeem all. Cesare said I was ruined +after that last suit with the chapter. He is a fool! The money was +well spent. I would do it again. While I live the name of Guinigi +shall be honored." She pauses, as if listening to the sound of her own +voice. Then her thoughts glance off to the future. "Who knows? Enrica +shall marry; that may set all right. She shall have all--all!" And she +turns and gazes earnestly through the open doors of the stately rooms +on either hand. "Enrica shall marry; marry as I please. She must have +no will in the matter." + +She stops suddenly, remembering certain indications of quiet self-well +which she thinks she has already detected in her niece. + +"If not"--(the mere supposition that her plans should be +thwarted--thwarted by her niece, Enrica--a child, a tool--brought up +almost upon her charity--rouses in her a tempest of passion; her face +darkens, her eyes flash; she clinches her fist with sudden vehemence, +she shakes it in the air)--"if not--let her die!" Her shrill voice +wakes the echoes. "Let her die!" resounds faintly through the gilded +rooms. + +At this moment the cathedral-clock strikes four. This is the first +sound that has reached the marchesa from the outer world since she has +entered these rooms. It rouses her from the thralldom of her thoughts. +It recalls her to the outer world. Four o'clock! Then she has been +shut up for five hours! She must go at once, or she may be missed by +her household. If she is missed, she may be followed--watched. Casting +a searching look round, to assure herself that all is in its place, +she takes from her girdle the key she always wears, and lets herself +out into the great hall. She relocks the door, drawing the velvet +curtains carefully over it. With greater caution she unfastens the +other door (the entrance) on the staircase. Peeping through the +curtains, she assures herself that no one is on the stairs. Then +she softly recloses it, and rapidly ascends the stairs to the second +story. + +That day six months, on the anniversary of Castruccio's birth, which +falls in the month of March, she will return again to the state-rooms. +No one has ever accompanied her on these strange vigils. Only her +friend, the Cavaliere Trenta, knows that she goes there. Even to him +she rarely alludes to it. It is her own secret. Her inner life is with +the past. Her thoughts rest with the dead. It is the living who are +but shadows. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ENRICA. + + +The marchesa was in a very bad humor. Not only did she stay at home +all the day of the festival of the Holy Countenance by reason of the +solemn anniversary which occurred at that time, but she shut herself +up the following day also. When the old servant (old inside and out) +in his shabby livery, who acted as butler, crept into her room, +and asked at what time "the eccellenza would take her airing on the +ramparts"--the usual drive of the Lucchese ladies--when they not only +drive, but draw up under the plane-trees, gossip, and eat sweetmeats +and ices--she had answered, in a tone she would have used to a +decrepit dog who troubled her, "Shut the door and begone!" + +She had been snappish to Enrica. She had twitted her with wanting to +go to the Orsetti ball, although Enrica had never been to any ball or +any assembly whatever in her life, and no word had been spoken about +it. Enrica never did speak; she had been disciplined into silence. + +Enrica, as has been said, was the marchesa's niece, and lived with +her. She was the only child of her sister, who died when she was +born. This sister (herself, as well as the marchesa, _born_ Guinigi +Ruscellai) had also married a Guinigi, a distant cousin of the +marchesa's husband, belonging to a third branch of the family, settled +at Mantua. Of this collateral branch, all had died out. Antonio +Guinigi, of Mantua, Enrica's father, in the prime of life, was killed +in a duel, resulting from one of those small social affronts that +so frequently do provoke duels in Italy. (I knew a certain T---- who +called out a certain G---- because G---- had said T----'s rooms were +not properly carpeted.) Generally these encounters with swords are +as trifling in their results as in their origin. But the duel in +question, fought by Antonio Guinigi, was unfortunately not so. He died +on the spot. Enrica, when two years old, was an orphan. Thus it came +that she had known no home but the home of her aunt. The marchesa had +never shown her any particular kindness. She had ordered her servants +to take care of her. That was all. Scarcely ever had she kissed her; +never passed her hand among the sunny curls that fell upon the quiet +child's face and neck. The marchesa, in fact, had not so much as +noticed her childish beauty and enticing ways. + +Enrica had grown up accustomed to bear with her aunt's haughty, +ungracious manners and capricious temper. She scarcely knew that there +was any thing to bear. She had been left to herself as long as she +could remember any thing. A peasant--Teresa, her foster-mother--had +come with her from Mantua, and from Teresa alone she received such +affection as she had ever known. A mere animal affection, however, +which lost its value as she grew into womanhood. + +Thus it was that Enrica came to accept the marchesa's rough tongue, +her arrogance, and her caprices, as a normal state of existence. She +never complained. If she suffered, it was in silence. To reason with +the marchesa, much more dispute with her, was worse than useless. She +was not accustomed to be talked to, certainly not by her niece. It +only exasperated her and fixed her more doggedly in whatever purpose +she might have in hand. But there was a certain stern sense of justice +about her when left to herself--if only the demon of her family pride +were not aroused, then she was inexorable--that would sometimes come +to the rescue. Yet, under all the tyranny of this neutral life which +circumstances had imposed on her, Enrica, unknown to herself--for +how should she, who knew so little, know herself?--grew up to have a +strong will. She might be bent, but she would never break. In this she +resembled the marchesa. Gentle, loving, and outwardly submissive, +she was yet passively determined. Even the marchesa came to be dimly +conscious of this, although she considered it as utterly unimportant, +otherwise than to punish and to repress. + +Shut up within the dreary palace at Lucca, or in the mountain solitude +of Corellia, Enrica yearned for freedom. She was like a young bird, +full-fledged and strong, that longs to leave the parent-nest--to +stretch its stout wings on the warm air--to soar upward into the +light! + +Now the light had come to Enrica. It came when she first saw Count +Nobili. It shone in her eyes, it dazzled her, it intoxicated her. On +that day a new world opened before her--a fair and pleasant world, +light with the dawn of love--a world as different as golden summer +to the winter of her home. How she gloried in Nobili! How she loved +him!--his comely looks, his kindling smile (like sunshine everywhere), +his lordly ways, his triumphant prosperity! He had come to her, she +knew not how. She had never sought him. He had come--come like fate. +She never asked herself if it was wrong or right to love him. How +could she help it? Was he not born to be loved? Was he not her own--a +thousand times her own--as he told her--"forever?" She believed in +him as she believed in God. She neither knew nor cared whither she was +drifting, so that it was with him! She was as one sailing with a fair +wind on an endless sea--a sea full of sunlight--sailing she knew +not where! Think no evil of her, I pray you. She was not wicked nor +deceitful--only ignorant, with such ignorance as made the angels fall. + +As yet Nobili and Enrica had only met in such manner as has been told +by old Carlotta to her gossip Brigitta. Letters, glances, sighs, +had passed across the street, from palace to palace at the Venetian +casements--under the darkly-ivied archway of the Moorish garden--at +the cathedral in the gray evening light, or in the earliest glow of +summer mornings--and this, so seldom! Every time they had met Nobili +implored Enrica, passionately, to escape from the thralldom of her +life, implored her to become his wife. With his pleading eyes fixed +upon her, he asked her "why she should sacrifice him to the senseless +pride of her aunt? He whose whole life was hers?" + +But Enrica shrank from compliance, with a secret sense that she had +no right to do what he asked; no right to marry without her aunt's +consent. Her love was her own to give. She had thought it all out +for herself, pacing up and down under the cool marble arcades of the +Moorish garden, the splash of the fountain in her ears--Teresa had +told her the same--her love was her own to give. What had her aunt +done for her, her sister's child, but feed and clothe her? Indeed, +as Teresa said, the marchesa had done but little else. Enrica was +as unconscious as Teresa of those marriage schemes of her aunt which +centred in herself. Had she known what was reserved for her, she would +better have understood the marchesa's nature; then she might have +acted differently. But heretofore there had been no question of her +marriage. Although she was seventeen, she had always been treated as a +mere child. She scarcely dared to speak in her aunt's presence, or to +address a question to her. Her love, then, she thought, was her own to +bestow; but more?--No, no even to Nobili. He urged, he entreated, he +reproached her, but in vain. He implored her to inform the marchesa +of their engagement. (Nobili could not offer to do this himself; the +marchesa would have refused to admit him within her door.) But Enrica +would not consent to do even this. She knew her aunt too well to trust +her with her secret. She knew that she was both subtle, and, where her +own plans were concerned, or her will thwarted, treacherous also. + +Enrica had been taught not only to obey the marchesa implicitly, but +never to dispute her will. Hitherto she had had no will but hers. +How, then, could she all at once shake off the feeling of awe, almost +terror, with which her aunt inspired her? Besides, was not the very +sound of Nobili's name abhorrent to her? Why the marchesa should +abhor him or his name, Enrica could not tell. It was a mystery to her +altogether beyond her small experience of life. But it was so. No, she +would say nothing; that was safest. The marchesa, if displeased, was +quite capable of carrying her away from Lucca to Corellia--perhaps +leaving her there alone in the mountains. She might even shut her up +in a convent for life!--Then she should die! + +No, she would say nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME. + + +The marchesa was, as I have said, in a very bad humor. She had by no +means recovered from what she conceived to be the affront put upon her +by the brilliant display made by Count Nobili, at the festival of the +Holy Countenance, nor, indeed, from the festival itself. + +She had had the satisfaction of shutting up her palace, it is true; +but she was not quite sure if this had impressed the public mind of +Lucca as she had intended. She felt painful doubts as to whether the +splendors opposite had not so entirely engrossed public attention that +no eye was left to observe any thing else--at least, in that street. +It was possible, she thought, that another year it might be wiser not +to shut up her palace at all, but so far to overcome her feelings as +to exhibit the superb hangings, the banners, the damask, and cloth of +gold, used in the mediaeval festivals and processions, and thus outdo +the modern tinsel of Count Nobili. + +Besides the festival, and Count Nobili's audacity, the marchesa had a +further cause for ill-humor. No one had come on that evening to play +her usual game of whist. Even Trenta had deserted her. She had said +to herself that when she--the Marchesa Guinigi--"received," no other +company, no other engagement whatever, ought to interfere with the +honor that her company conferred. These were valid causes of ill-humor +to any lady of the marchesa's humor. + +She was seated now in the sitting-room of her own particular suite, +one of three small and rather stuffy rooms, on the second floor. These +rooms consisted of an anteroom, covered with a cretonne paper of blue +and brown, a carpetless floor, a table, and some common, straw chairs +placed against the wall. From the anteroom two doors led into two +bedrooms, one on either side. Another door, opposite the entrance, +opened into the sitting-room. + +All the windows this way faced toward the garden, the wall of which +ran parallel to the palace and to the street. The marchesa's room +had flaunting green walls with a red border; the ceiling was gaudily +painted with angels, flowers, and festoons. Some colored prints hung +on the walls--a portrait of the Empress Eugénie on horseback, in a +Spanish dress, and four glaring views of Vesuvius in full eruption. A +divan, covered with well-worn chintz, ran round two sides of the +room. Between the ranges of the graceful casements stood a marble +console-table, with a mirror in a black frame. An open card-table +was placed near the marchesa. On the table there was a pack of not +over-clean cards, some markers, and a pair of candles (the candles +still unlighted, for the days are long, and it is only six o'clock). +There was not a single ornament in the whole room, nor any object +whatever on which the eye could rest with pleasure. White-cotton +curtains concealed the delicate tracery and the interlacing columns of +the Venetian windows. Beneath lay the Moorish garden, entered from +the street by an arched gate-way, over which long trails of ivy hung. +Beautiful in itself, the Moorish garden was an incongruous appendage +to a Gothic palace. One of the Guinigi, commanding for the Emperor +Charles V. in Spain, saw Granada and the Alhambra. On his return to +Lucca, he built this architectural plaisance on a bare plot of ground, +used for jousts and tilting. That is its history. There it has been +since. It is small--a city garden--belted inside by a pointed arcade +of black-and-white marble. + +In the centre is a fountain. The glistening waters shoot upward +refreshingly in the warm evening air, to fall back on the heads of +four marble lions, supporting a marble basin. Fine white gravel covers +the ground, broken by statues and vases, and tufts of flowering shrubs +growing luxuriantly under the shelter of the arcade--many-colored +altheas, flaming pomegranates, graceful pepper-trees with bright, +beady seeds, and magnolias, as stalwart as oaks, hanging over the +fountain. + +The strong perfume of the magnolia-blossoms, still white upon +the boughs, is wafted upward to the open window of the marchesa's +sitting-room; the sun is low, and the shadows of the pointed arches +double themselves upon the ground. Shadows, too, high up the horizon, +penetrate into the room, and strike across the variegated scagliola +floor, and upon a table in the centre, on which a silver tray is +placed, with glasses of lemonade. Round the table are ranged chairs of +tarnished gilding, and a small settee with spindle-legs. + +In her present phase of life, the squalor of these rooms is congenial +to the marchesa. Hitherto reckless of expense, especially in law, she +has all at once grown parsimonious to excess. As to the effect this +change may produce on others, and whether this mode of life is in +keeping with the stately palace she inhabits, the marchesa does not +care in the least; it pleases her, that is enough. All her life she +has been quite clear on two points--her belief in herself, and her +belief in the name she bears. + +The marchesa leans back on a high-backed chair and frowns. To frown is +so habitual to her that the wrinkles on her forehead and between her +eyebrows are prematurely deepened. She has a long, sallow face, a +straight nose, keen black eyes, a high forehead, and a thin-lipped +mouth. She is upright, and well made; and the folds of her plain black +dress hang about her tall figure with a certain dignity. Her dark +hair, now sprinkled with white, is fully dressed, the bands combed low +on her forehead. She wears no ornament, except the golden cross of a +_chanoinesse._ + +As she leans back on her high-backed chair she silently observes her +niece, seated near the open window, knitting. + +"If she had been my child!" was the marchesa's thought. "Why was I +denied a child?" And she sighed. + +The rays of the setting sun dance among the ripples of Enrica's blond +hair, and light up the dazzling whiteness of her skin. Seen thus in +profile, although her features are regular, and her expression full +of sweetness, it is rather the promise than the perfection of actual +beauty--the rose-bud--by-and-by to expand into the perfect flower. + +There was a knock at the door, and a ruddy old face looked in. It +is the Cavaliere Trenta, in his official blue coat and gold buttons, +nankeen inexpressibles, a broad-brimmed white hat and a gold-headed +cane in his hand. Whatever speck of dust might have had the audacity +to venture to settle itself upon any part of the cavaliere's official +blue coat, must at once have hidden its diminished head after peeping +at the cavaliere's beaming countenance, so scrubbed and shiny, the +white hair so symmetrically arranged upon his forehead in little +curls--his whole appearance so neat and trim. + +"Is it permitted to enter?" he asked, smiling blandly at the marchesa, +as, leaning upon his stick, he made her a ceremonious bow. + +"Yes, Cesarino, yes, you may enter," she replied, stiffly. "I cannot +very well send you away now--but you deserve it." + +"Why, most distinguished lady?" again asked Trenta, submissively, +closing the door, and advancing to where she sat. He bent down his +head and kissed her hand, then smiled at Enrica. "What have I done?" + +"Done? You know you never came last night at all. I missed my game of +whist. I do not sleep well without it." + +"But, marchesa," pleaded Trenta, in the gentlest voice, "I am +desolated, as you can conceive--desolated; but what could I do? +Yesterday was the festival of the Holy Countenance, that solemn +anniversary that brings prosperity to our dear city!" And the +cavaliere cast up his mild blue eyes, and crossed himself upon the +breast. "I was most of the day in the cathedral. Such a service! +Better music than last year. In the evening I had promised to arrange +the cotillon at Countess Orsetti's ball. As chamberlain to his late +highness the Duke of Lucca, it is expected of me to organize every +thing. One can leave nothing to that animal Baldassare--he has no +head, no system; he dances well, but like a machine. The ball was +magnificent--a great success," he continued, speaking rapidly, for +he saw that a storm was gathering on the marchesa's brow, by the +deepening of the wrinkles between her eyes. "A great success. I took a +few turns myself with Teresa Ottolini--tra la la la la," and he swayed +his head and shoulders to and fro as he hummed a waltz-tune. + +"_You_!" exclaimed the marchesa, staring at him with a look of +contempt--"_you_!" + +"Yes. Why not? I am as young as ever, dear marchesa--eighty, the prime +of life!" + +"The festival of the Holy Countenance and the cotillon!" cried the +marchesa, with great indignation. "Tell me nothing about the Orsetti +ball. I won't listen to it. Good Heavens!" she continued, reddening, +"I am thirty years younger than you are, but I left off dancing +fifteen years ago. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cesarino!" + +Cesarino only smiled at her benignantly in reply. She had called him +a fool so often! He seated himself beside her without speaking. He had +come prepared to entertain her with an account of every detail of the +ball; but seeing the temper she was in, he deemed it more prudent to +be silent--to be silent specially about Count Nobili. The mention of +his name would, he knew, put her in a fury, so, being a prudent man, +and a courtier, he entirely dropped the subject of the ball. Yet +Trenta was a privileged person. He never voluntarily contradicted the +marchesa, but when occasion arose he always spoke his mind, fearless +of consequences. As he and the marchesa disagreed on almost every +possible subject, disputes often arose between them; but, thanks to +Trenta's pliant temper and perfect good-breeding, they were always +amicably settled. + +"Count Marescotti and Baldassare are outside," continued Trenta, +looking at her inquiringly, as the marchesa had not spoken. "They are +waiting to know if the illustrious lady receives this evening, and if +she will permit them to join her usual whist-party." + +"Marescotti!--where may he come from?--the clouds, perhaps--or the +last balloon?" asked the marchesa, looking up. + +"From Rome; he arrived two days ago. He is no longer so erratic. Will +you allow him to join us?" + +"I shall certainly play my rubber if I am permitted," answered the +marchesa, drawing herself up. + +This was intended as a sarcastic reminder of the disregard shown to +her by the cavaliere the evening before; but the sarcasm was quite +thrown away upon Trenta; he was very simple and straightforward. + +"The marchesa has only to command me," was his polite reply. "I wonder +Marescotti and Baldassare are not here already," he added, looking +toward the door. "I left them both in the street; they were to follow +me up-stairs immediately." + +"Ah!" said the marchesa, smiling sarcastically, "Count Marescotti is +not to be trusted. He is a genius--he may be back on his way to Rome +by this time." + +"No, no," answered Trenta, rising and walking toward the door, which +he opened and held in his hand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the +staircase; "Marescotti is disgusted with Rome--with the Parliament, +with the Government--with every thing. He abuses the municipality +because a secret republican committee which he headed, in +correspondence with Paris, has been discovered by the police and +denounced. He had to escape in disguise." + +"Well, well, I rejoice to hear it!" broke in the marchesa. "It is a +good Government; let him find a better. Why has he come to Lucca? We +want no _sans-culottes_ here." + +"Marescotti declares," continued the cavaliere, "that even now Rome is +still in bondage, and sunk in superstition. He calls it superstition. +He would like to shut up all the churches. He believes in nothing +but poetry and Red republicans. Any kind of Christian belief he calls +superstition." + +"Marescotti is quite right," said the marchesa, angrily; she was +determined to contradict the cavaliere. "You are a bigot, Trenta--an +old bigot. You believe every thing a priest tells you. A fine +exhibition we had yesterday of what that comes to! The Holy +Countenance! Do you think any educated person in Lucca believes in +the Holy Countenance? I do not. It is only an excuse for idleness--for +idleness, I say. Priests love idleness; they go into the Church +because they are too idle to work." She raised her voice, and +looked defiantly at Trenta, who stood before her the picture of meek +endurance--holding the door-handle. "I hope I shall live to see all +festivals abolished. Why didn't the Government do it altogether when +they were about it?--no convents, no monks, no holidays, except on +Sunday! Make the people work--work for their bread! We should have +fewer taxes, and no beggars." + +Trenta's benignant face had gradually assumed as severe an aspect as +it was capable of bearing. He pointed to Enrica, of whom he had up to +this time taken no notice beyond a friendly smile--the marchesa did +not like Enrica to be noticed--now he pointed to her, and shook his +head deprecatingly. Could he have read Enrica's thoughts, he need have +feared no contamination to her from the marchesa; her thoughts were +far away--she had not listened to a single word. + +"Dio Santo!" he exclaimed at last, clasping his hands together and +speaking low, so as not to be overheard by Enrica--"that I should live +to hear a Guinigi talk so! Do you forget, marchesa, that it was under +the banner of the blessed Holy Countenance (_Vulturum di Lucca_), +miraculously cast on the shores of the Ligurian Sea, that your +great ancestor Castruccio Castracani degli Antimelli overcame the +Florentines at Alto Passo?" + +"The banner didn't help him, nor St. Nicodemus either--I affirm +that," answered she, angrily. Her temper was rising. "I will not be +contradicted, cavaliere--don't attempt it. I never allow it. Even my +husband never contradicted me--and he was a Guinigi. Is the city to +go mad, eat, drink, and hang out old curtains because the priests +bid them? Did _you_ see Nobili's house?" She asked this question +so eagerly, she suddenly forgot her anger in the desire she felt to +relate her injuries. "A Guinigi palace dressed out like a booth at a +fair!--What a scandal! This comes of usury and banking. He will be a +deputy soon. Will no one tell him he is a presumptuous young idiot?" +she cried, with a burst of sudden rage, remembering the crowds that +filled the streets, and the admiration and display excited. Then, +turning round and looking Trenta full in the face, she added +spitefully, "You may worship painted dolls, and kiss black crucifixes, +if you like: I would not give them house-room." + +"Mercy!" cried poor Trenta, putting his hands to his ears. "For pity's +sake--the palace _will_ fall about your ears! Remember your niece is +present." + +And again he pointed to Enrica, whose head was bent down over her +work. + +"Ha! ha!" was all the reply vouchsafed by the marchesa, followed by +a scornful laugh. "I shall say what I please in my own house. Poor +Cesarino! You are very ignorant. I pity you!" + +But Trenta was not there--he had rushed down-stairs as quickly as his +old legs and his stick would carry him, and was out of hearing. At the +mention of Nobili's name Enrica looked stealthily from under her long +eyelashes, and turned very white. The sharp eyes of her aunt might +have detected it had she been less engrossed by her passage of arms +with the cavaliere. + +"Ha! ha!" she repeated, grimly laughing to herself. "He is gone! Poor +old soul! But I am going to have my rubber for all that.--Ring the +bell, Enrica. He must come back. Trenta takes too much upon himself; +he is always interfering." + +As Enrica rose to obey her aunt, the sound of feet was heard in the +anteroom. The marchesa made a sign to her to reseat herself, which she +did in the same place as before, behind the thick cotton curtains of +the Venetian casement. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +COUNT MARESCOTTI. + + +Count Marescotti, the Red count (the marchesa had said _sans-culotte_; +Trenta had spoken of him as an atheist), was, unhappily, something +of all this, but he was much more. He was a poet, an orator, and a +patriot. Nature had gifted him with qualities for each vocation. He +had a rich, melodious voice, with soft inflections; large dark eyes, +that kindled with the impress of every emotion; finely-cut features, +and a pale, bloodless face, that tells of a passionate nature. His +manners were gracious, and he had a commanding presence. He was born +to be a leader among men. Not only did he converse with ease and +readiness on every conceivable topic--not only did strophe after +strophe of musical verse flow from his lips with the facility of +an _improvisatore_, but he possessed the supreme art of moving the +multitude by an eloquence born of his own impassioned soul. While that +suave voice rung in men's ears, it was impossible not to be convinced +by his arguments. As a patriot, he worshiped Italy. His fervid +imagination reveled in her natural beauties--art, music, history, +poetry. He worshiped Italy, and he devoted his whole life to what he +conceived to be her good. + +Marescotti was no atheist; he was a religious reformer, sincerely and +profoundly pious, and conscientious to the point of honor. Indeed, his +conscience was so sensitive, that he had been known to confess two +and three times on the same day. The cavaliere called him an atheist +because he was a believer in Savonarola, and because he positively +refused to bind himself to any priestly dogma, or special form +of worship whatever. But he had never renounced the creed of his +ancestors. The precepts of Savonarola did, indeed, afford him infinite +consolation; they were to him a _via media_ between Protestant +latitude and dogmatic belief. + +The republican simplicity, stern morals, and sweeping reforms both in +Church and state preached by Savonarola (reforms, indeed, as radical +as were consistent with Catholicism), were the objects of his special +reverence. Savonarola had died at the stake for practising and for +teaching them; Marescotti declared, with characteristic enthusiasm, +that he was ready to do likewise. Wrong or right, he believed that, if +Savonarola had lived in the nineteenth century, he would have acted +as he himself had done. In the same manner, although an avowed +republican, he was no _sans-culotte._ His strong sense of personal +independence and of freedom, political and religious, caused him to +revolt against what he conceived tyranny or coercion of any kind. Even +constitutional monarchy was not sufficiently free for him. A king and +a court, the royal prerogative of ministers, patent places, pensions, +favors, the unacknowledged influence of a reigning house--represented +to his mind a modified system of tyranny--therefore of corruption. +Constant appeals to the sovereign people, a form of government +where the few yielded to the many, and the rich divided their riches +voluntarily with the poor--was in theory what he advocated. + +Yet with these lofty views, these grand aspirations, with unbounded +faith, and unbounded energy and generosity, Marescotti achieved +nothing. He wanted the power of concentration, of bringing his +energies to bear on any one particular object. His mind was like an +old cabinet, crowded with artistic rubbish--gems and rarities, jewels +of price and pearls of the purest water, hidden among faded flowers; +old letters, locks of hair, daggers, tinsel reliquaries, crosses, and +modern grimcracks--all that was incongruous, piled together pell-mell +in hopeless confusion. + +His countrymen, singularly timid and conventional, and always +unwilling to admit new ideas upon any subject unless imperatively +forced upon them, did not understand him. They did not appreciate +either his originality or the real strength of his character. He +differed from them and their mediaeval usages--therefore he must +be wrong. He was called eccentric by his friends, a lunatic by his +enemies. He was neither. But he lived much alone; he had dreamed +rather than reflected, and he had planned instead of acting. + +"Count Marescotti," said the marchesa, holding out her hand, "I salute +you.--Baldassare, you are welcome." + +The intonation of her voice, the change in her manner, gave the exact +degree of consideration proper to accord to the head of an ancient +Roman family, and the dandy son of a Lucca chemist. And, lest it +should be thought strange that the Marchesa Guinigi should admit +Baldassare at all to her presence, I must explain that Baldassare +was a _protégé_, almost a double, of the cavaliere, who insisted upon +taking him wherever he went. If you received the cavaliere, you must, +perforce, receive Baldassare also. No one could explain why this was +so. They were continually quarreling, yet they were always together. +Their intimacy had been the subject of many jokes and some gossip; but +the character of the cavaliere was immaculate, and Baldassare's mother +(now dead) had never lived at Lucca. Trenta, when spoken to on the +subject of his partiality, said he was "educating him" to fill his +place as master of the ceremonies in Lucchese society. Except when +specially bullied by the cavaliere--who greatly enjoyed tormenting him +in public--Baldassare was inoffensive and useful. + +Now he pressed forward to the front. + +"Signora Marchesa," he said, eagerly, "allow me to make my excuses to +you." + +The marchesa turned a surprised and distant gaze upon him; but +Baldassare was not to be discouraged. He had that tough skin of true +vulgarity which is impervious to any thing but downright hard blows. + +"Allow me to make my excuses," he continued. "The cavaliere here +has been scolding me all the way up-stairs for not bringing Count +Marescotti sooner to you. I could not." + +Marescotti bowed an acquiescence. + +"While we were standing in the street, waiting to know if the +noble lady received, an old beggar, known in Lucca as the Hermit of +Pizzorna, come down from the mountains for the festival, passed by." + +"Yes, it was a providence," broke in the count--"a real hermit, not +one of those fat friars, with shaven crowns, we have in Rome, but a +genuine recluse, a man whose life is one long act of practical piety." + +When Marescotti had entered, he seemed only the calm, high-bred +gentleman; now, as he spoke, his eye sparkled, and his pale cheeks +flushed. + +"Yes, I addressed the hermit," he continued, and he raised his fine +head and crossed his hands on his breast as if he were still before +him. "I kissed his bare feet, road-stained with errands of charity. +'My father,' I said to him, 'bless me'--" + +"Not only so," interrupted Baldassare, "but, would you believe it, +madame, the count cast himself down on the dusty street to receive his +blessing!" + +"And why not?" asked the count, looking at him severely. "It came to +me like a voice from heaven. The hermit is a holy man. Would I were +like him! I have heard of him for thirty years past. Winter after +winter, among those savage mountains, in roaring winds, in sweeping +storms, in frost and snow, and water-floods, he has assisted hundreds, +who, but for him, must infallibly have perished. What courage! what +devotion! It is a poem." Marescotti spoke hurriedly and in a low +voice. "Yes, I craved his blessing. I kissed his hands, his feet. +I would have kissed the ground on which he stood." As he proceeded, +Marescotti grew more and more abstracted. All that he described was +passing like a vision before him. "Those venerable hands--yes, I +kissed them." + +"How much money did you leave in them, count?" asked the marchesa, +with a sneer. + +"Great is the mercy of God!" ejaculated the count, earnestly, +not heeding her. "Sinner as I am, the touch of those hands--that +blessing--purified me. I feel it." + +"Incredible! Well," cried Baldassare, "the price of that blessing will +keep the good man in bread and meat for a year. Let the old beggar go +to the devil, count, his own way. He must soon appear there, anyhow. +A good-for-nothing old cheat! His blessing, indeed! I can get you a +dozen begging friars who will bless you all day for a few farthings." + +The count's brow darkened. + +"Baldassare," said he, very gravely, "you are young, and, like your +age, inconsiderate. I request that, in my presence, you speak with +becoming respect of this holy man." + +"Per Bacco!" exclaimed the cavaliere, advancing from where he had +been standing behind the marchesa's chair, and patting Baldassare +patronizingly on the shoulder, "I never heard you talk so much before +at one time, Baldassare. Now, you had better have held your tongue, +and listened to Count Marescotti. Leading the cotillon last night has +turned your head. Take my advice, however--an old man's advice--stick +to your dancing. You understand that. Every man has his _forte_--yours +is the ballroom." + +Baldassare smiled complaisantly at this allusion to the swiftness of +his heels. + +"Out of the ballroom," continued Trenta, eying him with quiet scorn, +"I advise caution--great caution. Out of the ballroom you are capable +of any imbecility." + +"Cavaliere!" cried Baldassare, turning very red and looking at him +reproachfully. + +"You have deserved this reproof, young man," said the marchesa, +harshly. "Learn your place in addressing the Count Marescotti." + +That the son of a shopkeeper should presume to dispute in her presence +with a Roman noble, was a thing so unsuitable that, even in her own +house, she must put it down authoritatively. She had never liked +Baldassare--never wanted to receive him, now she resolved never to see +him again; but, as she feared that Trenta would continue to bring him, +under pretext of making up her whist-table, she did not say so. + +The medical Adonis was forced to swallow his rage, but his cheeks +tingled. He dared not quarrel either with the marchesa, Trenta, or +the count, by whose joint support alone he could hope to plant himself +firmly in the realms of Lucchese fashionable life--a life which he +felt was his element. Utterly disconcerted, however, he turned down +his eyes, and stared at his boots, which were highly glazed, then +glanced up at his own face (as faultless and impassive as a Greek +mask) in a mirror opposite, hastily arranged his hair, and finally +collapsed into silence and a corner. + +At this moment Count Marescotti became suddenly aware of Enrica's +presence. She was, as I have said, sitting in the same place by +the casement, concealed by the curtain, her head bent down over her +knitting. She had only looked up once when Nobili's name had been +mentioned. No one had noticed her. It was not the usage of Casa +Guinigi to notice Enrica. Enrica was not the marchesa's daughter; +therefore, except in marriage, she was not entitled to enjoy +the honors of the house. She was never permitted to take part in +conversation. + +Marescotti, who had not seen her since she was fourteen, now bounded +across the room to where she sat, overshadowed by the curtain, bowed +to her formally, then touched the tips of her fingers with his lips. + +Enrica raised her eyes. And what eyes they were!--large, melancholy, +brooding, of no certain color, changing as she spoke, as the summer +sky changes the color of the sea. They were more gray than blue, yet +they were blue, with long, dark eyelashes that swept upon her cheeks. +As she looked up and smiled, there was an expression of the most +perfect innocence in her face. It was like a flower that opens its +bosom frankly to the sun. + +Marescotti's artistic nature was deeply stirred. He gazed at her in +silence for some minutes; he was seeking in his own mind in what type +of womanhood he should place her. Suddenly an idea struck him.--She +was the living image of the young Madonna--the young Madonna before +the visit of the archangel--pale, meditative, pathetic, but with no +shadow of the future upon her face. Marescotti was so engrossed by +this idea that he remained motionless before her. Each one present +observed his emotion, the marchesa specially; she frowned her +disapproval. + +Trenta laughed quietly to himself, then stroked his well-shaved chin. + +"Signorina," said the count, at length breaking silence, "permit me to +offer my excuses for not having sooner perceived you. Will you forgive +me?" + +"Mio Dio!" muttered the marchesa to herself, "he will turn the child's +head with his fine phrases." + +"I have nothing to forgive, count," answered Enrica simply. She spoke +low. Her voice matched the expression of her face; there was a natural +tone of plaintiveness in it. + +"When I last saw you," continued the count, standing as if spellbound +before her, "you were only a child. Now," and his kindling eyes +riveted themselves upon her, "you are a woman. Like the magic rose +that was the guerdon of the Troubadours, you have passed in an hour +from leaf to bud, from bud to fairest flower. You were, of course, at +the Orsetti ball last night?" He asked this question, trying to rouse +himself. "What ball in Lucca would be complete without you?" + +"I was not there," answered Enrica, blushing deeply and glancing +timidly at the marchesa, who, with a scowl on her face, was fanning +herself violently. + +"Not there!" ejaculated Marescotti, with wonder.--"Why, marchesa, is +it not barbarous to shut up your beautiful niece? Is it because you +deem her too precious to be gazed upon? If so, you are right." + +And again his eyes, full of ardent admiration, were bent on Enrica. + +Enrica dropped her head to hide her confusion, and resumed her +knitting. + +It was a golden sunset. The sun was sinking behind the delicate +arcades of the Moorish garden, and spreading broad patches of rosy +light upon the marble. The shrubs, with their bright flowers, were set +against a tawny orange sky. The air was full of light--the last gleams +of parting day. The splash of the fountain upon the lion's heads was +heard in the silence, the heavy perfume of the magnolia-flowers stole +in wafts through the sculptured casements, creeping upward in the soft +evening air. + +Still, motionless before Enrica, Marescotti was rapidly falling into a +poetic rapture. The marchesa broke the awkward silence. + +"Enrica is a child," she said, dryly. "She knows nothing about balls. +She has never been to one. Pray do not put such ideas into her head, +count," she added, looking at him angrily. + +"But, marchesa, your niece is no child--she is a lovely woman," +insisted the count, his eyes still riveted upon her. The marchesa did +not consider it necessary to answer him. + +Meanwhile the cavaliere, who had returned to his seat near her, had +watched the moment when no one was looking that way, had given her a +significant glance, and placed his finger warningly upon his lip. + +Not understanding what he meant by this action, the marchesa was at +first inclined to resent it as a liberty, and to rebuke him; but she +thought better of it, and only glanced at him haughtily. + +It was not the first time she had found it to her advantage to accept +Trenta's hints. Trenta was a man of the world, and he had his eyes +open. What he meant, however, she could not even guess. + +Meanwhile the count had drawn a chair beside Enrica. + +"Yes, yes, the Orsetti ball," he said, absently, passing his hand +through the masses of black curls that rested upon his forehead. + +He was following out, in his own mind, the notion of addressing an +ode to her in the character of the young Madonna--the uninstructed +Madonna--without that look of pensive suffering painters put into her +eyes. + +The Madonna figured prominently in Marescotti's creed, spite of his +belief in the stern precepts of Savonarola--the plastic creed of an +artist, made up of heavenly eyes, ravishing forms, melodious sounds, +rich color, sweeping rhythms, moonlight, and violent emotions. + +"I was not there myself--no, or I should have been aware you had +not honored the Countess Orsetti with your presence. But in the +morning--that glorious mass in the old cathedral--you were there?" + +Enrica answered that she had not left the house all day, at which the +count raised his eyebrows in astonishment. + +"That mass," he continued, "in celebration of a local miracle +(respectable from its antiquity), has haunted me ever since. The +gloomy splendor of the venerable cathedral overwhelmed me; the happy +faces that met me on every side, the spontaneous rejoicing of the +whole population, touched me deeply. I longed to make them free. They +deserve freedom; they shall have it!" A dark fire glistened in his +eye. "I have been lost in day-dreams ever since; I must give them +utterance." And he gazed steadfastly at Enrica.--"I have not left my +room, marchesa, ever since"--at last Marescotti left Enrica's side, +and approached the marchesa--"until an hour ago, when Baldassare"--and +the count bowed to Adonis, still seated sulky in a corner--"came +and carried me off in the hope that you would permit me to join your +rubber. Had I known"--he added, in a lower voice, bending his head +toward Enrica. Then he stopped, suddenly aware that every one was +listening to all he said (a fact which he had been far too much +absorbed to notice previously), colored, and retreated to the sofa +with the spindle-legs. + +"Per Bacco!" whispered the cavaliere to the marchesa, sitting near her +on the other side; "I am convinced poor Marescotti has never touched +a morsel of food since that mass--I am certain of it. He always lives +upon a poetical diet, poor devil!--rose-leaves and the beauties of +Nature, with a warm dish now and then in the way of a _ragoût_ of +conspiracy. God help him! he's a greater lunatic than ever." This was +spoken aside into the marchesa's ear. "If you have a soul of pity, +marchesa, order him a chicken before we begin playing, or he will +faint upon the floor." The marchesa smiled. + +"I don't like impressionable people at all," she responded, in the +same tone of voice. "In my opinion, feelings should be concealed, not +exhibited." And she sighed, recalling her own silent vigils on the +floor beneath, unknown to all save the cavaliere. + +"But--a thousand pardons!" cried Marescotti, gradually waking up to +some social energy, "I have been talking only of myself! Talking of +myself in your presence, ladies!--What can we do to amuse your niece, +marchesa? Lucca is horribly dull. If she is to go neither to festivals +nor to balls, it will not be possible for her to exist here." + +"It will be quite possible," answered the marchesa, greatly displeased +at the turn the conversation was taking. "Quite possible, if I choose +it. Enrica will exist where I please. You forget she has lived here +for seventeen years. You see she has not died of it. She stays at home +by my order, count." + +Enrica cast a pleading look at her aunt, as if to say, "Can I help all +this?" As for Count Marescotti, he was far too much engrossed with his +own thoughts to be aware that he was treading on delicate ground. + +"But, marchesa," he urged, "you can't really keep your niece any +longer shut up like the fairy princess in the tower. Let me be +permitted to act the part of the fairy prince and liberate her." + +Again he had turned, and again his glowing eyes fixed themselves on +Enrica, who had withdrawn as much as possible behind the curtains. Her +cheeks were dyed with blushes. She shrank from the count's too ardent +glances, as though those glances were an involuntary treason to +Nobili. + +"Something must be done," muttered the count, meditating. + +"Will you trust your niece with Cavaliere Trenta, and permit me to +accompany them on some little excursion in the city, to make up for +the loss of the cathedral and the ball?" + +The marchesa, who found the count decidedly troublesome, not to say +impertinent, had opened her lips to give an unqualified negative, but +another glance from Trenta checked her. + +"An excellent idea," put in the cavaliere, before she could +speak. "With _me_, marchesa--with _me_" he added, looking at her +deprecatingly. + +Trenta loved Enrica better than any thing in the world, but carefully +concealed it, the better to serve her with her aunt. + +"As for me, I am ready for any thing." And, to show his agility, he +rose, and, with the help of his stick, made a _glissade_ on the floor. + +Baldassare laughed out loud from the corner. It gratified his wounded +vanity to see his elder ridiculous. + +Marescotti, greatly alarmed, started forward and offered his arm, in +order to lead the cavaliere back to his seat, but Trenta indignantly +refused his assistance. The marchesa shook her head. + +"Calm yourself," she said, looking at him compassionately. "Calm +yourself, Cesarino, I should not like you to have a fit in my house." + +"Fit!--chè chè?" cried Trenta, angrily. "Not while I am in the +presence of the young and fair," he added, recovering himself. "It is +that which has kept me alive all this time. No, marchesa, I refuse +to sit down again. I refuse to sit down, or to take a hand at your +rubber, until something is settled." + +This was addressed to the marchesa, who had caught him by the tails of +his immaculate blue coat and forced him into a seat beside her. + +"_Vive la bagatelle_! Where shall we go? You cannot refuse the count," +he added, giving the marchesa a meaning look. "What shall we do? Let +us all propose something. Let me see. I propose to improve Enrica's +mind. She is young--the young have need of improvement. I propose to +take her to the church of San Frediano and to show her the ancient +fresco representing the discovery of the Holy Countenance; also +the Trenta chapel, containing the tombs of my family. I will try to +explain to her their names and history.--What do you say to this, my +child?" + +And the cavaliere turned to Enrica, who, little accustomed to be +noticed at all, much less to occupy the whole conversation, looked +supplicatingly at her aunt. She would gladly have run out of the room +if she had dared. + +"No, no," exclaimed the irrepressible Baldassare, from the corner. +"Never! What a ghastly idea! Tombs and a mouldy old church! You may +find satisfaction, Signore Trenta, in the contemplation of your tomb, +but the signorina is not eighty, nor am I, nor is the count. I propose +that after being shut up so many years the Guinigi Palace be thrown +open, and a ball given on the first floor in honor of the signorina. +There should be a band from Florence and presents from Paris for the +cotillon. What do you say to _that_, Signora Marchesa?" asked the +misguided young man, with unconscious self-satisfaction. + +If a mine had sprung under the marchesa's feet, she could not have +been more horrified. What she would have said to Baldassare is +difficult to guess, but fortunately for him, while she was struggling +for words in which she could suitably express her sense of his +presumption, Trenta, seeing what was coming, was beforehand. + +"Be silent, Baldassare," he exclaimed, "or, per Dio, I will never +bring you here again." + +Before Baldassare could offer his apologies, the count burst in-- + +"I propose that we shall show the signorina something that will amuse +her." He thought for a moment. "Have you ever ascended the old tower +of this palace?" he asked. + +Enrica shook her head. + +"Then I propose the Guinigi Tower--the stairs are rather rickety, but +they are not unsafe. I was there the last time I visited Lucca. The +view over the Apennines is superb. Will you trust yourself to us, +signorina?" + +Enrica raised her head and looked at him hesitatingly, glanced at +her aunt, then looked at him again. Until the marchesa had spoken she +dared not reply. She longed to go. If she ascended the tower, might +she not see Nobili? She had not set her eyes on him for a whole week. + +Marescotti saw her hesitation, but he misunderstood the cause. He +returned her look with an ardent glance. Where was the young Madonna +leading him? He did not stop to inquire, but surrendered himself to +the enchantment of her presence. + +"Is my proposal accepted?" Count Marescotti inquired, anxiously +turning toward the marchesa, who sat listening to them with a +deeply-offended air. + +"And mine too?" put in the cavaliere. "Both can be combined. I should +so much like to show Enrica the tombs of the Trenta. We have been a +famous family in our time. Do not refuse us, marchesa." + +All this was entirely out of the habits of Casa Guinigi. Hitherto +Enrica had been kept in absolute subjection. If she were present no +one spoke to her, or noticed her. Now all this was to be changed, +because Count Marescotti had come up from Rome. Enrica was not only to +be gazed at and flattered, but to engross attention. + +The marchesa showed evident tokens of serious displeasure. Had Count +Marescotti not been present, she would assuredly have expressed this +displeasure in very strong language. In all matters connected with her +niece, with her household, and with the management of her own affairs, +she could not tolerate remark, much less interference. Every kind of +interference was offensive to her. She believed in herself, as I have +said, blindly: never, up to that time, had that belief been shaken. +All this discussion was, to her mind, worse than interference--it was +absolute revolution. She inwardly resolved to shut up her house and +go into the country, rather than submit to it. She eyed the count, who +stood waiting for an answer, as if he were an enemy, and scowled at +the excellent Trenta. + +Enrica, too, had fixed her eyes upon her beseechingly; Enrica +evidently wanted to go. The marchesa had already opened her lips to +give an abrupt refusal, when she felt a warning hand laid upon her +arm. Again she was shaken in her purpose of refusal. She rose, and +approached the card-table. + +"I shall take time to consider," she replied to the inquiring eyes +awaiting her reply. + +The marchesa took up the pack of cards and examined the markers. +She was debating with herself what Trenta could possibly mean by his +extraordinary conduct, _twice_ repeated. + +"You had better retire now," she said to Enrica, with an expression of +hostility her niece knew too well. "You have listened to quite enough +folly for one night. Men are flatterers." + +"Not I! not I!" cried Marescotti. "I never say any thing but what I +mean." + +And he flew toward the door in order to open it before Enrica could +reach it. + +"All good angels guard you!" he whispered, with a tender voice, into +her ear, as, greatly confused, she passed by him, into the anteroom. +"May you find all men as true as I! Per Dio! she is the living +image of the young Madonna!" he added, half aloud, gazing after her. +"Countenance, manner, air--it is perfect!" + +A match was now produced out of Trenta's pocket. The candles were +lighted, and the casements closed. The party then sat down to whist. + +The marchesa was always specially irritable when at cards. The +previous conversation had not improved her temper. Moreover, the count +was her partner, and a worse one could hardly be conceived. Twice +he did not even take up the cards dealt to him, but sat immovable, +staring at the print of the Empress Eugénie in the Spanish dress on +the green wall opposite. Called to order peremptorily by the marchesa, +he took up his cards, shuffled them, then laid them down again on +the table, his eyes wandering off to the chair hitherto occupied by +Enrica. + +This was intolerable. The marchesa showed him that she thought so. He +apologized. He did take up his cards, and for a few deals attended +to the game. Again becoming abstracted, he forgot what were trumps, +losing thereby several tricks. Finally, he revoked. Both the marchesa +and the cavaliere rebuked him very sharply. Again he apologized, tried +to collect his thoughts, but still played abominably. + +Meanwhile, Trenta and Baldassare kept up a perpetual wrangle. The +cavaliere was cool, sardonic, smiling, and provoking--Baldassare hot +and flushed with a concentration of rage he dared not express. +The cavaliere, thanks to his court education, was an admirable +whist-player. His frequent observations to his young friend were +excellent as instruction, but were conveyed in somewhat contemptuous +language. Baldassare, having been told by the cavaliere that playing +a good hand at whist was as necessary to his future social success as +dancing, was much chagrined. + +Poor Baldassare!--his life was a continual conflict--a sacrifice to +his love of fine company. It might be doubted if he would not +have been infinitely happier in the atmosphere of the paternal +establishment, weighing out drugs, in shabby clothes, behind the +counter, than he was now, snubbed and affronted, and barely tolerated. + +After this the marchesa and Trenta became partners; but matters did +not improve. A violent altercation ensued as to who led a certain +crucial card, which decided the game. Once seated at the whist-table, +the cavaliere was a real autocrat. _There_ he did not affect even to +submit to the marchesa. Now, provoked beyond endurance, he plainly +told her "she never had played a good game, and, what was more, +that she never would--she was too impetuous." Upon hearing this the +marchesa threw down her cards in a rage, and rose from the table. +Trenta rose also. With an imperturbable countenance he offered her his +arm, to lead her back to her seat. + +The marchesa, extremely irate at what he had said, pushed him rudely +to one side and reseated herself. + +Baldassare and Marescotti rose also. The count, having continued +persistently absent up to the last, was utterly unconscious of the +little fracas that had taken place between the marchesa and the +cavaliere, and the consequent sudden conclusion of the game. He had +seen her rise, and it was a great relief to him. He had been debating +in his own mind whether he should adopt the Dante rhyme for his ode to +the young Madonna, or make it in strophes. He inclined to the latter +treatment as more picturesque, and therefore more suitable to the +subject. + +"May I," said he, suddenly roused to what was passing about him, and +advancing with a gracious smile upon his mobile face, lit up by the +pleasant musings of the whist-table--pleasant to him, but assuredly +not pleasant to his partner--"may I hope, marchesa, that you will +acquiesce in our little plan for to-morrow?" + +The marchesa had come by this time to look on the count as a bore, of +whom she was anxious to rid herself. She was so anxious, indeed, to +rid herself of him that she actually assented. + +"My niece, Signore Conte," she said, stiffly, "shall be ready with +her gouvernante and the Cavaliere Trenta, at eleven o'clock to-morrow. +Now--good-night!" + +Marescotti took the hint, bowed, and departed arm-in-arm with +Baldassare. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE CABINET COUNCIL. + + +When the count and Baldassare had left the room, Cavaliere Trenta made +no motion to follow them. On the contrary, he leaned back in the chair +on which he was seated, and nursed his leg with the nankeen trouser +meditatively. The expression of his face showed that his thoughts were +busy with some project he desired to communicate. Until he had done so +in his own way, and at his own time, he would continue to sit where he +was. It was this imperturbable self-possession and good-humor combined +which gave him so much influence over the irascible marchesa. They +were as iron to fire, only the iron was never heated. + +The marchesa, deeply resenting his remarks upon her whist playing, +tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, fanned herself, and glowered +at him out of the darkness which the single pair of candles did not +dispel. As he still made no motion to go, she took out her watch, +looked at it, and, with an exclamation of surprise, rose. Quite +useless. Trenta did not stir. + +"Marchesa," he said at last, abruptly, raising his head and looking at +her, "do me the favor to sit down. Spare me a few moments before you +retire." + +"I want to go to bed," she answered, rudely. "It is already past my +usual hour." + +"Marchesa--one moment. I permitted myself the liberty of an old friend +just now--to check your speech to Count Marescotti." + +"Yes," said she, drawing up her long throat, and throwing back her +head, an action habitual to her when displeased, "you did so. I did +not understand it. We have been acquainted quite long enough for you +to know I do not like interference." + +"Pardon me, noble lady"--(Trenta spoke very meekly--to soothe her +now was absolutely necessary)--"pardon me, for the sake of my good +intentions." + +"And pray what _were_ your good intentions, cavaliere?" she asked, in +a mocking tone, reseating herself. Her curiosity was rapidly getting +the better of her resentment. + +As she asked the question, the cavaliere left off nursing his leg with +the nankeen trouser, rose, drew his chair closer to hers, then sat +down again. The light from the single pair of candles was very dim, +and scarcely extended beyond the card-table. Both their heads were +therefore in shadow, but the marchesa's eyes gleamed nevertheless, as +she waited for Trenta's explanation. + +"Did you observe nothing this evening, my friend?" he +asked--"_nothing_?" His manner was unusually excited. + +"No," she answered, thoughtfully. She had been so exclusively occupied +with the slights put upon herself that every thing else had escaped +her. "I observed nothing except the impertinence of Count Marescotti, +and the audacity--the--" + +"Stop, marchesa," interrupted Trenta, holding up his hand. "We will +talk of all that another time. If Count Marescotti and Baldassare have +offended you, you can decline to receive them. You observed +nothing, you say? I did." He leaned forward, and spoke with +emphasis--"Marescotti is in love with Enrica." + +The marchesa started violently and raised herself bolt upright. + +"The Red count in love with a child like Enrica!" + +"Only a child in your eyes, Signora Marchesa," rejoined Trenta, +warmly. (He had warmed with his own convictions, his benevolent heart +was deeply interested in Enrica. He had known her since she had first +come to Casa Guinigi, a baby; from his soul he pitied her.) "In the +eyes of the world Enrica is not only a woman, but promises to be a +very lovely one. She is seventeen years old, and marriageable. Young +ladies of her name and position must have fortunes, or they do not +marry well. If they do, it is a chance--quite a chance. Under these +circumstances, it would be cruel to deprive her of so suitable an +alliance as Count Marescotti. Now, allow me to ask you, seriously, how +would this marriage suit you?" + +"Not at all," replied the marchesa, curtly. "The count is a +republican. I hate republicans. The Guinigi have always been +Ghibelline, and loyal. I dislike him, too, personally. I was about to +desire you never to bring him here again. Contact with low people has +spoiled him. His manners are detestable." + +"But, marchesa, che vuole?" Trenta shrugged his shoulders. "He belongs +to one of the oldest families in Rome; he is well off, handsome (he +reminds me of your ancestor, Castruccio Castracani); a wife might +improve him." The marchesa shook her head. + +"He like the great Castruccio!--I do not see it." + +"Permit me," resumed Trenta, "without entering into details which, as +a friend, you have confided to me, I must remind you that your affairs +are seriously embarrassed." + +The marchesa winced; she guessed what was coming. She knew that she +could not deny it. + +"You are embarrassed by lawsuits. Unfortunately, all have gone against +you." + +"I fought for the ancient privileges of the Guinigi!" burst out the +marchesa, imperiously. "I would do it again." + +"I do not in the least doubt you would do it again, exalted lady," +responded Trenta, with a quiet smile. "Indeed, I feel assured of it. +I merely state the fact. You have sacrificed large sums of money. You +have lost every suit. The costs have been enormous. Your income is +greatly reduced. Enrica is therefore portionless." + +"No, no, not altogether." The marchesa moved nervously in her chair, +carefully avoiding meeting Trenta's steely blue eyes. "I have saved +money, Cesarino--I have indeed," she repeated. The marchesa was +becoming quite affable. "I cannot touch the heirlooms. But Enrica will +have a small portion." + +"Well, well," replied Trenta. "But it is impossible you can have saved +much since the termination of that last long suit with the chapter +about your right to the second bench in the nave of the cathedral, the +bench awarded to Count Nobili when he bought the palace. The expense +was too great, and the trial too recent." + +She made no reply. + +"Then there was that other affair with the municipality about the +right of flying the flag from the Guinigi Tower. I do not mention +small affairs, such as disputes with your late steward at Corellia, +trials at Barga, nor litigation here at Lucca on a small scale. My +dear marchesa, you have found the law an expensive pastime." The +cavaliere's round eyes twinkled as he said this. "Enrica is therefore +virtually portionless. The choice lies between a husband who will wed +her for herself, or a convent. If I understand your views, a convent +would not suit you. Besides, you would not surely voluntarily condemn +a girl, without vocation, and brought up beside you, to the seclusion +of a convent?" + +"But Enrica is a child--I tell you she is too young to think about +marriage, cavaliere." + +The marchesa spoke with anger. She would stave off as long as possible +the principal question--that of marriage. Sudden proposals, +too, emanating from others, always nettled her; it narrowed her +prerogative. + +"Besides," objected the marchesa, still fencing with the real +question, "who can answer for Count Marescotti? He is so capricious! +Supposing he likes Enrica to-day, he may change before to-morrow. Do +you really think he can care enough about Enrica to marry her? Her +name would be nothing to him." + +"I think he does care for her," replied Trenta, reflectively; "but +that can be ascertained. Enrica is a fit consort for a far greater man +than Count Marescotti. Not that he, as you say, would care about her +name. Remember, she will be your heiress--that is something." + +"Yes, yes, my heiress," answered the marchesa, vaguely; for the +dreadful question rose up in her mind, "What would Enrica have to +inherit?" + +That very day she had received a most insolent letter from a creditor. +Under the influence of the painful thoughts, she turned her head aside +and said nothing. One of her hands was raised over her eyes to shade +them from the candles; the other rested on her dark dress. + +If a marriage were really in question, what could be more serious? +Was not Enrica's marriage to raise up heirs to the Guinigi--heirs to +inherit the palace and the heirlooms? If--the marchesa banished the +thought, but it would return, and haunt her like a spectre--if not the +palace, then at least the name--the historic name, revered throughout +Italy? Nothing could deprive Enrica of the name--that name was in +itself a dower. That Enrica should possess both name and palace, with +a husband of her--the marchesa's--own choosing, had been her dream, +but it had been a far-off dream--a dream to be realized in the course +of years. + +Taken thus aback, the proposal made by Trenta appeared to her hurried +and premature--totally wanting in the dignified and well-considered +action that should mark the conduct of the great. Besides, if an +immediate marriage were arranged between Count Marescotti and Enrica, +only a part of her plan could be realized. Enrica was, indeed, +now almost portionless; there would be no time to pile up those +gold-pieces, or to swell those rustling sheaves of notes that she +had--in imagination--accumulated. + +"Portionless!" the marchesa repeated to herself, half aloud. "What a +humiliation!--my own niece!" + +It will be observed that all this time the marchesa had never +considered what Enrica's feeling might be. She was to obey her--that +was all. + +But in this the marchesa was not to blame. She undoubtedly carried +her idea of Enrica's subserviency too far; but custom was on her side. +Marriages among persons of high rank are "arranged" in Italy--arranged +by families or by priests, acting as go-betweens. The lady leaves the +convent, and her marriage is arranged. She is unconscious that she has +a heart--she only discovers that unruly member afterward. To love a +husband is unnecessary; there are so many "golden youths" to choose +from. And the husband has his pastime too. Cosi fan tutti! It is a +round game! + +All this time the cavaliere had never taken his eyes off his friend. +To a certain extent he understood what was passing in her mind. A +portionless niece would reveal her poverty. + +"A good marriage is a good thing," he suggested, as a safe general +remark, after having waited in vain for some response. + +"In all I do," the marchesa answered, loftily, "I must first consider +what is due to the dignity of my position." Trenta bowed. + +"Decidedly, marchesa; that is your duty. But what then?" + +"No feeling _whatever_ but that will influence me _now_, or +hereafter--nothing." She dwelt upon the last word defiantly, as the +final expression of her mind. Spite of this defiance, there was, +however, a certain hesitation in her manner which did not escape the +cavaliere. As she spoke, she looked hard at him, and touched his arm +to arouse his attention. + +Trenta, who knew her so well, perfectly interpreted her meaning. His +ruddy cheeks flushed crimson; his kindly eyes kindled; he felt sure +that his advice would be accepted. She was yielding, but he must +be most cautious not to let his satisfaction appear. So strangely +contradictory was the marchesa that, although nothing could possibly +be more advantageous to her own schemes than this marriage, she might, +if indiscreetly pressed, veer round, and, in spite of her interest, +refuse to listen to another syllable on the subject. + +All this kept the cavaliere silent. Receiving no answer, she looked +suspiciously at him, then grasped his arm tightly. + +"And you, cavaliere--how long have you been so deeply interested in +Enrica? What is she to you? Her future can only signify to you as far +as it affects myself." + +She waited for a reply. What was the cavaliere to answer? He loved +Enrica dearly, but he dared not say so, lest he should offend the +marchesa. He feared that if he spoke he should assuredly say too much. +Well as he knew her, the marchesa's egotism horrified him. + +"Poor Enrica!" he muttered, involuntarily, half aloud. + +The marchesa caught at the name. + +"Enrica?--yes. From the time of my husband's death I have sacrificed +my life to the duties imposed on me by my position. So must Enrica. No +personal feeling for her shall bias me in the least." + +Her eyes were fixed on those of Trenta. She paused again, and passed +her white hand slowly one over the other. The cavaliere looked down; +he durst not meet her glance, lest she should read his thoughts. +Thinking of Enrica at that moment, he absolutely hated her! + +"What would you advise me to do?" she asked, at last. Her voice fell +as she put the question. + +Trenta had been waiting for this direct appeal. Now his tongue was +unloosed. + +"I will tell you, Signora Marchesa, plainly what I would advise you +to do," was his answer. "Let Enrica marry Marescotti. Put the whole +matter into my hands, if you have sufficient confidence in me." + +"Remember, Trenta, the humiliation!" + +"What humiliation?" asked the cavaliere, with surprise. + +"The humiliation involved in the confession that my niece is almost +portionless." The words seemed to choke her. "She will inherit all I +have to leave," and she glanced significantly at the cavaliere; "but +that is--you understand me?--uncertain." + +"Bagatella!--that will be all right," he rejoined, with alacrity. "The +idea of money will not sway Marescotti in the least. He is wealthy--a +fine fellow. Have no fear of that. Leave it all to me, Enrica, and +Marescotti. I am an old courtier. Many a royal marriage has passed +through my hands. Per Bacco--though no one but the duke knew +it--through my hands! You may trust me, marchesa." + +There was a proud consciousness of the past in the old man's face. He +showed such perfect confidence in himself that he imparted the same +confidence to the marchesa. + +"I would trust no one else, Cesarino," she said, rising from her +chair. "But be cautious; bind me to nothing until we meet again. I +must hear all that passes between you and the count, then judge for +myself." + +"I will obey you in all things, noble lady," replied Trenta, +submissively. + +How he dreaded betraying his secret exultation! To emancipate +Enrica from her miserable life by an honorable marriage, was, to his +benevolent heart, infinite happiness! + +"Good-night, marchesa. May you repose well!" + +"Good-night, Cesarino--a rivederci!" + +So they parted. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. + + +The ball at Casa Orsetti was much canvassed in Lucca. Hospitality is +by no means a cardinal virtue in Italy. Even in the greatest houses, +the bread and salt of the Arab is not offered to you--or, if offered +at all, appears in the shape of such dangerously acid lemonade or +such weak tea, it is best avoided. Every year there are dances at the +Casino dei Nobili, during the Carnival, and there are veglioni, or +balls, at the theatre, where ladies go masked and in dominoes, but +do not dance; but these annual dissipations are paid for by ticket. +A general reception, therefore, including dancing, supper, and +champagne, _gratis_, was an event. + +The Orsetti Palace, a huge square edifice of reddish-gray stone, with +overtopping roof, four tiers of lofty windows, and a broad arched +entrance, or portone, with dark-green doors, stands in the street +of San Michele. You pass it, going from the railway-station to the +city-gate (where the Lucchese lions keep guard), and the road leads +onward to the peaked mountains over Spezia. + +On the evening of the ball the entire street of San Michele was hung +with Chinese lanterns, arranged in festoons. Opposite the entrance +shone a gigantic star of gas. The palace itself was a blaze of +light. As the night was warm, every window was thrown open; +chandeliers--scintillating like jeweled fountains--hung from the +ceilings; wax-lights innumerable, in gilded sconces, were grouped upon +the walls; crimson-silk curtains cast a ruddy glare across the street, +and the sound of harps and violins floated through the night air. The +crowd of beggars and idlers, generally gathered in the street, saw so +much that they might be considered to "assist," in an independent +but festive capacity, at the entertainment from outside. Matches were +hawked about for the convenience of the male portion of this +extempore assembly, and fruit in baskets was on sale for the women. +"Cigars--cigars of quality!"--"Good fruit--ripe fruit!" were cries +audible even in the ballroom; and a fine aroma of coarse tobacco +mounted rapidly upward to the illuminated windows. + +Within the archway groups of servants were ranged in the Orsetti +livery. Also a magnificent personage, not to be classed with any of +the other domestics, wearing a silver chain with a key passed across +his breast. The personage called a major-domo, in the discharge of +his duty, divested the ladies of their shawls, and arranged their +draperies. + +All this was witnessed with much glee by the plebs outside--the men +smoking, the women eating and talking. As the guests arrived in rapid +succession, the plebs pressed more and more forward, until at last +some of the boldest stood within the threshold. The giants in +livery not only tolerated this, but might be said to observe them +individually with favor--seeing how much of their admiration was +bestowed on themselves and their fine clothes. The major-domo also, +with amiable condescension, affected not to notice them--no, not even +when one tall fellow, a butcher, with eyes as black as sloes, a pipe +in his mouth, and a coarse cloak wrapped round him, took off his +hat to the Princess Cardeneff, as she passed by him glittering with +diamonds, and cried in her face, "Oh! bella, bella!" + +When the major-domo had performed those mysteries intrusted to him, +attendant giants threw open folding doors at the farther end of the +court, and the bright visions disappeared into a long gallery on the +ground-floor, painted in brilliant frescoes, to the reception-room. +The suite of rooms on the ground-floor are the summer apartments, +specially arranged for air and coolness. Rustic chairs stand against +walls painted with fruit and flowers, the stems and leaves represented +as growing out of the floor, as at Pompeii. The whole saloon is like +a _parterre_. Settees, sofas, and cozy Paris chairs covered with rich +satins, are placed under arbors of light-gilt trellis-work, wreathed +with exquisite creepers in full flower. Palms, orange and lemon trees, +flowering cacti, and large-leaved cane-plants, are grouped about; +consoles and marble tables, covered with the loveliest cut flowers. + +Near the door, in the first of these floral saloons where sweet scents +made the air heavy, stands the Countess Orsetti. Although she had +certainly passed that great female climacteric, forty, a stately +presence, white skin, abundant hair, and good features treated +artistically, gave her still a certain claim to matronly beauty. She +greets each guest with compliments and phrases which would have been +deemed excessive out of Italy. Here in Lucca, where she met most of +her guests every day, these compliments and phrases were not only +excessive, but wearisome and out of place. Yet such is the custom of +the country, and to such fulsome flattery do the language and common +usage lend themselves. Countess Orsetti, therefore, is not responsible +for this absurdity. + +Her son is beside her. He is short, stout, and smiling, with a +hesitating manner, and a habit of referring every thing to his +magnificent mamma. Away from his mamma, he is frank, talkative, and +amusing. It is to be hoped that he will marry soon, and escape from +the leading-strings. If he marries Teresa Ottolini--and it is said +such a result is certain--no palace in Lucca would be big enough to +hold Teresa and the countess-mother at one time. + +Group after group enters, bows to the countess, and passes on among +the flowers: the Countess Navascoes (with her lord), pale, statuesque, +dark-eyed, raven-haired--a type of Italian womanhood; Marchesa +Manzi--born of the noble house of Buoncampagni--looking as if she +had walked out of a picture by Titian; the Da Gia, separated from +her husband--a little habit, this, of Italian ladies, consequent upon +intimacy with the _jeunesse dorée_, who prefer the wives of their best +friends to all other women--it saves trouble, and a "golden youth" +is essentially idle. This little habit, moreover, of separation from +husbands does not damage the lady in the least; no one inquires what +has happened, or who is in the wrong. Society receives and pets her +just the same, and, quite impartial, receives and pets the husband +also.--Luisa Bernardini, a glowing little countess, as plump as an +ortolan, dimpling with smiles, an ugly old husband at her side--comes +next. It is whispered, unless the ugly old husband is blind as well +as deaf, they will be separated, too, very shortly. Young Civilla, +a "golden youth," is so very pressing. He could live with Luisa +at Naples--a cheap place. They might have gone on for years as a +triangular household--but for Civilla's carelessness. Civilla would +always put out old Bernardini about the dinner. (Civilla dined at +Bernardini's house every day, as he would at a _café_.) Now, old +Bernardini did not care a button that his little wife had a lover; it +would not have been _en règle_ if she had not--nor did he care that +his wife's lover should dine with him every day--not a bit--but old +Bernardini is a gourmand, and he does care to be kept waiting for his +dinner. He has lately confided to a friend, that he should be sorry +to cause a scandal, but that he must separate from his wife if Civilla +will not reform in the matter of the dinner-hour. "He is getting old," +Bernardini says, "and his digestion suffers." No man keeps a French +cook to be kept waiting for his dinner. + +Luisa, who looks the picture of innocence, wears an unexceptionable +pink dress, with a train that bodes ill-luck, and many apologies, to +her partners. A long train is Luisa's little game. (Spite of Civilla, +she has many other little games.) Fragments of the train fly about the +room all the evening, and admirers take care that she shall see +these picked up, fervently kissed, and stowed away as relics in +breast-pockets. One enthusiast pinned his fragment to his shoulder, +like an order--a knight of San Luisa, he called himself. + +Teresa Ottolini, with her mother, has just arrived. Being single, +Teresa either is, or affects to be, excessively steady; no one would +marry her if she were not--not even the good-natured Orsetti. Your +Italian husband _in futuro_ will pardon nothing in his wife that +may be--not even that her dress should be conspicuous, much less +her manners. Neither is it expedient that she should be seen much +in society. That dangerous phalanx of "golden youth" are ever on the +watch, "gentlemen sportsmen," to a man; their sport, woman. If she +goes out much these "golden youth" might compromise her. Less than +a breath upon a maiden's name is social death. That name must not be +coupled with any man's--not coupled even in lightest parlance. So the +lady waits, waits until she has a husband--it is more piquant to be +a naughty wife than a fast miss--then she makes her choice--one, or +a dozen--it is a matter of taste. Danger is added to vice; and that +element of intrigue dear to the Italian soul, both male and female. +The _jeunesse dorée_ delight in mild danger--a duel with swords, +not pistols, with a foolish husband. Why cannot he grin and bear +it?--others do. + +But to return to Teresa. She is courtesying very low to the Countess +Orsetti. Although it is well known that these ladies hate each other, +Countess Orsetti receives Teresa with a special welcome, kisses her +on both cheeks, addresses more compliments to her, and makes her more +courtesies than to any one else. How beautiful she is, the Ottolini, +with those white flowers twisted into the braids of her chestnut +hair!--those large, lazy eyes, too--like sleeping volcanoes!--Count +Orsetti thinks her beautiful, clearly; for, under the full battery of +his mother's glances, he advances to meet her, blushing like a girl. +He presses Teresa's hand, and whispers in her ear that "she must +not forget her promise about the cotillon. He has lived upon it ever +since." Her reply has apparently satisfied him, for the honest fellow +breaks out all over into smiles and bows and amorous glances. Then +she passes on, the fair Teresa, like a queen, followed by looks of +unmistakable admiration--much more unmistakable looks of admiration +than would be permitted elsewhere; but we are in Italy, where men are +born artists and have artistic feelings. + +The men, as a rule, are neither as distinguished looking nor as well +dressed as the women. The type of the Lucchese nobleman is dark, +short, and commonplace--rustic is the word. + +There is the usual crowding in doorways, and appropriation of seats +whence arrivals can be seen and criticised. But there is no line +of melancholy young girls wanting partners. The gentlemen decidedly +predominate, and all the ladies, except Teresa Ottolini and the +Boccarini, are married. + +The Marchesa Boccarini had already arrived, accompanied by her three +daughters. They are seated near the door leading from the first +saloon, where Countess Orsetti is stationed. In front of them is +a group of flowering plants and palm-trees. Madame Boccarini peers +through the leaves, glass in eye. As a general scans the advance +of the enemy's troops from behind an ambush, calculates what their +probable movements will be, and how he can foil them--either by open +attack or feigned retreat, skirmish or manoeuvre--so Madame Boccarini +scans the various arrivals between the dark-green foliage. + +To her every young and pretty woman is a rival to her daughters; if +a rival, an enemy--if an enemy, to be annihilated if possible, or at +least disabled, and driven ignominiously from the field. + +It is well known that the Boccarini girls are poor. They will have no +portions--every one understands that. The Boccarini girls must marry +as they can; no priest will interest himself in their espousals. It +was this that made Nera so attractive. She was perfectly natural and +unconventionally bold--"like an English mees," it was said--with +looks of horror. (The Americans have much to answer for; they have +emancipated young ladies; all their sins, and our own to boot, we have +to answer for abroad.) + +The Boccarini were in reality so poor that it was no uncommon thing +for them to remain at home because they could not afford to buy new +dresses in which to display themselves. (Poor Madame Boccarini felt +this far more than the girls did themselves.) To be seen more than +thrice in the same dress is impossible. Lucca is so small, every one's +clothes are known. There was no throwing dust in the eyes of dear +female friends in this particular. + +On the present occasion the Boccarini girls had made great efforts to +produce a brilliant result. Madame Boccarini had told her daughters +that they must expect no fresh dresses for six months at least, so +great had been the outlay. Nera, on hearing this, had tossed her +stately head, and had inwardly resolved that before six months she +would marry--and that, dress or no dress, she would go wherever she +had a chance of meeting Count Nobili. Her mother tacitly concurred in +these views, as far as Count Nobili was concerned, but said nothing. + +A Belgravian mother who frankly drills her daughter and points out, +_viva voce_, when to advance and when to retreat, and to whom the +honors of war are to be accorded--is an article not yet imported into +classic Italy with the current Anglomania. + +Beside Nera sat Prince Ruspoli, a young Roman of great wealth. Ruspoli +aspired to lead the fashion, but not even Poole could well tailor him. +(Ruspoli was called _poule mouillée_.) Nature had not intended it. +His tall, gaunt figure, long arms, and thin legs, rendered him +artistically unavailable. The music has just sounded from a large +saloon at the end of the suite, and Prince Ruspoli has offered his arm +to Nera for the first waltz. If Count Nobili had arrived, she would +have refused Ruspoli, even on the chance of losing the dance; but he +had not come. Her sisters, who are older, and less attractive than +herself, had as yet found no partners; but they were habitually +resigned and amiable, and submitted with perfect meekness to be +obliterated by Nera. + +A knot of young men have now formed near the door of the +dancing-saloon. They are eagerly discussing the cotillon, the final +dance of the evening. Count Orsetti had left his mother's side and +joined them. + +The cotillon is a matter of grave consideration--the very gravest. +Indeed it was very seldom these young heads considered any thing +so grave. On the success of the cotillon depends the success of the +evening. All the "presents" had come from Paris. Some of the figures +were new and required consultation. + +"I mean to dance with Teresa Ottolini," announced Count Orsetti, +timidly--he could not name Teresa without reddening. "We arranged it +together a month ago." + +"And I am engaged to Countess Navascoes," said Count Malatesta. + +This engagement was said to have begun some years back, and to be very +enthralling. No one objected, least of all the husband, who worshiped +at the shrine of the blooming Bernardini when she quarreled with +Civilla. A lady of fashion has a choice of lovers, as she has a choice +of dresses--for all emergencies. + +"But how about these new figures?" asked Orsetti. + +"Per Bacco--hear the music!" cried Malatesta. "What a delicious waltz! +I want to dance. Let's settle it at once. Who's to lead?" + +"Oh! Baldassare, of course," replied Franchi, a sallow, languid young +man, who looked as if he had been raised in a hot-house, and had lost +all his color. "Nobody else would take the trouble. Who is he to dance +with?" + +"Let him see who will have him. I shall not interfere. He'll dance +for both, anyhow," answered Orsetti, laughing. "No one competes with +Adonis." + +"Where is he?" + +"Oh! dancing, of course," returned Orsetti. "Don't you see him +twirling round like a teetotum, with Marchesa Amici 'of the +swan-neck?'" And he pointed to a pair who were waltzing with +such precision that they never by a single step broke the +circle--Baldassare gallantly receiving the charge of any free lancers +who flung themselves in their path. + +Baldassare is much elated at being permitted to dance with "the +swan-neck," a little faded now, but once a noted beauty. The swan-neck +is a famous lady. Ill-natured persons might have added an awkward +syllable to _famous._ She had been very dear to a great Russian +magnate who lived in a villa lined with malachite, and loaded her +with gifts. But as the marquis, her husband, was always with her and +invariably spoke of his wife as an angel, where was the harm? Now the +Russian magnate was dead, and the Marchesa Amici had retired to Lucca, +to enjoy the spoils along with her discreet and complaisant marquis. + +"How that young fellow does push himself!" observes the cynical +Franchi. "Dancing with the Amici--such a great lady! Nothing is sacred +to him." + +"I wish Nobili were come." It was Orsetti who spoke now. "I should +have liked him to lead instead of Baldassare. Adonis is getting +forward. He wants keeping in order. Will no one else lead? I cannot, +in my own house." + +"Oh! but you would mortally offend poor Trenta if you did not let +Baldassare lead. The women will keep him in order," was the immediate +reply of a young man who had not yet spoken. "The cavaliere must +marshal the dancers, and Baldassare must lead, or the old man would +break his heart." + +"I wish Nobili were here all the same," replied Orsetti. "If he does +not come soon, we must select his partner for him. Whom is he to +have?" + +"Oh! Nera Boccarini, of course," responded two or three voices, amid a +general titter. + +"I don't think Nobili cares a straw about Nera," put in the languid +Franchi, drawling out his words. "I have heard quite another story +about Nobili. Give Nera to Ruspoli. He seems about to take her for +life. I wish him joy!" with a sneer. "Ruspoli likes English manners. +Nera won't get Nobili, my word upon _that_--there are too many stories +about her." + +But these remarks at the moment passed unnoticed. No one asked what +Franchi had heard, all being intent about the cotillon and the choice +of partners. + +"Well," burst out Orsetti, no longer able to resist the music (the +waltz had been turned into a galop), "I am sure I don't care if Nobili +or Ruspoli likes Nera. I shall not try to cut them out." + +"No, no, not you, Orsetti! We know your taste does not lie in that +quarter. Yours is the domestic style, chaste and frigid!" cried +Malatesta, with a sardonic smile. There was a laugh. Malatesta was +so bad, even according to the code of the "golden youths," that he +compromised any lady by his attentions. Orsetti blushed crimson. + +"Pardon me," he replied, much confused, "I must go; my partner is +looking daggers at me. Call up old Trenta and tell him what he has +to do." Orsetti rushes off to the next room, where Teresa Ottolini is +waiting for him, with a look of gentle reproach in her sleepy eyes, +where lies the hidden fire. + +Meanwhile Cavaliere Trenta's white head, immaculate blue coat and gold +buttons--to which coat were attached several orders--had been seen +hovering about from chair to chair through the rooms. He attached +himself specially to elderly ladies, his contemporaries. To these he +repeated the identical high-flown compliments he had addressed to +them thirty years before, in the court circle of the Duke of +Lucca--compliments such as elderly ladies love, though conscious all +the time of their absurd inappropriateness. + +Like the dried-up rose-bud of one's youth, religiously preserved as a +relic, there is a faint flavor of youth and pleasure about them, +sweet still, as a remembrance of the past. "Always beautiful, always +amiable!" murmured the cavaliere, like a rhyme, a placid smile upon +his rosy face. + +Summoned to the cabinet council held near the door, Trenta becomes +intensely interested. He weighs each detail, he decides every point +with the gravity of a judge: how the new figures are to be danced, and +with whom Baldassare is to lead--no one else could do it. He himself +would marshal the dances. + +The double orchestra now play as if they were trying to drown each +other. Half a dozen rooms are full of dancers. The matrons, and older +men, have subsided into whist up-stairs. All the ladies have found +partners; there is not a single wall-flower. + +Nothing could exceed the stately propriety of the ball. It was a grand +and stately gathering. Nobody but Nera Boccarini was natural. "To +save appearances" is the social law. "Do what you like, but save +appearances." A dignified hypocrisy none disobey. These men and women, +with the historic names, dare not show each other what they are. There +was no flirting, no romping, no loud laughter; not a loud word--no +telltale glances, no sitting in corners. It was a pose throughout. Men +bowed ceremoniously, and addressed as strangers ladies with whom they +spent every evening. Husbands devoted themselves to wives whom they +never saw but in public. Innocence _may_ betray itself, _seems_ to +betray itself--guilt never. Guilt is cautious. + +At this moment Count Nobili entered. He was received with lofty +courtesy by the countess. Her manner implied a gentle protest. Count +Nobili was a banker's son; his mother was not--_née_--any thing. Still +he was welcome. She graciously bent her head, on which a tiara of +diamonds glittered--in acknowledgment of his compliments on the +brilliancy of her ball. + +Nobili's address was frank and manly. There was an ease and freedom +about him that contrasted favorably with the effeminate appearance +and affected manners of the _jeunesse dorée_. His voice, too, was a +pleasant voice, and gave a value to all he said. A sunny smile lighted +up his fair-complexioned face, the face old Carlotta had called +"lucky." + +"You are very late," the countess had said, with the slightest tone +of annoyance in her voice--fanning herself languidly as she spoke. "My +son has been looking for you." + +"It has been my loss, Signora Contessa," replied Nobili, bowing. +"Pardon me. I was delayed. With your permission, I will find your +son." He bowed again, then walked on into the dancing-rooms beyond. + +Nobili had come late. "Why should he go at all?" he had asked himself, +sighing, as he sat at home, smoking a solitary cigar. "What was the +Orsetti ball, or any other ball, to him, when Enrica was not there?" + +Nevertheless, he did dress, and he did go, telling himself, however, +that he was simply fulfilling a social duty by so doing. Now that he +is here, standing in the ballroom, the incense of the flowers in his +nostrils, the music thrilling in his ear--now that flashing eyes, +flushed cheeks, graceful forms palpitating with the fury of the +dance--and hands with clasping fingers, are turned toward him--does he +still feel regretful--sad? Not in the least. + +No sooner had he arrived than he found himself the object of a species +of ovation. This put him into the highest possible spirits. It was +most gratifying. He could not possibly do less than return these +salutations with the same warmth with which they were offered. + +Not that Count Nobili acknowledged any inferiority to those among whom +he moved as an equal. Count Nobili held that, in New Italy, every +man is a gentleman who is well educated and well mannered. As to the +language the Marchesa Guinigi used about him, he shook with laughter +whenever it was mentioned. + +So it fell out that, before he had arrived many minutes, the +remembrance of Enrica died out, and Nobili flung himself into the +spirit of the ball with all the ardor of his nature. + +"Why did you come so late, Nobili?" asked Orsetti, turning his head, +and speaking in the pause of a waltz with Luisa Bernardini. "You must +go at once and talk to Trenta about the cotillon." + +"Well, Nobili, you gave us a splendid entertainment for the festival," +said Franchi. "Per Dio! there were no women to trouble us." + +"No women!" exclaimed Civilla--"that was the only fault. Divine +woman!--Otherwise it was superb. Who has been ill-treating you, +Franchi, to make you so savage?" + +Franchi put up his eye-glass and stared at him. + +"When there is good wine, I prefer to drink it without women. They +distract me." + +"Never saw such a reception in Lucca," said Count Malatesta; "never +drank such wine. Go on, caro mio, go on, and prosper. We will all +support you, but we cannot imitate you." + +Nobili, passing on quickly, nearly ran over Cavaliere Trenta. He was +in the act of making a profound obeisance, as he handed an ice to one +of his contemporaries. + +"Ah, youth! youth!" exclaimed poor Trenta, softly, with difficulty +recovering his equilibrium by the help of his stick.--"Never mind, +Count Nobili, don't apologize; I can bear any thing from a young +man who celebrates the festival of the Holy Countenance with such +magnificence. Per Bacco! you are the best Lucchese in Lucca. I have +seen nothing like it since the duke left. My son, it was worthy of the +palace you inhabit." + +Ah! could the marchesa have heard this, she would never have spoken to +Trenta again! + +"You gratify me exceedingly, cavaliere," replied Nobili, really +pleased at the old man's praise. "I desire, as far as I can, to become +Lucchese at heart. Why should not the festivals of New Italy exceed +those of the old days? At least, I shall do my best that it be so." + +"Eh? eh?" replied Trenta, rubbing his nose with a doubtful expression; +"difficult--very difficult. In the old days, my young friend, society +was a system. Each sovereign was the centre of a permanent court +circle. There were many sovereigns and many circles--many purses, +too, to pay the expenses of each circle. Now it is all hap-hazard; no +money, no court, no king." + +"No king?" exclaimed Nobili, with surprise. + +"I beg pardon, count," answered the urbane Trenta, remembering +Nobili's liberal politics--"I mean no society. Society, as a system, +has ceased to exist in Italy. But we must think of the cotillon. It +is now twelve o'clock. There will be supper. Then we must soon begin. +You, count, are to dance with Nera Boccarini. You came so late we were +obliged to arrange it for you." + +Nobili colored crimson. + +"Does the lady--does Nera Boccarini know this?" he asked, and as he +asked his color heightened. + +"Well, I cannot tell you, but I presume she does. Count Orsetti will +have told her. The cotillon was settled early. You have no objection +to dance with her, I presume?" + +"None--none in the world. Why should I?" replied Nobili, hastily (now +the color of his cheeks had grown crimson). "Only--only I might +not have selected her." The cavaliere looked up at him with evident +surprise. "Am I obliged to dance the cotillon at all, cavaliere?" +added Nobili, more and more confused. "Can't I sit out?" + +"Oh, impossible--simply impossible!" cried Trenta, authoritatively. +"Every couple is arranged. Not a man could fill your place; the whole +thing would be a failure." + +"I am sorry," answered Nobili, in a low voice--"sorry all the same." + +"Now go, and find your partner," said Trenta, not heeding this little +speech. "I am about to have the chairs arranged. Go and find your +partner." + +"Now what could make Nobili object to dance with Nera Boccarini?" +Trenta asked himself, when Nobili was gone, striking his stick loudly +on the floor, as a sign for the music to cease. + +There was an instant silence. The gentlemen handed the ladies to a +long gallery, the last of the suite of the rooms on the ground-floor. +Here a buffet was arranged. The musicians also were refreshed with +good wine and liquors, before the arduous labors of the cotillon +commenced. No brilliant cotillon ends before 8 A.M.; then there is +breakfast and driving home by daylight at ten o'clock. + +Nobili, his cheeks still tingling, felt that the moment had come +when he must seek his partner. It would be difficult to define the +contending feelings that made him reluctant to do so. Nera Boccarini +had taken no pains to conceal how much she liked him. This was +flattering; perhaps he felt it was too flattering. There was a +determination about Nera, a power of eye and tongue, an exuberance of +sensuous youth, that repelled while it allured him. It was like new +wine, luscious to the taste, but strong and heavy. New wine is very +intoxicating. Nobili loved Enrica. At that moment every woman that +did not in some subtile way remind him of her, was distasteful to him. +Now, it was not possible to find two women more utterly different, +more perfect contrasts, than the dreamy, reserved, tender Enrica--so +seldom seen, so little known--and the joyous, outspoken Nera--to be +met with at every mass, every _fête_, in the shops, on the Corso, on +the ramparts. + +Now, Nera, who had been dancing much with Prince Ruspoli, had heard +from him that Nobili was selected as her partner in the cotillon. + +"Another of your victims," Prince Ruspoli had said, with a kindling +eye. + +Nera had laughed gayly. + +"My victims?" she retorted. "I wish you would tell me who they are." + +This question was accompanied by a most inviting glance. Prince +Ruspoli met her glance, but said nothing. (Nera greatly preferred +Nobili, but it is well to have two strings to one's bow, and Ruspoli +was a prince with a princely revenue.) + +When Nobili appeared, Prince Ruspoli, who had handed Nera to a seat +near a window, bowed to her and retired. + +"To the devil with Nobili!" was Prince Ruspoli's thought, as he +resigned her. "I do like that girl--she is so English!" and Ruspoli +glanced at Poole's dress-clothes, which fitted him so badly, and +remembered with satisfaction certain balls in London, and certain +water-parties at Maidenhead (Ruspoli had been much in England), +where he had committed the most awful solecisms, according to Italian +etiquette, with frank, merry-hearted girls, whose buoyant spirits were +contagious. + +Nobili's eyes fell instinctively to the ground as he approached Nera. +The rosy shadow of the red-silk curtains behind her fell upon her +face, bosom, and arms, with a ruddy glow. + +"I am to have the honor of dancing the cotillon with you, I believe?" +he said, still looking down. + +"Yes, I believe so," she responded--"at least so I am told; but you +have not asked me yet. Perhaps you would prefer some one else. I +confess _I_ am satisfied." + +As she spoke, Nera riveted her full black eyes upon Nobili. If he +only would look up, she would read his thoughts, and tell him her +own thoughts also. But Nobili did not look up; he felt her gaze, +nevertheless; it thrilled him through and through. + +At this moment, the melody of a voluptuous waltz, the opening of the +cotillon, burst from the orchestra with an _entrain_ that might have +moved an anchorite. As the sounds struck upon his ear, Nobili grew +dizzy under the magnetism of those unseen eyes. His cheeks flushed +suddenly, and the blood stirred itself tumultuously in his veins. + +"Why should I repulse this girl because she loves me?" he asked +himself. + +This question came to him, wafted, as it were, upon the wings of the +music. + +"Count Nobili, you have not answered me," insisted Nera. She had not +moved. "You are very absent this evening. Do you _wish_ to dance with +me? Tell me." + +She dwelt upon the words. Her voice was low and very pleading. Nobili +had not yet spoken. + +"I ask you again," she said. + +This time her voice sounded most enticing. She touched his arm, too, +laying her soft fingers upon it, and gazed up into his face. Still no +answer. + +"Will you not speak to me, Nobili?" She leaned forward, and grasped +his arm convulsively. "Nobili, tell me, I implore you, what have I +done to offend you?" + +Tears gathered in her eyes. Nobili felt her hand tremble. + +He looked up; their eyes met. There was a fire in hers that was +contagious. His heart gave a great bound. Pressing within his own the +hand that still rested so lovingly upon his arm, Nobili gave a rapid +glance round. The room was empty; they were standing alone near the +window, concealed by the ample curtains. Now the red shadow fell upon +them both-- + +"This shall be my answer, Nera--siren," whispered Nobili. + +As he speaks he clasps her in his arms; a passionate kiss is imprinted +upon her lips. + + * * * * * + +Hours have passed; one intoxicating waltz-measure has been exchanged +for another, that falls upon the ear as enthralling as the last. Not +an instant had the dances ceased. The Cavaliere Trenta, his round +face beaming with smiles, is seated in an arm-chair at the top of the +largest ballroom. He keeps time with his foot. Now and then he raps +loudly with his stick on the floor and calls out the changes of the +figures. Baldassare and Luisa Bernardini lead with the grace and +precision of practised dancers. + +"Brava! brava! a thousand times! Brava!" calls out the cavaliere +from his arm-chair, clapping his hands. "You did that beautifully, +marchesa!"--This was addressed to the swan's-neck, who had circled +round, conducted by her partner, selecting such gentlemen as she +pleased, and grouping them in one spot, in order to form a _bouquet_. +"You couldn't have done it better if you had been taught in +Paris.--Forward! forward!" to a timid couple, to whom the intricacies +of the figure were evidently distracting. "Belle donne! belle donne! +Victory to the brave! Fear nothing.--Orsetti, keep the circle down +there; you are out of your place. You will never form the _bouquet_ if +you don't--Louder! louder!" to the musicians, holding up his stick +at them like a marshal's bâton--"loud as they advance--then +piano--diminuendo--pia-nis-si-mo--as they retreat. That sort of +thing gives picturesqueness--light and shade, like a picture. Hi! hi! +Malatesta! The devil! You are spoiling every thing! Didn't I tell you +to present the flowers to your partner? So--so. The flowers--they are +there." Trenta pointed to a table. He struggled to rise to fetch the +bouquets himself. Malatesta was too quick for him, however. + +"Now bring up all the ladies and place them in chairs; bow to them," +etc., etc. + +Thanks to the energy of the cavaliere, and the agility of +Baldassare--who, it is admitted on all hands, had never distinguished +himself so much as on this occasion--all the difficulties of the new +figures have been triumphantly surmounted. Gentlemen had become spokes +of a gigantic wheel that whirled round a lady seated on a chair in +the centre of the room. They had been named as roots, trees, and even +vegetables; they had answered to such names, seeking corresponding +weeds as their partners. At a clap of the cavaliere's hands they had +dashed off wildly, waltzing. Gentlemen had worn paper nightcaps, put +on masks, and been led about blindfold. They had crept under chairs, +waved flags from tables, thrown up colored balls, and unraveled +puzzles--all to the rhythm of the waltz-measure babbling on like a +summer brooklet under the sun, through emerald meadows. + +And now the exciting moment of the ribbons is come--the moment +when the best presents are to be produced--the ribbons--a sheaf of +rainbow-colors, fastened into a strong golden ring, which ring is to +be held by a single lady, each gentleman grasping (as best he can) a +single ribbon. As long as the lady seated on the chair in the centre +pleases, the gentlemen are to gyrate round her. When she drops the +ring holding the sheaf of ribbons, the Cavaliere Trenta is to clap his +hands, and each gentleman is instantly to select that lady who wears +a rosette corresponding in color to his ribbon--the lady in the chair +being claimed by her partner. + +Nobili has placed Nera Boccarini on the chair in the centre. (Ever +since the flavor of that fervid kiss has rested on his lips, Nobili +has been lost in a delicious dream. "Why should not he and Nera +dance on--on--on--forever?--Into indefinite space, if possible--only +together?" He asks himself this question vaguely, as she rests within +his arms--as he drinks in the subtile perfume of the red roses bound +in her glossy hair.) + +Nera is triumphant. Nobili is her own! As she sits in that chair +when he has placed her, she is positively radiant. Love has given +an unknown tenderness to her eyes, a more delicate brilliancy to her +cheeks, a softness, almost a languor, to her movements. (Look out, +acknowledged _belle_ of Lucca--look out, Teresa Ottolini--here is +a dangerous rival to your supremacy! If Nobili loves Nera as Nera +believes he does--Nera will ripen quickly into yet more transcendent +beauty.) + +Now Nobili has left Nera, seated in the chair. He is distributing +the various ribbons among the dancers. As there are over a hundred +couples, and there is some murmuring and struggling to secure certain +ladies, who match certain ribbons, this is difficult, and takes time. +See--it is done; again Nobili retires behind Nera's chair, to wait the +moment when he shall claim her himself. + +How the men drag at the ribbons, whirling round and round, +hand-in-hand!--Nera's small hand can scarcely hold them--the men +whirling round every instant faster--tumbling over each other, indeed; +each moment the ribbons are dragged harder. Nera laughs; she sways +from side to side, her arms extended. Faster and more furiously the +men whirl round--like runaway horses now, bearing dead upon the reins. +The strain is too great, Nera lets fall the ring. The cavaliere claps +his hands. Each gentleman rushes toward the lady wearing a rosette +matching his ribbon. Nera rises. Already she is encircled by Nobili's +arm. He draws her to him; she makes one step forward. Nera is a bold, +firm dancer, but, unknown to her, the ribbons in falling have become +entangled about her feet; she, is bound, she cannot stir; she gives +a little scream. Nobili, startled, suddenly loosens his hold upon her +waist. Nera totters, extends her arms, then falls heavily backward, +her head striking on the _parquet_ floor. There is a cry of horror. +Every dancer stops. They gather round her where she lies. Her face is +turned upward, her eyes are set and glassy, her cheeks are ashen. + +"Holy Virgin!" cries Nobili, in a voice of anguish, "I have killed +her!" He casts himself on the floor beside her--he raises her in his +strong arms. "Air, air!--give her air, or she will die!" he cries. + +Putting every one aside, he carries Nera to the nearest window, he +lays her tenderly on a sofa. It is the very spot where he had kissed +her--under the fiery shadow of the red curtain. Alas! Nobili is +sobered now from the passion of that moment. The glamour has departed +with the light of Nera's eyes. He is ashamed of himself; but there +is a swelling at his heart, nevertheless--an impulse of infinite +compassion toward the girl who lies senseless before him--her beauty, +her undisguised love for him, plead powerfully for her. Does he love +her? + +The Countess Boccarini and Nera's sisters are by her side. The poor +mother at first is speechless; she can only chafe her child's cold +hands, and kiss her white lips. + +"Nera, Nera," at last she whispers, "Nera, speak to me--speak to +me--one word--only one word!" + +But, alas! there is no sign of animation--to all appearance Nera is +dead. Nobili, convinced that he alone is responsible, and too much +agitated to care what he does, kneels beside her, and places his hand +upon her heart. + +"She lives! she lives!" he cries--"her heart beats! Thank God, I have +not killed her!" + +This leap from death to life is too much for him; he staggers to his +feet, falls into a chair, and sobs aloud. Nera's eyelids tremble; she +opens her eyes, her lips move. + +"Nera, my child, my darling, speak to me!" cries Madame Boccarini. +"Tell me that you can hear me." + +Nera tries to raise her head, but in vain. It falls back upon the +cushion. + +"Home, mamma--home!" her lips feebly whisper. + +At the sound of her voice Nobili starts up; he brushes away the tears +that still roll down his cheeks. Again he lifts Nera tenderly in his +arms. For that night Nera belongs to him; no one else shall touch her. +He bears her down-stairs to a carriage. Then he disappears into the +darkness of the night. + +No one will leave the ball until there is some report of Nera's +condition from the doctor who has been summoned. The gay groups sit +around the glittering ballroom, and whisper to each other. The "golden +youth" offer bets as to Nera's recovery; the ladies, who are jealous, +back freely against it. In half an hour, however, Countess Orsetti is +able to announce that "Nera Boccarini is better, and that, beyond the +shock, it is hoped that she is not seriously hurt." + +"You see, Malatesta, I was right," drawls out the languid Franchi as +he descends the stairs. "You will believe me another time. You know +I told you and Orsetti that Nera Boccarini and Nobili understood each +other. He's desperately in love with her." + +"I don't believe it, all the same," answers Malatesta, shaking his +head. "A man can't half kill a girl and show no compunction--specially +not Nobili--the best-hearted fellow breathing. Nobili is just the man +to feel such an accident as that dreadfully. How splendid Nera looked +to-night! She quite cut out the Ottolini." Malatesta spoke with +enthusiasm; he had a practised eye for woman's fine points. "Here, +Adonis--I beg your pardon--Baldassare, I mean--where are you going?" + +"Home," replies the Greek mask. + +"Never mind home; we are all obliged to you. You lead the cotillon +admirably." + +Baldassare smiles, and shows two rows of faultless teeth. + +"Come and have some supper with us at the Universo. Franchi is coming, +and all our set." + +"With the greatest pleasure," replies Baldassare, smiling. + + + + +PART II. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +CALUMNY. + + +Baldassare was, of course, invited by the cavaliere to join the +proposed expedition to the tombs of the Trenta and to the Guinigi +Tower. Half an hour before the time appointed he appeared at the +Palazzo Trenta. The cavaliere was ready, and they went out into the +street together. + +"If you have not been asleep since the ball, Baldassare--which is +probable--perhaps you can tell me how Nera Boccarini is this morning?" + +"She is quite well, I understand," answered Adonis, with an air of +great mystery, as he smoothed his scented beard. "She is only a little +shaken." + +"By Jove!" exclaimed the cavaliere. "Never was I present at any thing +like that! A love-scene in public! Once, indeed, I remember, on one +occasion, when her highness Paulina threw herself into the arms of his +serene highness--" + +"Have you heard the news?" asked Baldassare, interrupting him. + +He dreaded a long tirade from the old chamberlain on the subject +of his court reminiscences; besides, Baldassare was bursting with a +startling piece of intelligence as yet evidently unknown to Trenta. + +"News!--no," answered the cavaliere, contemptuously. "I dare say it is +some lie. You have, I am sorry to say, Baldassare, all the faults of a +person new to society; you believe every thing." + +Baldassare eyed the cavaliere defiantly; but he pulled at his curled +mustache in silence. + +The cavaliere stopped short, raised his head, and scanned him +attentively. + +"Out with it, my boy, out with it, or it will choke you! I see you are +dying to tell me!" + +"Not at all, cavaliere," replied Baldassare, with assumed +indifference; "only I must say that I believe you are the only person +in Lucca who has not heard it." + +"Heard what?" demanded Trenta, angrily. + +Baldassare knew the cavaliere's weak point; he delighted to tease him. +Trenta considered himself, and was generally considered by others, as +a universal news-monger; it was a habit that had remained to him +from his former life at court. From the time of Polonius downward a +court-chamberlain has always been a news-monger. + +"Heard? Why, the news--the great news," Baldassare spoke in the +same jeering tone. He drew himself up, affecting to look over the +cavaliere's head as he bent on his stick before him. + +"Go on," retorted the cavaliere, doggedly. + +"How strange you have not heard any thing!" Trenta now looked so +enraged, Baldassare thought it was time to leave off bantering him. +"Well, then, cavaliere, since you really appear to be ignorant, I will +tell you. After you left the Orsetti ball, Malatesta asked me and the +other young men of their set to supper at the Universo Hotel." + +"Mercy on us!" ejaculated the cavaliere, who was now thoroughly +irritated, "you consider yourself one of _their set_, do you? I +congratulate you, young man. This is news to me." + +"Certainly, cavaliere, if you ask me, I do consider myself one of +their set." + +The cavaliere shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. + +"We talked of the accident," continued Baldassare, affecting not to +notice his sneers, "and we talked of Nobili. Many said, as you +do, that Nobili is in love with Nera Boccarini, and that he would +certainly marry her. Malatesta laughed, as is his way, then he swore +a little. Nobili would do no such thing, he declared, he would +answer for it. He had it on the best authority, he said, that of an +eye-witness." (Ah, cruel old Carlotta, you have made good your threat +of vengeance!) "An eye-witness had said that Nobili was in love +with some one else--some one who wrote to him; that they had been +watched--that he met some one secretly, and that by-and-by all the +city would know it, and that there would be a great scandal." + +"And who may the lady be?" asked the cavaliere carelessly, raising +his head as he put the question, with a sardonic glance at Baldassare. +"Not that I believe one word Malatesta says. He is a young coxcomb, +and you, Baldassare, are a parrot, and repeat what you hear. Per +Bacco! if there had been any thing serious, I should have known it +long ago. Who is the lady?" Spite of himself, however, his blue eyes +sparkled with curiosity. + +"The marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi." + +"What!" roared out the cavaliere, striking his stick so violently on +the ground that the sound echoed through the solitary street. "Enrica +Guinigi, whom I see every day! What a lie!--what a base lie! How dare +Malatesta--the beast--say so? I will chastise him myself!--with my own +hand, old as I am, I will chastise him! Enrica Guinigi!" + +Baldassare shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace. This incensed +the cavaliere more violently. + +"Now, listen to me, Baldassare Lena," shouted the cavaliere, +advancing, and putting his fist almost into his face. "Your father is +a chemist; and keeps a shop. He is not a doctor, though you call +him so. If ever you presume again to repeat scandals such as +this--scandals, I say, involving the reputation of noble ladies, my +friends--ladies into whose houses I have introduced you, there shall +be no more question of your being of their '_set_.' I will take care +that you never enter one of their doors again. By the body of my holy +ancestor, San Riccardo, I will disgrace you--publicly disgrace you!" + +Trenta's rosy face had grown purple, his lips worked convulsively. He +raised his stick, and flourished it in the air, as if about to make it +descend like a truncheon on Baldassare's shoulders. Adonis drew back a +step or two, following with his eyes the cavaliere's movements. He +was quite unmoved by his threats. Not a day passed that Trenta did not +threaten him with his eternal displeasure. Adonis was used to it, and +bore it patiently. He bore it because he could not help it. Although +by no means overburdened with brains, he was conscious that as yet he +was not sufficiently established in society to stand alone. Still, +he had too high an opinion of his personal beauty, fine clothes, and +general merits, to believe that the ladies of Lucca would permit of +his banishment by any arbitrary decree of the cavaliere. + +"You had better find out the truth, cavaliere," he muttered, keeping +well out of the range of Trenta's stick, "before you put yourself in +such a passion." + +"Domine Dio! that they should dare to utter such abominations!" +ejaculated the cavaliere. "Why, Enrica lives the life of a nun! I +doubt if she has ever seen Nobili--certainly she has never spoken to +him. Let Malatesta, and the young scoundrels at the club, attack +the married women. They can defend themselves. But, to calumniate an +innocent girl!--it is horrible!--it is unmanly! His highness the Duke +of Lucca would have banished the wretch forthwith. Ah! Italy is going +to the devil!--Now, Baldassare," he continued, turning round and +glaring upon Adonis, who still retreated cautiously before him, "I +have a great mind to send you home. We are about to meet the young +lady herself. You are not worthy to be in her company." + +"I only repeated what Malatesta told me," urged Baldassare, +plaintively, looking very blank. "I am not answerable for him. Go and +quarrel with Malatesta, if you like, but leave me alone. You asked me +a question, and I answered you. That is all." + +Baldassare had dressed himself with great care; his hair was +exquisitely curled for the occasion. He had nothing to do all day, and +the prospect of returning home was most depressing. + +"You are not answerable for being born a fool!" was the rejoinder. "I +grant that. Who told Malatesta?" asked the cavaliere, turning sharply +toward Baldassare. + +"He said he had heard it in many quarters. He insisted on having heard +it from one who had seen them together." + +(Old Carlotta, sitting in her shop-door at the corner of the street of +San Simone, like an evil spider in its web, could have answered that +question.) + +The cavaliere was still standing on the same spot, in the centre of +the street. + +"Baldassare," he said, addressing him more calmly, "this is a wicked +calumny. The marchesa must not hear it. Upon reflection, I shall not +notice it. Malatesta is a chattering fool--an ape! I dare say he was +tipsy when he said it. But, as you value my protection, swear to +me not to repeat one word of all this. If you hear it mentioned, +contradict it--flatly contradict it, on my authority--the authority +of the Marchesa Guinigi's oldest friend. Nobili will marry Nera +Boccarini, and there will be an end of it; and Enrica--yes, +Baldassare," continued the cavaliere, with an air of immense +dignity--"yes, to prove to you how ridiculous this report is, Enrica +is about to marry also. I am at this very time authorized by the +family to arrange an alliance with--" + +"I guess!" burst out Baldassare, reddening with delight at being +intrusted with so choice a piece of news--"with Count Marescotti!" +Trenta gave a conscious smile, and nodded. This was done with a +certain reserve, but still graciously. "To be sure; it was easy to see +how much he admired her, but I did not know that the lady--" + +"Oh, yes, the lady is all right--she will agree," rejoined Trenta. +"She knows no one else; she will obey her aunt's commands and my +wishes." + +"I am delighted!" cried Baldassare. "Why, there will be a ball at +Palazzo Guinigi--a ball, after all!" + +"But the marchesa must never hear this scandal about Nobili," added +Trenta, suddenly relapsing into gravity. "She hates him so much, it +might give her a fit. Have a care, Baldassare--have a care, or you may +yet incur my severest displeasure." + +"I am sure I don't want the marchesa or any one else to know it," +replied Baldassare, greatly reassured as to the manner in which he +would pass his day by the change in Trenta's manner. "I would not +annoy her or injure the signorina for all the world. I am sure you +know that, cavaliere. No word shall pass my lips, I promise you." + +"Good! good!" responded Trenta, now quite pacified (it was not in +Trenta's nature to be angry long). Now he moved forward, and as he did +so he took Baldassare's arm, in token of forgiveness. "No names must +be mentioned," he continued, tripping along--"mind, no names; but I +authorize you, on my authority, if you hear this abominable nonsense +repeated--I authorize you to say that you have it from me--that Enrica +Guinigi is to be married, _and not to Nobili_. He! he! That will +surprise them--those chattering young blackguards at the club." + +Thus, once more on the most amiable terms, the cavaliere and +Baldassare proceeded leisurely arm-in-arm toward the street of San +Simone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO. + + +Count Marescotti was walking rapidly up and down in the shade before +the Guinigi Palace when the cavaliere and Baldassare appeared. He was +so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not perceive them. + +"I must speak to him as soon as possible about Enrica," was Trenta's +thought on seeing him. "With this report going about, there is not an +hour to lose." + +"You have kept your appointment punctually, count," he said, laying +his hand on Marescotti's shoulder. + +"Punctual, my dear cavaliere? I never missed an appointment in my life +when made with a lady. I was up long before daylight, looking over +some books I have with me, in order to be able the better to describe +any object of interest to the Signorina Enrica." + +"An opportunity for you, my boy," said Trenta, nodding his head +roguishly at Baldassare. "You will have a lesson in Lucchese history. +Of course, you know nothing about it." + +"Every man has his forte," observed the count, good-naturedly, seeing +Baldassare's embarrassment at having his ignorance exposed. (The +cavaliere never could leave poor Adonis alone.) "We all know your +forte is the ballroom; there you beat us all." + +"Taught by me, taught by me," muttered the cavaliere; "he owes it all +to me." + +Leaving the count and Baldassare standing together in the street, +the cavaliere knocked at the door of the Guinigi Palace. When it was +opened he entered the gloomy court. Within he found Enrica and Teresa +awaiting his arrival. + +At the sight of her whom he so much loved, and of whom he had just +heard what he conceived to be such an atrocious calumny, the cavaliere +was quite overcome. Tears gathered in his eyes; he could hardly reply +to her when she addressed him. + +"My Enrica," he said at last, taking her by the hand and imprinting a +kiss upon her forehead, "you are a good child. Heaven bless you, and +keep you always as you are!" A conscious blush overspread Enrica's +face. + +"If he knew all, would he say this?" she asked herself; and her pretty +head with the soft curls dropped involuntarily. + +Enrica was very simply attired, but the flowing lines of her graceful +figure were not to be disguised by any mere accident of dress. A black +veil, fastened upon her hair like a mantilla (a style much affected +by the Lucca ladies), fell in thick folds upon her shoulders, and +partially shaded her face. + +Teresa stood by her young mistress, prepared to follow her. Trenta +perceived this. He did not like Teresa. If she went with them, the +whole conversation might be repeated in Casa Guinigi. This, with +Count Marescotti in the company, would be--to say the least of +it--inconvenient. + +"You may retire," he said to Teresa. "I will take charge of the +signorina." + +"But--Signore Cavaliere"--and Teresa, feeling the affront, colored +scarlet--"the marchesa's positive orders were, I was not to leave the +signorina." + +"Never mind," answered the cavaliere, authoritatively, "I will take +that on myself. You can retire." + +Teresa, swelling with anger, remained in the court. The cavaliere +offered his arm to Enrica. She turned and addressed a few words to the +exasperated Teresa; then, led by Trenta, she passed into the street. +Upon the threshold, Count Marescotti met them. + +"This is indeed an honor," he said, addressing Enrica--his face +beamed, and he bowed to the ground. "I trembled lest the marchesa +should have forbidden your coming." + +"So did I," answered Enrica, frankly. "I am so glad. I fear that my +aunt is not altogether pleased; but she has said nothing, and I came." + +She spoke with such eagerness, she saw that the count was surprised. +This made her blush. At any other time such an expedition as that they +were about to make would have been delightful to her for its own sake, +Enrica was so shut up within the palace, except on the rare occasions +when she accompanied Teresa to mass, or took a formal drive on the +ramparts at sundown with her aunt. But now she was full of anxiety +about Nobili. They had not met for a week--he had not written to her +even. Should she see him in the street? Should she see him from the +top of the tower? Perhaps he was at home at that very moment watching +her. She gave a furtive glance upward at the stern old palace before +her. The thick walls of sun-dried bricks looked cruel; the massive +Venetian casements mocked her. The outer blinds shut out all hope. +Alas! there was not a chink anywhere. Even the great doors were +closed. + +"Ah! if Teresa could have warned him that I was coming!"--and she gave +a great sigh. "If he only knew that I was here, standing in the very +street! Oh, for one glimpse of his dear, bright face!" + +Again Enrica sighed, and again she gazed up wistfully at the closed +façade. + +Meanwhile the cavaliere and Baldassare were engaged in a violent +altercation. Baldassare had proposed walking to the church of San +Frediano, which, in consideration of the cavaliere's wishes, they were +to visit first. "No one would think of driving such a short distance," +he insisted. "The sun was not hot, and the streets were all in shade." +The cavaliere retorted that "it was too hot for any lady to walk," +swung his stick menacingly in the air, called Baldassare "an +imbecile," and peremptorily ordered him to call a _fiacre_. Baldassare +turned scarlet in the face, and rudely refused to move. + +"He was not a servant," he said. "He would do nothing unless treated +like a gentleman." + +This was spoken as he hurled what he intended to be a tremendous +glance of indignation at the cavaliere. It produced no effect +whatever. With an exasperating smile, the cavaliere again desired +Baldassare to do as he was bid, or else to go home. The count +interposed, a _fiacre_ was called, in which they all seated +themselves. + + * * * * * + +San Frediano, a basilica in the Lombard style, is the most ancient +church in Lucca. The mid-day sun now flashed full upon the front, and +lighted up the wondrous colors of a mosaic on a gold ground, over the +entrance. At one corner of the building a marble campanile, formed by +successive tiers of delicate arcades, springs upward into the azure +sky. Flocks of gray pigeons circled about the upper gallery (where +hang the bells), or rested, cooing softly in the warm air, upon the +sculptured cornice bordering the white arches. It was a quiet scene +of tranquil beauty, significant of repose in life and of peace in +death--the church, with its wide portals, offering an everlasting home +to all who sought shelter within its walls. + +The cavaliere was so impatient to do the honors that he actually +jumped unaided from the carriage. + +"This, dear Enrica, is my parish church," he said, as he handed her +out, pointing upward to the richly-tinted pile, which the suns of +many centuries had dyed of a golden hue. "I know every stone in the +building. From a child I have played in this piazza, under these +venerable walls. My earliest prayers were said at the altar of the +Sacrament within. Here I confessed my youthful sins. Here I received +my first communion. Here I hope to lay my bones, when it shall please +God to call me." + +Trenta spoke with a tranquil smile. It was clear neither life nor +death had any terrors for him. "The very pigeons know me," he added, +placidly. He looked up to the campanile, gave a peculiar whistle, and, +putting his hand into his pocket, threw down some grains of corn +upon the pavement. The pigeons, whirling round in many circles (the +sunlight flashing upon their burnished breasts, and upon the soft gray +and purple feathers of their wings), gradually--in little groups of +twos and threes--flew down, and finally settled themselves in a knot +upon the pavement, to peck up the corn. + +"Good, pious old man, how I honor you!" ejaculated Count Marescotti, +fervently, as he watched the timid gray-coated pigeons gathering +round the cavaliere's feet, as he stood apart from the rest, serenely +smiling as he fed them. "May thy placid spirit be unruffled in time +and in eternity!" + +The interior of the church, in the Longobardic style, is bare almost +to plainness. On entering, the eye ranges through a long broad nave +with rounded arches, the arches surmounted by narrow windows; these +dividing arches, supported on single columns with monumental capitals, +forming two dark and rather narrow aisles. The high altar is raised on +three broad steps. Here burn a few lights, dimmed into solitary specks +by the brightness of the sun. The walls on either side of the aisles +are broken by various chapels. These lie in deep shadow. The roof, +formed of open rafters, bearing marks of having once been elaborately +gilded, is now but a mass of blackened timbers. The floor is of brick, +save where oft-recurring sepulchral slabs are cut into the surface. +These slabs, of black-and-white marble, or of alabaster stained +and worn from its native whiteness into a dingy brown, are almost +obliterated by the many footsteps which have come and gone upon them +for so many centuries. Not a single name remains to record whom they +commemorate. Dimly seen under a covering of dirt and dust deposited by +the living, lie the records of these unknown dead: here a black lion +rampant on a white shield; there a coat-of-arms on an escutcheon, with +the fragment of a princely coronet; beyond, a life-sized monk, his +shadowy head resting on a cushion--a matron with her robes soberly +gathered about her feet, her hands crossed on her bosom--a bishop, +under a painted canopy, mitre on head and staff in hand--a warrior, +grimly helmeted, carrying his drawn sword in his hand. Who are these? +Whence came they? None can tell. + +Beside one of the most worn and defaced of these slabs the cavaliere +stopped. + +"On this stone," he said, his smiling countenance suddenly grown +solemn--"on this very stone, where you see the remains of a +mosaic"--and he pointed to some morsels of color still visible, +crossing himself as he did so--"a notable miracle was performed. +Before I relate it, let us adore the goodness of the Blessed Virgin, +from whom all good gifts come." + +Cavaliere Trenta was on his knees before he had done speaking; again +he fervently crossed himself, reciting the "Maria Santissima." Enrica +bowed her head, and timidly knelt beside him; Baldassare bent his +knees, but, remembering that his trousers were new, and that they +might take an adverse crease that could never be ironed out, he did +not allow himself to touch the floor; then, with open eyes and ears, +he rose and stood waiting for the cavaliere to proceed. Baldassare +was uneducated and superstitious. The latter quality recommended him +strongly to Trenta. He was always ready to believe every word the +cavaliere uttered with unquestioning faith. At the mention of a church +legend Count Marescotti turned away with an expression of disgust, and +leaned against a pillar, his eyes fixed on Enrica. + +The cavaliere, having risen from his knees, and carefully dusted +himself with a snowy pocket-handkerchief, took Enrica by the hand, and +placed her in such a position that the sunshine, striking through the +windows of the nave, fell full upon the monumental stone before them. + +"My Enrica," he said, in a subdued voice, "and you, Baldassare"--he +motioned to him to approach nearer--"you are both young. Listen to me. +Lay to heart what an old man tells you. Such a miracle as I am about +to relate must touch even the count's hard heart." + +He glanced round at Marescotti, but it was evident he was chagrined by +what he saw. Marescotti neither heard him, nor even affected to do +so. Trenta's voice in the great church was weak and piping--indistinct +even to those beside him. Finding the count unavailable either +for instruction or reproof, the cavaliere shook his head, and his +countenance fell. Then he turned his mild blue eyes upon Enrica, +leaned upon his stick, and commenced: + +"In the sixth century, the flagstones in this portion of the nave were +raised for the burial of a distinguished lady, a member of the Manzi +family; but oh! stupendous prodigy!"--the cavaliere cast up his eyes +to heaven, and clasped his dimpled hands--"no sooner had the coffin +been lowered into the vault prepared for it, than the corpse of the +lady of the Manzi family sat upright in the open bier, put aside the +flowers and wreaths piled upon her, and uttered these memorable and +never-to-be-forgotten words: 'Bury me elsewhere; here lies the body of +San Frediano.'" + +Baldassare, who had grown very pale, now shuddered visibly, and +contemplated the cavaliere with awe. + +"Stupendous!" he muttered--"prodigious!--Indeed!" + +Enrica did not speak; her eyes were fixed on the ground. + +"Yes, yes, you may well say prodigious," responded Trenta, bowing his +white head; then, looking round triumphantly: "It was prodigious, +but a prodigy, remember, vouched for by the chronicles of the Church. +(Chronicles of the Church are much more to be trusted than any thing +else, much more than Evangelists, who were not bishops, and therefore +had no authority--we all know that.) No sooner, my friends, had the +corpse of the lady of the Manzi family spoken, as I have said, than +diligent search was made by those assembled in the church, when +lo!--within the open vault the remains of the adorable San Frediano +were discovered in excellent preservation. I need not say that, having +died in the odor of sanctity, the most fragrant perfume filled the +church, and penetrated even to the adjacent streets. Several sick +persons were healed by merely inhaling it. One man, whose arm had been +shot off at the shoulder-joint many years before, found his limb +come again in an instant, by merely touching the blessed relic." The +cavaliere paused to take breath. No one had spoken.--"Have you heard +the miracle of the glorious San Frediano?" asked Trenta, a little +timidly, raising his voice to its utmost pitch as he addressed Count +Marescotti. + +"No, I have not, cavaliere; but, if I had, it would not alter my +opinion. I do not believe in mediaeval miracles." As he spoke, Count +Marescotti turned round from the steps of a side-altar, whither he had +wandered to look at a picture. "I did not hear one word you said, my +dear cavaliere, but I am acquainted with the supposed miracles of San +Frediano. They are entirely without evidence, and in no way shake my +conclusions as to the utter worthlessness of such legends. In this +I agree with the Protestants," he continued, "rather than with that +inspired teacher, Savonarola. The Protestants, spite of so-called +'ecclesiastical authority,' persist in denying them. With the +Protestants, I hold that the entire machinery of modern miracles is +false and unprofitable. With the Apostles miraculous power ended." + +"Marescotti!" ejaculated the poor cavaliere, aghast at the effect his +appeal had produced, "for God's sake, don't, don't! before Enrica--and +in a church, too!" + +"I believe with Savonarola in other miracles," continued the count, in +a louder tone, addressing himself directly to Enrica, on whom he gazed +with a tender expression--he was far too much engrossed with her and +with the subject to heed Trenta's feeble remonstrance--"I believe in +the mystic essence of soul to soul--I believe in the reappearance of +the disembodied spirit to its kindred affinity still on earth--still +clothed with a fleshly garment. I believe in those magnetic influences +that circle like an atmosphere about certain purified and special +natures, binding them together in a closely-locked embrace, an embrace +that neither time, distance, nor even death itself, can weaken or +sever!" + +He paused for an instant; a dark fire lit up his eyes, which were +still bent on Enrica. + +"All this I believe--life would be intolerable to me without such +convictions. At the same time, I am ready to grant that all cannot +accept my views. These are mysteries to be approached without +prejudice--mysteries that must be received absolutely without +prejudice of religion, country, or race; received as the aesthetic +instinct within us teaches. Who," he added, and as he spoke he +stood erect on the steps of the altar, his arms outstretched in the +eagerness of argument, his grand face all aglow with enthusiasm--"who +can decide? It is faith that convinces--faith that vivifies--faith +that transforms--faith that links us to the hierarchy of angels! To +believe--to act on our belief, even if that belief be false--that is +true religion. A merciful Deity will accept our imperfect sacrifice. +Are we not all believers in Christ? Away with creeds and churches, +with formularies and doctrines, with painted walls and golden altars, +with stoled priests, infallible popes, and temporal hierarchies! What +are these vain distinctions, if we love God? Let the whole world +unite to believe in the Redeemer. Then we shall all be brothers--you, +I--all, brothers--joined within the holy circle of one universal +family--of one universal worship!" + +Count Marescotti ceased speaking, but his impassioned words still +echoed through the empty aisles. His eyes had wandered from Enrica; +they were now fixed on high. His countenance glowed with rapture. +Wrapped in the visions his imagination had called forth, he descended +from the altar, and slowly approached the silent group gathered beside +the monumental stone. + +Enrica had eagerly drunk in every word the count had uttered. He +seemed to speak the language of her secret musings; to interpret the +hidden mysteries of her young heart. She, at least, believed in the +affinity of kindred spirits. What but that had linked her to Nobili? +Oh, to live in such a union! + +Trenta had become very grave. + +"You are a visionary," he said, addressing the count, who now stood +beside them. "I am sorry for you. Such a consummation as you desire +is impossible. Your faith has no foundation. It is a creation of the +brain. The Catholic Church stands upon a rock. It permits no change, +it accepts no compromise, it admits no errors. The authority given to +St. Peter by Jesus Christ himself, with the spiritual keys, can alone +open the gates of heaven. All without are damned. Good intentions +are nothing. Private interpretation, believe me, is of the devil. +Obedience to the Holy Father, and the intercession of the saints, can +alone save your soul. Submit yourself to the teaching of our mother +Church, my dear count. Submit yourself--you have my prayers." Trenta +watched Marescotti with a fixed gaze of such solemn earnestness, it +seemed as though he anticipated that the blessed San Frediano himself +might appear, and then and there miraculously convert him. "Submit +yourself," he repeated, raising his arm and pointing to the altar, +"then you will be blessed." + +No miraculous interposition, however, was destined to crown the poor +cavaliere's strenuous efforts to convert the heretical count; but, +long before he had finished, the sound of his voice had recalled +Count Marescotti to himself. He remembered that the old chamberlain +belonged, in years at least, if not in belief, to the past. He blamed +himself for his thoughtlessness in having said a syllable that could +give him pain. The mystic disciple of Savonarola became in an instant +the polished gentleman. + +"A thousand pardons, my dear Trenta," he said, passing his hand over +his forehead, and putting back the dark, disordered hair that hung +upon his brow--"a thousand pardons!--I am quite ashamed of myself. We +are here, as I now remember, to examine the tombs of your ancestors +in the chapel of the Trenta. I have delayed you too long. Shall we +proceed?" + +Trenta, glad to escape from the possibility of any further discussion +with the count, whose religious views were to him nothing but the +ravings of a mischievous maniac, at once turned into the side-aisle, +and, with ceremonious politeness, conducted Enrica toward the chapel +of the Trenta. + +The chapel, divided by gates of gilt bronze from the line of the other +altars bordering the aisles, forms a deep recess near the high +altar. The walls are inlaid by what had once been brilliantly-colored +marbles, in squares of red, green, and yellow; but time and damp had +dulled them into a sombre hue. Above, a heavy circular cornice joins +a dome-shaped roof, clothed with frescoes, through which the light +descends through a central lantern. Painted figures of prophets stand +erect within the four spandrils, and beneath, breaking the marble +walls, four snow-white statues of the Evangelists fill lofty niches of +gray-tinted stone. Opposite the gilded gates of entrance which +Trenta had unlocked, a black sarcophagus projects from the wall. This +sarcophagus is surmounted by a carved head. Many other monuments break +the marble walls; some very ancient, others of more recent shape +and construction. The floor, too, is almost entirely overlaid by +tombstones, but, like those in the nave, they are greatly defaced, +and the inscriptions are for the most part illegible. Over the altar +a blackened painting represents "San Riccardo of the Trenta" battling +with the infidels before Jerusalem. + +"Here," said the cavaliere, standing in the centre under the dome, +"is the chapel of the Trenta. Here I, Cesare Trenta, fourteenth in +succession from Gaultiero Trenta--who commanded a regiment at the +battle of Marignano against the French under Francis I.--hope to lay +my bones. The altar, as you see, is sanctified by the possession of +an ancestral picture, deemed miraculous." He bowed to the earth as he +spoke, in which example he was followed by Enrica and Baldassare. "San +Riccardo was the companion-in-arms of Godfrey de Bouillon. His bones +lie under the altar. Upon his return from the crusades he died in our +palace. We still show the very room. His body is quite entire within +that tomb. I have seen it myself when a boy." + +Even the count did not venture to raise any doubt as to the +authenticity of the patron saint of the Trenta family. The cavaliere +himself was on his knees; rosary in hand, he was devoutly offering up +his innocent prayers to the ashes of an imaginary saint. After many +crossings, bowings, and touchings of the tomb (always kissing the +fingers that had been in contact with the sanctified stone), he arose, +smiling. + +"And now," said the count, turning toward Enrica, "I will ask leave to +show you another tomb, which may, possibly, interest you more than +the sepulchre of the respected Trenta." As he spoke he led her to the +opposite aisle, toward a sarcophagus of black marble placed under an +arch, on which was inscribed, in gilt letters, the name "Castruccio +Castracani degli Antimelli," and the date "1328." "Had our Castruccio +moved in a larger sphere," said the count, addressing the little group +that had now gathered about him, "he would have won a name as great as +that of Alexander of Macedon. Like Alexander, he died in the flower of +his age, in the height of his fame. Had he lived, he would have +been King of Italy, and Lucca would have become the capital of the +peninsula. Chaste, sober, and merciful--brave without rashness, +and prudent without fear--Castruccio won all hearts. Lucca at least +appreciated her hero. Proud alike of his personal qualities, and of +those warlike exploits with which Italy already rang, she unanimously +elected him dictator. When this signal honor was conferred upon him," +continued the count, addressing himself again specially to Enrica, +who listened, her large dreamy eyes fixed upon him, "Castruccio was +absent, engaged in one of those perpetual campaigns against Florence +which occupied so large a portion of his short life. At that very +moment he was encamped on the heights of San Miniato, preparing to +besiege the hated rival of our city--broken and reduced by the recent +victory he had gained over her at Altopasso. At Altopasso he had +defeated and humiliated Florence. Now he had planted our flag under +her very walls. Upon the arrival of the ambassadors sent by the +Lucchese Republic--one of whom was a Guinigi--" + +"There was a Trenta, too, among them; Antonio Trenta, a knight of St. +John," put in the cavaliere, gently, unwilling to interrupt the count, +but finding it impossible to resist the temptation of identifying +his family with his country's triumphs. The count acknowledged the +omission with a courteous bow. + +"Upon the arrival of the ambassadors," he resumed, "announcing the +honor conferred upon him, Castruccio instantly left his camp, and +returned with all haste to Lucca. The dignity accorded to Castruccio +exalted him above all external demonstration, but he understood +that his native city longed to behold, and to surround with personal +applause, the person of her idol. In the piazza without this church, +the very centre of Lucca, the heart, as it were, whence all the veins +and arteries of our municipal body flow, Castruccio was received +with all the pomp of a Roman triumph. Ah! cavaliere"--and the count's +lustrous eyes rested on Trenta, who was devouring every word he +uttered with silent delight--"those were proud days for Lucca!" + +"Recall them--recall them, O Count!" cried Trenta. "It does me good to +listen." + +"Thirty thousand Florentine prisoners followed Castruccio to Lucca. +His soldiers were laden with booty. They drove before them innumerable +herds of cattle; strings of wagons, filled with the spoils of a +victorious campaign, blocked the causeways. Last of all appeared, +rumbling on its ancient wheels, the carroccio, or state-car of +the Florentine Republic, bearing their captured flags lowered, and +trailing in the dust. Castruccio--whose sole representatives are the +Marchesa Guinigi and yourself, signorina--Castruccio followed. He +was seated in a triumphal chariot, drawn by eight milk-white horses. +Banners fluttered around him. A golden crown of victory was suspended +above his head. He was arrayed in a flowing mantle of purple, over a +suit of burnished armor. His brows were bound by a wreath of golden +laurel. In his right hand he carried a jeweled sceptre. Upon his +knees lay his victorious sword unsheathed. Never was manly beauty more +transcendent. His lofty stature and majestic bearing fulfilled the +expectation of a hero. How can I describe his features? They are known +to all of you by that famous picture (the only likeness of him extant) +belonging to the Marchesa Guinigi, placed in the presence-chamber of +her palace." + +"Yes, yes," burst forth Trenta, no longer able to control his +enthusiasm. "Old as I am, when I think of those days, it makes me +young again. Alas! what a change! Now we have lost not only +our independence, but our very identity. Our sovereign is +gone--banished--our state broken up. We are but the slaves of a +monster called the kingdom of Italy, ruled by Piedmontese barbarians!" + +"Hush!--hush!" whispered the irrepressible Baldassare. "Pray do not +interrupt the count." Even the stolid Adonis was moved. + +"The daughters of the noblest houses of Lucca," continued Marescotti, +"strewed flowers in Castruccio's path. The magistrates and nobles +received him on their knees. Young as he was, with one voice they +saluted him 'Father of his Country!'" + +The count paused. He bowed his head toward the sarcophagus before +which they were gathered, in a mute tribute of reverence. After a few +minutes of rapt silence he resumed: + +"When the multitude heard that name, ten thousand thousand voices +echoed it. 'Father of his Country!' resounded to the summits of the +surrounding Apennines. The mountain-tops tossed it to and fro--the +caves thundered it--the very heavens bore it aloft to distant +hemispheres! Our great soldier, overcome by such overwhelming marks +of affection, expressed in every look and gesture how deeply he +was moved. Before leaving the piazza, Castruccio was joined by his +relative, young Paolo Guinigi!--after his decease to become dictator, +and Lord of Lucca. Amid the clash of arms, the braying of trumpets, +and the applause of thousands, they cordially embraced. They were fast +friends as well as cousins. Our Castruccio was of a type incapable +of jealousy. Paolo was a patriot--that was enough. Together they +proceeded to the cathedral of San Martino. At the porch Castruccio was +received by the archbishop and the assembled clergy. He was placed +in a chair of carved ivory, and carried in triumph up the nave to +the chapel of the Holy Countenance. Here he descended, and, while he +prostrated himself before the miraculous image, hymns and songs of +praise burst from the choir." + +"Such, Signorina Enrica," said the count, turning toward her, "is +a brief outline of the scene that passed within this city of Lucca, +before that tomb held the illustrious dust it now contains." + +"Bravo, bravo, count!" exclaimed the mercurial Trenta, in a delighted +tone. (He was ready to forgive all the count's transgressions, in the +fervor of the moment.) "That is how I love to hear you talk. Now you +do yourself justice. Gesù mio! how seldom it is given to a man to be +so eloquent! How can he bring himself to employ such gifts against the +infallible Church?" This last remark was addressed to Enrica in a tone +too low to be overheard. + +"And now," said the old chamberlain, always on the lookout to marshal +every one as he had marshaled every one at court--"now we will leave +the church, and proceed to the Guinigi Tower." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE GUINIGI TOWER. + + +Count Marescotti, by reason of too much imagination, and Baldassare, +by reason of too little, were both oblivious; consequently the key and +the porter were neither of them forthcoming when the party arrived +at the door of the tower, which opened from a side-street behind and +apart from the palace. Both the count and Baldassare ran off to find +the man, leaving Trenta alone with Enrica. + +"Ahi!" exclaimed the cavaliere, looking after them with a comical +smile, "this youth of New Italy! They have no more brains than a pin. +When I was young, and every city had its own ruler and its own court, +I should not have escorted a lady and kept her waiting outside in the +sun. Bah! those were not the manners of my day. At the court of the +Duke of Lucca ladies were treated like divinities, but now the young +men don't know how to kiss a woman's hand." + +Receiving no answer, Trenta looked hard at Enrica. He was struck by +her absent expression. There was a far-away look on her face he had +never noticed on it before. + +"Enrica," he said, taking both her hands within his own, "I fear you +are not amused. These subjects are too grave to interest you. What are +you thinking about?" + +An anxious look came into her eyes, and she glanced hastily round, as +if to assure herself that no one was near. + +"Oh! I am thinking of such strange things!" She stopped and hesitated, +seeing the cavaliere's glance of surprise. "I should like to tell you +all, dear cavaliere--I would give the world to tell you--" + +Again she stopped. + +"Speak--speak, my child," he answered; "tell me all that is in your +mind." + +Before she could reply, the count and Baldassare reappeared, +accompanied by the porter of the Guinigi Palace and the keys. + +"Are you sure you would rather not return home again, Enrica? You have +only to turn the corner, remember," asked Trenta, looking at her with +anxious affection. + +"No, no," she answered, greatly confused; "please say nothing--not +now--another time. I should like to ascend the tower; let us go on." + +The cavaliere was greatly puzzled. It was plain there was something on +her mind. What could it be? How fortunate, he told himself, if she had +taken a liking to Marescotti, and desired to confess it! This would +make all easy. When he had spoken to the count, he would contrive to +see her alone, and insist upon knowing if it were so. + +The door was now opened, and the porter led the way, followed by the +count and Baldassare. Trenta came next, Enrica last. They ascended +stair after stair almost in darkness. After having mounted a +considerable height, the porter unlocked a small door that barred +their farther advance. Above appeared the blackened walls of the +hollow tower, broken by the loop-holes already mentioned, through +which the ardent sunshine slanted. Before them was a wooden stair, +crossing from angle to angle up to a dizzy height, with no other +support but a frail banister; this even was broken in places. The +count and Enrica both entreated the cavaliere to remain below. +Marescotti ventured to allude to his great age--a subject he himself +continually, as has been seen, mentioned, but which he generally much +resented when alluded to by others. + +Trenta listened with perfect gravity and politeness, but, when the +count had done speaking, he placed his foot firmly on the first stair, +and began to ascend after the porter. The others were obliged to +follow. At the last flight several loose planks shook ominously +under their feet; but Trenta, assisted by his stick, stepped on +perseveringly. He also insisted on helping Enrica, who was next to +him, and who by this time was both giddy and frightened. At length a +trap-door, at the top of the tower, was reached and unbarred by +the attendant. Without, covered with grass, is a square platform, +protected by a machicolated parapet of turreted stone-work. In the +centre rises a cluster of ancient bay-trees, fresh and luxuriant, +spite of the wind and storms of centuries. + +The count leaped out upon the greensward and rushed to the parapet. + +"How beautiful!" he exclaimed, throwing back his head and drawing in +the warm air. "See how the sun of New Italy lights up the old city! +Cathedral, palace, church, gallery, roof, tower, all ablaze at our +feet! Speak, tell me, is it not wonderful?" and he turned to Enrica, +who, anxiously turning from side to side, was trying to discover where +she could best overlook the street of San Simone and Nobili's palace. + +Addressed by Marescotti, she started and stopped short. + +"Never, never," he continued, becoming greatly excited, "shall I +forget this meeting!--here with you--the golden-haired daughter of +this ancient house!" + +"I!" exclaimed Enrica. "O count, what a mistake! I have no house, no +home. I live on the charity of my aunt." + +"That makes no difference in your descent, fair Guinigi. Charity! +charity! Who would not shower down oceans of charity to possess such +a treasure?" He leaned his back against the parapet, and bent his +eyes with fervent admiration on her. "It is only in verse that I can +celebrate her," he muttered, "prose is too cold for her warm coloring. +The Madonna--the uninstructed Madonna--before the archangel's visit--" + +"But, count," said Enrica timidly (his vehemence and strange glances +made her feel very shy), "will you tell me the names of the beautiful +mountains around? I have seen so little--I am so ignorant." + +"I will, I will," replied Marescotti, speaking rapidly, his glowing +eyes raising themselves from her face to look out over the distance; +"but, in mercy, grant me a few moments to collect myself. Remember I +am a poet; imagination is my world; the unreal my home; the Muses my +sisters. I live there above, in the golden clouds"--and he turned and +pointed to a crest of glittering vapor sailing across the intense blue +of the sky. Then, with his hand pressed on his brow, he began to pace +rapidly up and down the narrow platform. + +The cavaliere and Baldassare were watching him from the farther end of +the tower. + +"He! he!" said Trenta, and he gave a little laugh and nudged +Baldassare. "Do you see the count? He is fairly off. Marescotti is too +poetical for this world. Unpractical, poor fellow--very unpractical. +The fit is on him now. Look at him, Baldassare; see how he stares +about, and clinches his fist. I hope he will not leap over the parapet +in his ecstasy." + +"Ha! ha!" responded Baldassare, who with eyes wide open, and hands +thrust into his pockets, leaned back beside Trenta against the wall. +"Ha, ha!--I must laugh," Baldassare whispered into his ear--"I cannot +help it--look how the count's lips are moving. He is in the most +extraordinary excitement." + +"It's all very fine," rejoined Trenta, "but I wonder he does not +frighten Enrica. There she stands, quite still. I can't see her face, +but she seems to like it. It's all very fine," he repeated, nodding +his white head reflectively. "Republicans, communists, orators, poets, +heretics--all the plagues of hell! Dio buono! give me a little plain +common-sense--plain common-sense, and a paternal government. As to +Marescotti, these new-fangled notions will turn his brain; he'll end +in a mad-house. I don't believe he is quite in his senses at this very +minute. Look! look! What strides he is taking up and down! For the +love of Heaven, my boy, run and fasten the trap-door tight! He +may fall through! He's not safe! I swear it, by all the saints!" +Baldassare, shaking with suppressed laughter, secured the trap-door. + +"I must say you are a little hard on the count," Baldassare said. +"Why, he's only composing. I know his way. Trust me, it's a sonnet. He +is composing a sonnet addressed perhaps to the signorina. He admires +her very much." + +Trenta smiled, and mentally determined, for the second time, to take +the earliest opportunity of speaking to Count Marescotti before the +ridiculous reports circulating in Lucca reached him. + +"Per Bacco!" he replied, "when the count is as old as I am, he +will have learned that quiet is the greatest luxury a man can +enjoy--especially in Italy, where the climate is hot and fevers +frequent." + +How long the count would have continued in the clouds, it is +impossible to say, had he not been suddenly brought down to earth--or, +at least, the earth on the top of the tower--by something that +suddenly struck his gaze. + +Enrica, who had strained her eyes in vain to discover some trace of +Nobili in the narrow street below, or in the garden behind his palace, +had now thrown herself on the grass under the overhanging branches of +the glossy bay-trees. These inclosed her as in a bower. Her colorless +face rested upon her hand, her eyes were turned toward the ground, +and her long blond hair fell in a tangled mass below the folds of her +veil, upon her white dress. The count stood transfixed before her. + +"Move not, sweet vision!" he cried. "Be ever so! That innocent face +shaded by the classic bay; that white robe rustling with the thrill of +womanly affinities; those fair locks floating like an aureole in the +breeze thy breath has softly perfumed! Rest there enthroned--the world +thy backguard, the sky thy canopy! Stay, let me crown thee!" + +As he spoke he hastily plucked some sprays of bay, which he twisted +into a wreath. He approached Enrica, who had remained quite still, +and, kneeling at her feet, placed the wreath upon her head. + +"Enrica Guinigi"--the count spoke so softly that neither Trenta nor +Baldassare could catch the words--"there is something in your beauty +too ethereal for this world." + +Enrica, covered with blushes, tried to rise, but he held out his hands +imploringly for her to remain. + +"Suffer me to speak to you. Yours is a face of one easily moved to +love--to love and to suffer," he added, strange lights coming into his +eyes as he gazed at her. + +Enrica listened to him in painful silence; his words sounded +prophetic. + +"To love and to suffer; but, loving once"--again the count was +speaking, and his voice enchained her by its sweetness--"to love +forever. Where shall the man be found pure enough to dare to accept +such love as you can bestow? By Heavens!" he added, and his voice fell +to a whisper, and his black eyes seemed to penetrate into her very +soul, "you love already. I read it in the depths of those heavenly +eyes, in the shadow that already darkens that soft brow, in the +dreamy, languid air that robs you of your youth. You love--is it +possible that you love--?" + +He stopped before the question was finished--before the name was +uttered. A spasm, as if wrung from him by sharp bodily pain, passed +over his features as he asked this question, never destined to be +answered. No one but Enrica had heard it. An indescribable terror +seized her; from pale she grew deadly white; her eyelids dropped, her +lips trembled. Tears gathered in Marescotti's eyes as he gazed at her, +but he dared not complete the question. + +"If you have guessed my secret, do not--oh! do not betray me!" + +She said this so faintly that the sound came to him like a whisper +from the rustling bay-leaves. + +"Never!" he responded in a low, earnest tone--"never!" + +She believed him implicitly. With that look, that voice, who could +doubt him? + +"I have cause to suffer," she replied with a sigh, not venturing to +meet his eyes--"to suffer and to wait. But my aunt--" + +She said no more; her head fell on her bosom, her arms dropped to her +side, she sighed deeply. + +"May I be at hand to shield you!" was his answer. + +After this, he, too, was silent. Rising from his knees, he leaned +against the trunk of the bay-tree and contemplated her steadfastly. +There was a strange mixture of passion and of curiosity in his mobile +face. If she would not tell him, could he not rend her secret from +her? + +Trenta, seated at the opposite side of the platform, observed them as +they stood side by side, half concealed by the foliage--observed them +with benign satisfaction. It was all as it should be; his mission +would be easy. It was clear they understood each other. He believed at +that very moment Enrica was receiving the confession of Marescotti's +love; the confusion of her looks was conclusive. The cavaliere's whole +endeavor was, at that moment, to keep Baldassare quiet; he rejoiced +to see that he was gently yielding to the influence of the heat, and +nodding at his side. + +"Count," said Enrica, looking up and endeavoring to break a silence +which had become painful, "if I have inspired you with any interest--" + +She hesitated. + +"_If_ you have inspired me?" ejaculated Marescotti, reproachfully, not +moving his eyes off her. + +"I can hardly believe it," she added; "but, if it be so, speak to me +in the voice of poetry. Tell me your thoughts." + +"Yes," exclaimed the count, clasping his hands; "I have been longing +to do so ever since I first saw you. Will you permit it? If so, give +me paper and pencil, that I may write." + +Enrica had neither. Rising from the ground, she crossed over to where +Trenta sat, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of the roofs of +his native city. Fortunately, after diving into various pockets, he +found a pencil and the fly-leaf of a letter. Marescotti took them and +retreated to the farther end of the tower; Enrica leaned against the +wall beside the cavaliere. + +In a few minutes the count joined them; he returned the pencil with a +bow to the cavaliere. The sonnet was already written on the fly-leaf +of the letter. + +"Oh!" cried Enrica, "give me that paper, I know it will tell me my +fate. Give it to me. Count, do not refuse me." Her look, her manner, +was eager--imploring. As the count drew back, she endeavored to seize +the paper from his hand. But Marescotti, holding the paper above +his head, in one moment had crushed it in his fingers, and, rushing +forward, he flung it over the battlements. + +"It is not worthy of you!" he exclaimed, with excitement; "it is +worthy neither of you nor of me! No, no," and he leaned over the +tower, and watched the paper as it floated downward in the still air. +"Let it perish." + +"Oh! why have you destroyed it?" cried Enrica, greatly distressed. +"That paper would have told me all I want to know. How cruel! how +unkind!" + +But there was no help for it. No lamentation could bring the paper +back again. The sonnet was gone. Marescotti had sacrificed the man to +the poet. His artistic sense had conquered. + +"Excuse me, dear signorina," he pleaded, "the composition was +imperfect. It was too hurried. With your permission, on my return, +I will address some other verses to you, more appropriate--more +polished." + +"Ah! they will not be like those. They will not tell me what I want +to know. They cannot come from your very soul like those. The power to +divine is gone from you." Enrica could hardly restrain her tears. + +"I am very sorry," answered the count, "but I could not help it; I did +it unconsciously." + +"Indeed, count, you did very wrong," put in the cavaliere; "one +understands you wrote _in furore_--so much the better," and Trenta +gave a sly wink, which was entirely lost on Marescotti. "But time +is getting on. When are we to have that oration on the history and +beauties of Lucca that we came up to hear? Had you not better begin?" + +The count was engaged at that moment in plucking a sprig of bay for +himself and for the cavaliere to wear, as he said, "in memoriam." "I +am ready," he replied. "It is a subject that I love." + +"Let us begin with the mountains; they are the nearest to God." As +he pronounced that name, the count raised his eyes reverently, and +uncovered his head. Enrica had placed herself on his right hand, but +all interest had died out of her face. She only listened mechanically. + +(Yes, the mountains, the glorious mountains! There they were--before, +behind, in front; range upon range--peak upon peak, like breakers on +a restless sea! Mountains of every shade, of every shape, of every +height. Already their mighty tops were flecked with the glow of the +western sunbeams; already pink and purple mists had gathered upon +their sides, filling the valleys with mystery!) + +"There," said the count, pointing in the direction of the winding +river Serchio, "is La Panga, the loftiest Apennine in Central Italy. +The peaked summits of those other mountains more to the right are the +marble-bosomed range of Carrara. One might believe them at this time +covered with a mantle of snow, but for the ardent sun, the deep green +of the belting plains, and the luxuriance of the forests. Yonder steep +chestnut-clothed height that terminates the valley opening before us +is Bargilio, a mountain fortress of the Panciatici over the Baths of +Lucca." + +Marescotti paused to take breath. Enrica's eyes languidly followed the +direction of his hand. The cavaliere, standing on his other side, was +adjusting his spectacles, the better to distinguish the distance. + +"To the south," continued the count, pointing with his finger--"in the +centre of that rich vine-trellised Campagna, lies Pescia, a garden +of luscious fruits. Beyond, nestling in the hollows of the Apennines, +shutting in the plain of that side, is ancient Lombard-walled +Pistoja--the key to the passes of Northern Italy. Farther on, nearer +Florence, rise the heights of Monte Catni, crowned as with a diadem +by a small burgh untouched since the middle ages. Nearer at hand, +glittering like steel in the sunshine, is the lake of Bientina. You +can see its low, marshy shores fringed by beauteous woodlands, but +without a single dwelling." + +Enrica, in a fit of abstraction, leaned over the parapet. Her eyes +were riveted upon the city beneath. Marescotti followed her eyes. + +"Yes," said he, "there is Lucca;" and as he spoke he glanced +inquiringly at her, and the tones of his clear, melodious voice grew +soft and tender. "Lucca the Industrious, bound within her line of +ancient walls and fortifications. Great names and great deeds are +connected with Lucca. Here, tradition says, Julius Caesar ruled as +proconsul. How often may the sandals of his feet have trod these +narrow streets--his purple robes swept the dust of our piazza! Here he +may have officiated as high-priest at our altars--dictated laws from +our palaces! It was after the conquest of the Nervii (most savage +among the Gaulish tribes) that Julius Caesar is said to have first +come to Lucca. Pompey and Crassus met him here. It was at this +time that Domitius--Caesar's enemy, then a candidate for the +consulship--boasted that he would ruin him. But Caesar, seizing the +opportune moment of his recent victories over the Gauls, and his +meeting with Pompey--formed the bold plan of grasping universal power +by means of his deadliest enemies. These enemies, rather than see the +supreme power vested in each other, united to advance him. The first +triumvirate was the consequence of the meeting. Ages pass by. +The Roman Empire dissolves. Barbarians invade Italy. Lucca is an +independent state--not long to remain so, however, for the Countess +Matilda, daughter of Duke Bonifazio, is born within her walls. At +Lucca Countess Matilda holds her court. By her counsels, assistance, +and the rich legacy of her patrimonial dominions, she founds the +temporal power of the papacy. To Lucca came, in the fifteenth century, +Charles VIII. of France, presumptuous enough to attempt the conquest +of Naples; also that mighty dissembler, Charles V. to meet the +reigning pontiff Paul III. in our cathedral of San Martino. But more +precious far to me than the traditions of the shadowy pomp of defunct +tyrants is the remembrance that Lucca was the Geneva of Italy--that +these streets beneath us resounded to the public teaching of the +Reformation! Such progress, indeed, had the reformers made, that it +was publicly debated in the city council, 'If Lucca should declare +herself Protestant--'" + +"Per Bacco! a disgraceful fact in our history!" burst out Trenta, a +look of horror in his round blue eyes. "Hide it, hide it, count! For +the love of Heaven! You do not expect me to rejoice at this? Pray, +when you mention it, add that the Protestants were obliged to flee for +their lives, and that Lucca purified itself by abject submission to +the Holy Father." + +"Yes; and what came of that?" cried the count, raising his voice, +a sudden flush of anger mounting over his face. "The Church--your +Catholic and Apostolic Church--established the Inquisition. The +Inquisition condemned to the flames the greatest prophet and teacher +since the apostles--Savonarola!" + +Trenta, knowing how deeply Marescotti's feelings were engaged in +the subject of Savonarola, was too courteous to desire any further +discussion. But at the same time he was determined, if possible, to +hear no more of what was to him neither more nor less than blasphemy. + +"Do you know how long we have been up here, count?" he asked, taking +out his watch. "Enrica must return. I hope you won't detain us," he +said, with a pitiful look at the count, who seemed preparing for +an oration in honor of the mediaeval martyr. "I have already got +a violent rheumatism in my shoulder.--Here, Baldassare, open the +trap-door, and let us go down.--Where is Baldassare?--Baldassare! +Where are you, imbecile? Baldassare, I say! Why, diamine! Where can +the boy be? He's not been privately practising his last new step +behind the bay-trees, and taken a false one over the parapet?" + +The small space was easily searched. Baldassare was discovered +sketched at full length and fast asleep under a bench on the other +side of the bay-trees. + +"Ah, wretch!" grumbled the old chamberlain, "if you sleep like this +you will outlive me, who mean to flourish for the next hundred +years. He's always asleep, except when dancing," he added indignantly +appealing to Marescotti. "Look at him. There's beauty without +expression. Doesn't he inspire you? Endymion who has overslept himself +and missed Diana--Narcissus overcome by the sight of his own beauty." + +After being called, pushed, and pinched, by the cavaliere, Baldassare +at last opened his eyes in great bewilderment--stretched himself, +yawned, then, suddenly clapping his hand to his side, looked fiercely +at Trenta. Trenta was shaking with laughter. + +"Mille diavoli!" cried Baldassare, rubbing himself vigorously, "how +dare you pinch me so, cavaliere? I shall be black and blue. Why should +not I sleep? Nobody spoke to me." + +"I fear you have heard little of the history of Lucca," said the +count, smiling. + +"Dio buono! what is history to me? I hate it!--I-tell you what, +cavaliere, you have hurt me very much." And Baldassare passed his hand +carefully down his side. "The next time I go to sleep in your company, +I'll trouble you to keep your fingers to yourself. You have rapped me +like a drum." + +Trenta watched the various phases of Baldassare's wrath with the +greatest amusement. The descent having been safely accomplished, the +whole party landed in the street. Count Marescotti, who came last, +advanced to take leave of Enrica. At this moment an olive-skinned, +black-eyed girl rose out of the shadow of a neighboring wall, and, +lowering a basket from her head, filled with fruit--tawny figs, ruddy +peaches, purple grapes, and russet-skinned medlars, shielded from +the heat by a covering of freshly-picked vine-leaves--offered it to +Enrica. Our Adonis, still sulky and sore from the pinches inflicted by +the mischievous fingers of the cavaliere, waved the girl rudely away. + +"Fruit! Chè! Begone! our servants have better. Such fruit as that is +not good enough for us; it is full of worms." + +The girl looked up at him timidly, tears gathered in her dark eyes. + +"It is for my mother," she answered, humbly; "she is ill." + +As she bent her head to replace the basket, Marescotti, who had +listened to Baldassare with evident disgust, raised the basket in his +arms, and with the utmost care poised it on the coil of her dark hair. + +"Beautiful peasant," he said, "I salute you. This is for your mother," +and he placed some notes in her hand. + +The girl thanked him, coloring as red as the peaches in her basket, +then, hastily turning the corner of the street, disappeared. + +"A perfect Pomona! I make a point of honoring beauty whenever I find +it," exclaimed the count, looking after her. He cast a reproving +glance at Baldassare, who stood with his eyes wide open. "The Greeks +worshiped beauty--I agree with them. Beauty is divine. What say you? +Were not the Greeks right?" + +The words were addressed to Baldassare--the sense and the direction of +his eyes pointed to Enrica. + +"Yes; beauty," replied Baldassare, smoothing his glossy mustache, and +trying to look very wise (he was not in the least conscious of the +covert rebuke administered by Marescotti)--"beauty is very refreshing, +but I must say I prefer it in the upper classes. For my part, I like +beauty that can dance--wooden shoes are not to my taste." + +"Ah! canaglia!" muttered the cavaliere, "there is no teaching you. You +will never be a gentleman." + +Baldassare was dumbfounded. He had not a word to reply. + +"Count"--and the old chamberlain, utterly disregarding the dismay of +poor Adonis, who never clearly understood what he had done to deserve +such severity, now addressed himself to Marescotti--"will you be +visible to-morrow after breakfast? If so, I shall have the honor of +calling on you." + +"With pleasure," was the count's reply. + +Enrica stood apart. She had not spoken one word since the +disappearance of the sonnet--that sonnet which would have told her +of her future; for had not Marescotti, by some occult power, read +her secret? Alas! too, was she not about to reenter her gloomy home +without catching so much as a glimpse of Nobili? Count Marescotti had +no opportunity of saying a word to Enrica that was not audible to all. +He did venture to ask her if she would be present next evening, if +he joined the marchesa's rubber? Before she could reply, Trenta had +hastily answered for her, that "he would settle all that with the +count when they met in the morning." So, standing in the street, +they parted. Count Marescotti sought in vain for one last glance from +Enrica. When he turned round to look for Baldassare, Baldassare had +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +COUNT NOBILI. + + +When Nobili rushed home through the dark streets from the Countess +Orsetti's ball, he shut himself up in his own particular room, threw +himself on a divan, and tried to collect his thoughts. At first he was +only conscious of one overwhelming feeling--a feeling of intense joy +that Nera Boccarina was alive. The unspeakable horror he had felt, as +she lay stretched out on the floor before him, had stupefied him. If +she had died?--As the horrible question rose up within him, his blood +froze in his veins. But she was not dead--nay, if the report of Madame +Orsetti was to be trusted, she was in no danger of dying. + +"Thank God!--thank God!" Then, as the quiet of the night and the +solitude of his own room gradually restored his scattered senses, +Nobili recalled her, not only in the moment of danger, as she lay +death-like, motionless, but as she stood before him lit up by the +rosy shadow of the silken curtains. Was it an enchantment? Had he +been under a spell? Was Nera fiend or angel? As he asked himself these +questions, again her wondrous eyes shone upon him like stars; again +the rhythm of that fatal waltz struck upon his ears soft and liquid +as the fall of oars upon the smooth bosom of an inland lake, bathed in +the mellow light of sunset. + +What had he done? He had kissed her--her lips had clung to his; her +fingers had linked themselves in his grasp; her eyes--ah!--those eyes +had told him that she loved him. Loved him!--why not? + +And Enrica!--the thought of Enrica pierced through him like the stab +of a knife. Nobili sprang to his feet, pressed both hands to his +bosom, then sank down again, utterly bewildered. Enrica!--He had +forgotten her! He, Nobili, was it possible? Forgotten her!--A pale +plaintive face rose up before him, with soft, pleading eyes. There was +the little head, with its tangled meshes of yellow curls, the slight +girlish figure, the little feet. "Enrica! my Enrica!" he cried aloud, +so palpable did her presence seem--"I love you, I love you only!" +He dashed, as it were, Nera's image from him. She had tempted +him--tempted him with all the fullness of her beauty, tempted him--and +he had yielded! On a sudden it came over him. Yes, she had tempted +him. She had followed him--pursued him rather. Wherever he went, there +Nera was before him. He recalled it all. And how he had avoided her +with the avoidance of an instinct! He clinched his fists as he thought +of it. What devil had possessed him to fall headlong into the snare? +What was Nera--or any other woman--to him now? If he had been obliged +to dance with her, why had he yielded to her? + +"I will never speak to her again," was his instant resolve. But the +next moment he remembered that he had been indirectly the cause of an +accident which might have been fatal. He must see her once more if +she were visible--or, if not, he must see her mother. Common humanity +demanded this. Then he would set eyes on her no more. He had almost +come to hate her, for the spell she had thrown over him. + +But for Enrica he would have left Lucca altogether for a time. What +had passed that evening would be the subject of general gossip. He +remembered with shame--and as he did so the blood rushed over his face +and brow--how openly he had displayed his admiration. He remembered +the hot glances he had cast upon Nera. He remembered how he had leaned +entranced over her chair; how he had pressed her to him in the fury of +that wild waltz, her white arms entwined round him--the fragrance +of the red roses she wore in her hair mounting to his brain! At the +moment he had been too much entranced to observe what was passing +about him. Now he recalled glances and muttered words. The savage +look Ruspoli had cast on him, when he led her up to him in one of the +figures of the cotillon; how Malatesta had grinned at him--how Orsetti +had whispered "Bravo!" in his ear. Might not some rumor of all this +reach Enrica?--through Trenta, perhaps, or that chattering fool, +Baldassare? If they spoke of the accident, they would surely connect +his name with that of Nera. Would they say he was in love with her? He +grew cold as he thought of it. + +Neither could Nobili conceal from himself how probable it was that +the Marchesa Guinigi should come to some knowledge of his clandestine +interviews with her niece. It had been necessary to trust many +persons. Spite of heavy bribes, one of these might at any moment +betray them. He might be followed and watched, spite of his +precautions. Their letters might be intercepted. Should any thing +happen, what a situation for Enrica! She was too trusting and too +inexperienced fully to appreciate the danger; but Nobili understood +it, and trembled for her. Something must, he felt, be done at once. +Enrica must be prepared for any thing that might happen. He must write +to her--write this very night to her. + +And then came the question--what should he say to her? Then Nobili +felt, and felt keenly, how much he had compromised himself. Hitherto +his love for Enrica, and Enrica's love for him, had been so full, so +entire, that every thought was hers. Now there was a name he must hide +from her, an hour of his life she must never know. + +Nobili rose from the divan on which he had been lying, lighted some +candles, and, sitting down at a table, took a pen in his hand. But the +pen did not help him. He tore it between his teeth, he leaned his head +upon his hand, he stared at the blank paper before him. What should +he say to her? was the question he asked himself. After all, should +he confess all his weakness, and implore her forgiveness? or should he +take the chance of her hearing nothing? + +After much thought and many struggles with his pen, he decided he +would say nothing. But write he would; write he must. Full of remorse +for what had passed, he longed to assure her of his love. He yearned +to cast himself for pardon at her feet; to feast his eyes upon the +sweetness of her fair face; to fill his ears with the sound of her +soft voice; to watch her heavenly eyes gathering upon him with the +gleam of incipient passion. + +How pure she was! How peerless, how different from all other women! +How different from Nera! dark-eyed, flashing, tempting Nera!--Nera, so +sensual in her ripe and dazzling beauty. At that moment of remorse and +repentance he would have likened her to an alluring fiend, Enrica to +an angel! Yes, he would write; he would say something decisive. This +point settled, Nobili put down the pen, struck a match, and lit a +cigar. A cigar would calm him, and help him to think. + +His position, even as he understood it, was sufficiently difficult. +How much more, had he known all that lay behind! He had entered life a +mere boy at his father's death, with some true friends; his wealth +had created him a host of followers. His frank, loyal disposition, his +generosity, his lavish hospitality, his winning manners, had insured +him general popularity. Not one, even of those who envied him, could +deny that he was the best fellow in Lucca. Women adored him, or said +so, which came to the same thing, for he believed them. Many had +proved, with more than words, that they did so. In a word, he had been +_fêted_, followed, and caressed, as long as he could remember. Now the +incense of flattery floating continually in the air which he breathed +had done its work. He was not actually spoiled but he had grown +arrogant; vain of his person and of his wealth. He was vain, but not +yet frivolous; he was insolent, but not yet heartless. At his age, +impressions come from without, rather than from within. Nobili was +extremely impressionable; he also, as has been seen, wanted resolution +to resist temptation. As yet, he had not developed the firmness and +steadfastness that really belonged to his character. + +But spite of foibles, spite of weakness--foibles and weakness were +but part of the young blood within him--Nobili possessed, especially +toward women, that rare union of courage, tenderness, and fortitude, +we call chivalry; he forgot himself in others. He did this as the most +natural thing in the world--he did it because he could not help it. +He was capable of doing a great wrong--he was also capable of a great +repentance. His great wealth had hitherto enabled him to indulge every +fancy. With this power of wealth, unknown almost to himself, a spirit +of conquest had grown upon him. He resolved to overcome whatever +opposed itself to him. Nobili was constantly assured by those ready +flatterers who lived upon him--those toadies who, like a mildew, +dim and deface the virtues of the rich--that "he could do what he +pleased." + +With the presumption of youth he believed this, and he acted on it, +especially in regard to women. He was of an age and temperament to +feel his pulse quicken at the sight of every pretty woman he met, even +if he should meet a dozen in the day. Until lately, however, he had +cared for no one. He had trifled, dangled, ogled. He had plucked the +fair fruit where it hung freely on the branch, and he had turned away +heart-whole. He knew that there was not a young lady in Lucca who +would not accept him as her suitor--joyfully accept him, if he +asked her. Not a father, let his name be as old as the Crusades, his +escutcheon decorated with "the golden rose," or the heraldic ermine of +the emperors, who would not welcome him as a son-in-law. + +The Marchesa Guinigi alone had persistently repulsed him. He had heard +and laughed at the outrageous words she had spoken. He knew what a +struggle it had cost her to sell the second Guinigi Palace at all. He +knew that of all men she had least desired to sell it to him. For that +special reason he had resolved to possess it. He had bought it, so to +say, in spite of her, at the price of gold. + +Yet, although Nobili laughed with his friends at the marchesa's +outrageous words, in reality they greatly nettled him. By constant +repetition they came even to rankle. At last he grew--unconfessed, of +course--so aggravated by them that a secret longing for revenge rose +up within him. She had thrown down the gauntlet, why should he not +pick it up? The marchesa, he knew, had a niece, why should he not +marry the niece, in defiance of the aunt? + +No sooner was this idea conceived than he determined, if he married at +all (marriage to a young man leading his dissipated life is a serious +step), that, of all living women, the marchesa's niece should be his +wife. All this time he had never seen Enrica. Yes, he would marry the +niece, to spite the marchesa. Marry--she, the marchesa, should see +a Guinigi head his board; a Guinigi seated at his hearth; worse than +all, a Guinigi mother of his children! + +All this he kept closely locked within his own breast. As the marchesa +had intimated to him, at the time he bought the palace, that she would +never permit him to cross her threshold, he was debarred from taking +the usual social steps to accomplish his resolve. Not that he in the +least desired to see her, save for that overbearing disposition which +impelled him to combat all opposition. With great difficulty, and +after having expended various sums in bribes among the ill-paid +servants of the marchesa, he had learned the habits of her household. + +Enrica, he found, had a servant, formerly her nurse, who never left +her. Teresa, this servant, was cautiously approached. She was informed +that Count Nobili was distractedly in love with the signorina, and +addressed himself to her for help. Teresa, ignorant, well-meaning, +and brimming over with that mere animal fondness for her foster-child +uneducated women share with brute creatures, was proud of becoming the +medium of what she considered an advantageous marriage for Enrica. The +secluded life she led, the selfish indifference with which her aunt +treated her, had long moved Teresa's passionate southern nature to a +high pitch of indignation. Up to this time no man had been permitted +to enter Casa Guinigi, save those who formed the marchesa's +whist-party. + +"How, then," reasoned Teresa, shrewdly, "was the signorina to marry at +all? Surely it was right to help her to a husband. Here was one, rich, +handsome, and devoted, one who would give the eyes out of his head for +the signorina." Was such an opportunity to be lost? Certainly not. + +So Teresa took Nobili's bribes (bribes are as common in Italy as in +the East), putting them to fructify in the National Bank with an easy +conscience. Was she not emancipating her foster-child from that old +devil, her aunt? Had she not seen Nobili himself when he sent for +her?--seen him, face to face, inside his palace glittering like +paradise? And had he not given her his word, with his hand upon his +heart (also given her a pair of solid gold ear-rings, which she wore +on Sundays), that to marry Enrica was the one hope of his life? Seeing +all this, Teresa was, as I have said, perfectly satisfied. + +When Nobili had done all this, impelled by mixed feelings of wounded +pride, obstinacy, and defiance, he had never, let it be noted, seen +Enrica. But after a meeting had been arranged by Teresa one morning at +early mass in the cathedral, near a dark and unfrequented altar in the +transept--an arrangement, be it observed, unknown to Enrica--all his +feelings changed. From the moment he saw her he loved her with all +the fervor of his ardent nature; from that moment he knew that he had +never loved before. The mystery of their stolen meetings, the sweet +flavor of this forbidden fruit--and what man does not love forbidden +fruit better than labeled pleasures?--the innocent frankness with +which Enrica confessed her love, her unbounded faith in him--all +served to heighten his passion. He gloried--he reveled in her +confidence. Never, never, he swore a thousand times, should she have +cause to repent it. In the possession of Enrica's love, all other +desires, aims, ambitions, had--up to the night of the Orsetti +ball--vanished. Up to that night, for her sake, he had grown solitary, +silent--nay, even patient and subtle. He had clean forgotten his +feud with the Marchesa Guinigi, or only remembered it as a possible +obstacle to his union with Enrica; otherwise the marchesa was +absolutely indifferent to him. Up to the night of the Orsetti ball the +whole world was indifferent to him. But now!-- + +Nobili, sitting very still, his face shaded by his hand, had finished +his cigar. While smoking it he had decided what he would say to +Enrica. Again he took up his pen. This time he dropped it in the ink, +and wrote as follows: + +AMORE: I have treasured all the love you gave me when last we met. +I know that love witnesses for me also in your own heart. Beyond all +earthly things you are dear to me. Come to me, O my Enrica--come to +me; never let us part. I must have you, you only. I must gaze upon +you hour by hour; I must hang upon that dear voice. I must feel that +angel-presence ever beside me. When will you meet me? I implore you to +answer. After our next meeting I am resolved to claim you, by force +or by free-will, to be my wife. To wait longer, O my Enrica, is +good neither for you nor for me. My love! my love! you must be +mine--mine--mine! Come to me--come quickly. Your adoring. + +"MARIO NOBILI." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. + + +Cesare Trenta is dressed with unusual care. His linen is spotless; +his white hair, as fine as silk, is carefully combed; his chin is well +shaven. He wears a glossy white hat, and carries his gold-headed cane +in his hand. Not that he condescends to use that cane as he mounts the +marble staircase of the Universo Hotel (once the Palazzo Buffero) +a little stiffly, on his way to keep his appointment with Count +Marescotti; oh, no--although the cavaliere is well past eighty, he +intends to live much longer; he reserves that cane, therefore, to +assist him in his old age. Now he does not want it. + +It is quite clear that Trenta is come on a mission of great +importance; his sleek air, and the solemnly official expression of +his plump rosy face, say so. His glassy blue eyes are without their +pleasant twinkle, and his lips, tightly drawn over his teeth, lack +their usual benignant smile. Even his fat white hand dimples itself +on the top of his cane, so tightly does he clutch it. He has learned +below that Count Marescotti lives at No. 4 on the second story; at +the door of No. 4 he raps softly. A voice from within asks, "Who is +there?" + +"I," replies Trenta, and he enters. + +The count, who is seated at a table near the window, rises. His tall +figure is enveloped in a dark dressing-gown, that folds about him like +a toga. He has all the aspect of a man roused out of deep thought; +his black hair stands straight up in disordered curls all over his +head--he had evidently been digging both his hands into it--his eyes +are wild and abstracted. Taken as he is now, unawares, that expression +of mingled sternness and sweetness in which he so much resembles +Castruccio Castracani is very striking. From the manner he fixes his +eyes upon Trenta it is clear he does not at once recognize him. The +cavaliere returns his stare with a look of blank dismay. + +"Oh, carissimo!" the count exclaims at last, his countenance changing +to its usual expression--he holds out both hands to grasp those of +the cavaliere--"how I rejoice to see you! Excuse my absence; I had +forgotten our appointment at the moment. That book"--and he points to +an open volume lying on a table covered with letters, manuscripts, and +piles of printed sheets tossed together in wild confusion--"that book +must plead my excuse; it has riveted me. The wrongs of persecuted +Italy are so eloquently pleaded! Have you read it, my dear cavaliere? +If not, allow me to present you with a copy." + +Trenta made a motion with his hand, as if putting both the book and +the subject from him with a certain disgust: he shakes his head. + +"I have not read it, and I do not wish to read it," he replies, +curtly. + +The poor cavaliere feels that this is a bad beginning; but he quickly +consoles himself--he was of a hopeful temperament, and saw life +serenely and altogether in rose-color--by remembering that the count +is habitually absent, also that he habitually uses strong language, +and that he had probably not been so absorbed by the wrongs of Italy +as he pretends. + +"I fear you have forgotten our appointment, count," recommences the +cavaliere, finding that Marescotti is silent, and that his eyes have +wandered off to the pages of the open book. + +"Not at all, not at all, my dear Trenta. On the contrary, had you not +come, I was about to send for you. I have a very important matter to +communicate to you." + +The cavaliere's face now breaks out all over into smiles. "Send for +me," he repeats to himself. "Good, good! I understand." He seats +himself with great deliberation in a large, well-stuffed arm-chair, +near the table, at which Marescotti still continues standing. He +places his cane across his knees, folds his hands together, then looks +up in the other's face. + +"Yes, yes, my dear count," he answers aloud, "we have much to say to +each other--much to say on a most interesting subject." And he gives +the count what he intends to be a very meaning glance. + +"Interesting!" exclaims the count, his whole countenance lighting +up--"enthralling, overwhelming!--a matter to me of life or death!" + +As he speaks he turns aside, and begins to stride up and down the +room, as was his wont when much moved. + +"He! he! my dear count, pray be calm." And Trenta gives a little +laugh, and feebly winks. "We hope it is a matter of _life_, not of +_death_--no--not of _death_, surely." + +"Of death," replied the count, solemnly, and his mobile eyes flash +out, and a dark frown gathers on his brow--"of death, I repeat. Do you +take me for a trifler? I stake my life on the die." + +Trenta felt considerably puzzled. Before he begins, he is anxious to +assure himself that the nature of his errand had at least distinctly +dawned upon the count's mind, if it had not (as he hoped) been fully +understood by him. Should he let Marescotti speak first; or should he, +Trenta, address him formally? In order to decide, he again scans the +count's face closely. But, after doing so, he is obliged to confess +that Marescotti is impenetrable. Now he no longer strode up and down +the room, but he has seated himself opposite the cavaliere, and again +his speaking eyes have wandered off toward the book which he has +been reading. It is evident he is mentally resuming the same train of +thought Trenta's entrance had interrupted. Trenta feels therefore that +he must begin. He has prepared himself for some transcendentalism +on the subject of marriage; but with a man who is so much in love as +Count Marescotti, and who was about to send for him and to tell him +so, there can be no great difficulty; nor can it matter much who opens +the conversation. The cavaliere takes a spotless handkerchief from his +pocket, uses it, replaces it, then coughs. + +"Count," he begins, in a tone of conscious importance, "when I +proposed this meeting, it was to make you a proposal calculated to +exercise the utmost influence over your future life, and--the life of +another," he adds, in a lower tone. "You appear to have anticipated me +by desiring to send for me. You are, of course, aware of my errand?" + +As he asks this question, there is, spite of himself, a slight tremor +in his voice, and the usual ruddiness of his cheeks pales a little. + +"How very mysterious!" exclaims the count, throwing himself back in +his chair. "You look like a benevolent conspirator, cavaliere! Surely, +my dear old friend, you are not about to change your opinions, and to +become a disciple of freedom?" + +"Change my opinions! At my age, count!--Chè, chè!"--Trenta waves his +hand impatiently. "When a man arrives at my age, he does not change +his opinions--no, count, no; it is, if you will permit me to say so, +it is yourself in whom the change is to be wrought--yourself only--" + +The count, who is still leaning back in his chair in an attitude of +polite attention, starts violently, sits straight upright, and fixes +his eyes upon Trenta. + +"What do you mean, cavaliere? After a life devoted to my country, you +cannot imagine I should change? The very idea is offensive to me." + +"No, no, my dear count, you misapprehend me," rejoins Trenta, +soothingly. (He perceived the mistake into which the word "change" +had led Count Marescotti, and dreaded exciting his too susceptible +feelings.) "It is no change of that kind I allude to; the change I +mean is in the nature of a reward for the life of sacrifice you have +led--a reward, a consolation to your fervid spirit. It is to bring +you into an atmosphere of peace, happiness, and love. To reconcile you +perhaps, as a son, erring, but repentant, with that Holy Mother Church +to which you still belong. This is the change I am come to offer you." + +As the cavaliere proceeds, the count's expressive eyes follow every +word he utters with a look of amazement. He is about to reply, but +Trenta places his finger on his lips. + +"Let me continue," he says, smiling blandly. "When I have done, you +shall answer. In one word, count, it is marriage I am come to propose +to you." + +The count suddenly rises from his seat, then he hurriedly reseats +himself. A look of pain comes into his face. + +"Permit me to proceed," urges the cavaliere, watching him anxiously. +"I presume you mean to marry?" + +Marescotti was silent. Trenta's naturally piping voice grows shriller +as he proceeds, from a certain sense of agitation. + +"As the common friend of both parties, I am come to propose a marriage +to you, Count Marescotti." + +"And who may the lady be?" asks the count, drawing back with a sudden +air of reserve. "Who is it that would consent to leave home and +friends, perhaps country, to share the lot of a fugitive patriot?" + +"Come, come, count, this will not do," answers Trenta, smiling, a +certain twinkle returning to his blue eyes. "You are a perfectly free +agent. If you are a fugitive, it is because you like change. You bear +a great name--you are rich, singularly handsome--an ardent admirer of +beauty in art and Nature. Now, ardor on one side excites ardor on the +other." + +While he is speaking, Trenta had mentally decided that Marescotti +was the most impracticable man he had ever encountered in the various +phases of his court career. + +"A fugitive," he repeats, almost with a sneer. "No, no, count, this +will not do with me." The cavaliere pauses and clears his throat. + +"You have not yet answered me," says the count, speaking low, a +certain suppressed eagerness penetrating the assumed indifference of +his manner. "Who is the lady?" + +"Who is the lady?" echoes the cavaliere. "Did you not tell me just +now you were about to send for me?" Trenta speaks fast, a flush +overspreads his cheeks. "Who is the lady?--You astonish me! Per Bacco! +There can be but one lady in question between you and me--that lady is +Enrica Guinigi." His voice drops. There is a dead silence. + +"That the marriage is suitable in all respects," Trenta continues, +reassured by the silence--"I need not tell you; else I, Cesare Trenta, +would not be here as the ambassador." + +Again the stout little cavaliere stops to take breath, under evident +agitation; then he draws himself up, and turns his face toward the +count. As Trenta proceeds, Marescotti's brow is overclouded with +thought--a haggard expression now spreads over his features. His eyes +are turned downward on the floor, else the cavaliere might have +seen that their brilliancy is dimmed by rising tears. With his elbow +resting on the arm of the chair on which he sits, the count passes his +other hand from time to time slowly to and fro across his forehead, +pushing back the disordered curls that fall upon it. + +"To restore and to continue an illustrious race--to unite yourself +with a lovely girl just bursting into womanhood." Trenta's voice +quivers as he says this. "Ah! lovely indeed, in mind as well as body," +he adds, half aloud. "This is a privilege you, Count Marescotti, can +appreciate above all other men. That you do appreciate it you have +already made evident. There is no need for me to speak about Enrica +herself; you have already judged her. You have, before my eyes, +approached her with the looks and the language of passionate +admiration. It is not given to all men to be so fascinating. I have +seen it with delight. I love her"--his voice broke and shook with +emotion--"I love her as if she were my own child." + +All the enthusiasm of which the old chamberlain is capable passes into +his face as he speaks of Enrica. At that moment he really did look as +young as he was continually telling every one that he felt. + +"Count Marescotti," he continues, a solemn tone in his voice as he +slowly pronounces the words, raising his head at the same time, and +gazing fixedly into the other's face--Count Marescotti, "I am come +here to propose a marriage between you and Enrica Guinigi. The +marchesa empowers me to say that she constitutes Enrica her sole +heiress, not only of the great Guinigi name, but of the remaining +Guinigi palace, with the portrait of our Castruccio, the heirlooms, +the castle of Corellia, and lands of--" + +"Stop, stop, my dear Trenta!" cries the count, holding up both +his hands in remonstrance; "you overwhelm me. I require no such +inducements; they horrify me. Enrica Guinigi is sufficient in +herself--so bright a jewel requires no golden settings." + +At these words the cavaliere beams all over. He rubs his fat hands +together, then gently claps them. + +"Bravo!--bravo, count! I see you appreciate her. Per Dio! you make me +feel young again! I never was so happy in my life! I should like +to dance! I will dance by-and-by at the wedding. We will open the +state-rooms. There is not a grander suite in all Italy. It is superb. +I will dance a quadrille with the marchesa. Bagatella! I shall insist +on it. I will execute a solo in the figure of the _pastorelle_. I will +show Baldassare and all the young men the finish of the old style. +People did steps then--they did not jump like wild horses--nor knock +each other down. No--then dancing was practised as a fine art." + +Suddenly the brisk old cavaliere stops. The expression of Marescotti's +large, earnest eyes, fixed on him wonderingly, recalls him to himself. + +"Excuse me, my dear friend; when you are my age, you will better +understand an old man's feelings. We are losing time. Now get your +hat, and come with me at once to Casa Guinigi; the marchesa expects +you. We will settle the day of the betrothal.--My sweet Enrica, how I +long to see you!" + +While he is speaking Trenta rises and strikes his cane on the ground +with a triumphant air; then he holds out both his hands toward the +count. + +"Shake hands with me, my dear Marescotti. I congratulate you--with my +whole soul I congratulate you! She will be your salvation, the dear, +blue-eyed little angel?" + +In the tumult of his excitement Trenta had taken every thing for +granted. His thoughts had flown off to Enrica. His benevolent +heart throbbed with joy at the thought of her emancipation from +the thralldom of her home. A vision of the dark-haired, pale-faced +Marescotti, and the little blond head, with its shower of golden +curls, kneeling together before the altar in the sunshine, danced +before his eyes. Marescotti would become a, Christian--a firm pillar +of the Church; he would rear up children who would worship God and the +Holy Father; he would restore the glory of the Guinigi! + +From this roseate dream the poor cavaliere was abruptly roused. His +outstretched hand had not been taken by Marescotti. It dropped to +his side. Trenta looked up sharply. His countenance suddenly fell; a +purple flush covered it from chin to forehead, penetrating even the +very roots of his snowy hair. His cane dropped with a loud thud, and +rolled away along the uncarpeted floor. He thrust both his hands into +his pockets, and stood motionless, with his eyes wide open, like a man +stunned. + +"Dio buono!--Dio buono!" he muttered, "the man is mad!--the man is +mad!" Then, after a few minutes of absolute silence, he asked, in a +husky voice, "Marescotti, what does this mean?" + +The count had turned away toward the window. At the sound of the +cavaliere's husky voice, he moved and faced him. In the space of a +few moments he had greatly changed. Suddenly he had grown worn and +weary-looking. His eyes were sunk into his head; dark circles had +formed round them. His bloodless cheeks, transparent with the pallor +of perfect health, were blanched; the corners of his mouth worked +convulsively. + +"Does the lady--does Enrica Guinigi know of this proposal?" he asked, +in a voice so sad that the cavaliere's indignation against him cooled +considerably. + +"Good God!" exclaimed Trenta, "such a question is an insult to me and +to my errand. Can you imagine that I, all my life chamberlain to his +highness the Duke of Lucca, am capable of compromising a lady?" + +"Thank God!" ejaculated the count, emphatically, clasping his hands +together, and raising his eyes--"thank God! Forgive me for asking." +His whole voice and manner had changed as rapidly as his aspect. There +was a sense of suffering, a quiet resignation about him, so utterly +unlike his usual excitable manner that Trenta was puzzled beyond +expression--so puzzled, indeed, that he was speechless. Besides, a +veteran in etiquette, he felt that it was to himself an explanation +was due. Marescotti had been about to send for him. Now he was there, +Marescotti had heard his proposal, it was for Marescotti to answer. + +That the count felt this also was apparent. There was something solemn +in his manner as he turned away from the window and slowly advanced +toward the cavaliere. Trenta was still standing immovable on the same +spot where he had muttered in the first moment of amazement, "He is +mad!" + +"My dear old friend," said the count, speaking with evident effort in +a dull, sad voice, "there is some mistake. It was not to speak about +any lady that I was about to send for you." + +"Not about a lady!" cried Trenta, aghast. "Mercy of God!--" + +"Let that pass," interrupted the count, waving his hand. "You have +asked me for an explanation--an explanation you shall have." He sighed +deeply, then proceeded--the cavaliere following every word he uttered +with open mouth and wildly-staring eyes: "Of the lady I can say no +more than that, on my honor as a gentleman, to me she approaches +nearer the divine than any woman I have ever seen--nay, than any woman +I have ever dreamed of." + +A flash of fire lit up the depths of the count's dark eyes, and there +was a tone of melting tenderness in his rich voice as he spoke of +Enrica. Then he relapsed into his former weary manner--the manner of a +man pronouncing his own death-warrant. + +"Of the unspeakable honor you have done me, as has also the excellent +Marchesa Guinigi--it does not become me to speak. Believe me, I feel +it profoundly." And the count laid his hand upon his heart and bent +his grand head. Trenta, with formal politeness, returned the silent +salute. + +"But"--and here the count's voice faltered, and there was a dimness +in his eyes, round which the black circles had deepened--"but it is an +honor I must decline." + +Trenta, still rooted to the same spot, listened to each word that fell +from the count's lips with a look of anguish. + +"Sit down, cavaliere--sit down," continued Marescotti, seeing his +distress. He put his arm round Trenta's burly, well-filled figure, +and drew him down gently into the depths of the arm-chair. "Listen, +cavaliere--listen to what I have to say before you altogether condemn +me. The sacrifice I am making costs me more than I can express. You +hold before my eyes what is to me more precious than life; you tempt +me with what every sense within me--heart, soul, manliness--urges me +to clutch; yet I dare not accept it." + +He paused; so profound a sigh escaped him that it almost formed itself +into a groan. + +"I don't understand all this," said Trenta, reddening with +indignation. He had been by degrees collecting his scattered senses. +"I don't understand it at all. You have, count, placed me in a most +awkward position; I feel it very much. You speak of a mistake--a +misapprehension. I beg to say there has been none on my part; I am +not in the habit of making mistakes."--It will be seen that the +cavaliere's temper was rising with the sense of the intolerable injury +Count Marescotti was inflicting on himself and all concerned.--"I have +undertaken a very serious responsibility; I have failed, you tell me. +What am I to say to the marchesa?" + +His shrill voice rose into an angry cry. Altogether, it was more than +he could bear. For a moment, the injury to Enrica was forgotten in his +own personal sense of wrong. It was too galling to fail in an official +embassy Trenta, who always acted upon mature reflection, abhorred +failure. + +"Tell her," answered the count, raising his voice, his eyes kindling +as he spoke--"tell her I am here in Lucca on a sacred mission. I +confide it to her honor. A man sworn to a mission cannot marry. As in +the kingdom of heaven they neither marry nor are given in marriage, +so I, the anointed priest of the people, dare not marry; it would be +sacrilege." His powerful voice rang through the room; he raised his +hands aloft, as if invoking some unseen power to whom he belonged. +"When you, cavaliere, entered this room, I was about to confide my +position to you. I am at Lucca--Lucca, once the foster-mother of +progress, and, I pray Heaven, to become so again!--I am at Lucca to +found a mission of freedom." A sudden gesture told him how much Trenta +was taken aback at this announcement. "We differ in our opinions as +widely as the poles," continued the count, warming to his subject, +"but you are my old friend--I felt you would not betray me. Now, after +what has passed, as a man of honor, I am bound to confide in you. +O Italy! my country!" exclaimed the count, clasping his hands, and +throwing back his head in a frenzy of enthusiasm, "what sacrifice is +too great for thee? Youth, hope, love--nay, life itself--all--all I +devote to thee!" + +As he was speaking, a ray of sunlight penetrated through the closed +windows. It struck like a fiery arrow across the darkened room, and +fell full upon the count's upturned face, lighting up every line of +his noble countenance. There was a solemn passion in his eyes, a rapt +fervor in his gaze, that silenced even the justly-irritated Trenta. + +Nevertheless the cavaliere was not a man to be put off by mere words, +however imposing they might be. He returned, therefore, to the charge +perseveringly. + +"You speak of a mission, Count Marescotti; what is the nature of this +mission? Nothing political, I hope?" + +He stopped abruptly. The count's eyelids dropped over his eyes as he +met Trenta's inquiring glance. Then he bowed his head in acquiescence. + +"Another revolution may do much for Italy," he answered, in a low +tone. + +"For the love of God," ejaculated Trenta, stung to the quick by what +he looked upon at that particular moment as in itself an aggravation +of his wrongs, "don't remind me of your politics, or I shall instantly +leave the room. Domine Dio! it is too much. You have just escaped by +the veriest good luck (good luck, by-the-way, you did not in the least +deserve) a life-long imprisonment at Rome. You had a mission there, +too, I believe." + +This was spoken in as bitter a sneer as the cavaliere's kindly nature +permitted. + +"Now pray be satisfied. If you and I are not to part this very +instant, don't let me realize you as the 'Red count.' That is a +character I cannot tolerate." + +Trenta, so seldom roused to anger, shook all over with rage. "I +believe sincerely that it is such so-called patriots as yourself, with +their devilish missions, that will ruin us all." + +"It is because you are ignorant of the grandeur of our cause, it is +because you do not understand our principles, that you misjudge us," +responded the count, raising his eyes upon Trenta, and speaking with +a lofty disregard of his hot words. "Permit me to unfold to you +something of our philosophy, a philosophy which will resuscitate our +country, and place her again in her ancient position, as intellectual +monitress of Europe. You must not, cavaliere, judge either of my +mission or of my creed by the yelping of the miserable curs that +dog the heels of all great enterprises. There is the penetralia, the +esoteric belief, in all great systems of national belief." + +The count spoke with emphasis, yet in grave and measured accents; but +his lustrous eyes, and the wild confusion of those black locks, that +waved, as it were, sympathetic to his humor, showed that his mind was +engrossed with thoughts of overwhelming interest. + +The cavaliere, after his last indignant outburst, had subsided into +the depths of the arm-chair in which Marescotti had placed him; it was +so large as almost to swallow up the whole of his stout little person. +With his hands joined, his dimpled fingers interlaced and pointing +upward, he patiently awaited what the count might say. He felt +painfully conscious that he had failed in his errand. This irritated +him exceedingly. He had not entered that room--No. 4, at the Universo +Hotel--in order to listen to the elaboration of Count Marescotti's +mission, but in order to set certain marriage-bells ringing. These +marriage-bells were, it seemed, to be forever mute. Still, having +demanded an explanation of what he conceived to be the count's most +incomprehensible conduct, he was bound, he felt, in common courtesy, +to listen to all he had to say. + +Now Trenta never in his life was wanting in the very flower of +courtesy; he would much sooner have shot himself than be guilty of an +ill-bred word. So, under protest, therefore--a protest more distinctly +written in the general puckering up of his round, plump face, and a +certain sulky swell about his usually smiling mouth--it was clear he +meant to listen, cost him what it might. Besides, when he had heard +what the count had to say, it was clearly his duty to reason with him. +Who could tell that he might not yield to such a process? He avowed +that he was deeply enamored of Enrica--a man in love is already half +vanquished. Why should Marescotti throw away his chance of happiness +for a phantasy--a mere dream? There was no real obstacle. He +was versatile and visionary, but the very soul of honor. How, if +he--Trenta--could bring Marescotti to see how much it would be to +Enrica's advantage that he should transplant her from a dreary home, +to become a wife beside him? + +Decidedly it was still possible that he, Cesare Trenta, who had +arranged satisfactorily so many most difficult royal complications, +might yet bring Marescotti to reason. Who could tell that he might not +yet be spared the humiliation of returning to impart his failure to +the marchesa? A return, be it said, the good Trenta dreaded not a +little, remembering the characteristics of his dear friend, and the +responsibility of success which he had so confidently taken upon +himself before he started. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A NEW PHILOSOPHY. + + +There had been an interval of silence, during which the count paced up +and down the spacious room meditatively, each step sounding distinctly +on the stone floor. The rugged look of conscious power upon his +face, the far-way glance in his sombre eyes, showed that his mind was +working upon what he was about to say. Presently he ceased to walk, +reseated himself opposite the cavaliere, and fixed a half-absent gaze +upon him. + +Trenta, who would cheerfully have undergone any amount of suffering +rather than listen to the abominations he felt were coming, sat with +half-closed eyes, gathered into the corner of the arm-chair, the very +picture of patient martyrdom. + +The count contemplated him for a moment. As he did so an expression, +half cynical, half melancholy, passed over his countenance, and a +faint smile lurked about the corners of his mouth. Then in a voice +so full and sweet that the ear eagerly drank in the sound, like the +harmony of a cadence, he began: + +"The Roman Catholic Church," he said, "styles itself divinely +constituted. It claims to be supreme arbiter in religion and morals; +supreme even in measuring intellectual progress; absolute in its +jurisdiction over the state, and solely responsible to itself as to +what the limit of that jurisdiction shall be. It calls itself supreme +and absolute, because infallible--infallible because divine. Thus the +vicious circle is complete. Now entire obedience necessarily comes +into collision with every species of freedom--nay, it is in +itself antagonistic to freedom--freedom of thought, freedom of +action--specially antagonistic to national freedom." + +"The supremacy of the pope (the Holy Father)," put in Trenta, +meekly; he crossed himself several times in rapid succession, looking +afterward as if it had been a great consolation to him. + +"The supremacy of the pope," repeated the count, firmly, the shadow +of a smile parting his lips, "is eternal. It is based as firmly in the +next world as it is in this. It constitutes a condition of complete +tyranny both in time and in eternity. Now I," and the count's +voice rose, and his eyes glowed, "I--both in my public and private +capacity--(call me Antichrist if you please)." A visible shudder +passed over the poor cavaliere; his eyes closed altogether, and his +lips moved. (He was repeating an Ave Maria Sanctissima). "I abhor, I +renounce this slavery!--I rebel against it!--I will have none of it. +Who shall control the immortality of thought?--a Pius, a Gregory? +Ignorant dreamers, perjured priests!--never!" + +As he spoke, the count raised his right arm, and circled it in the +air. In imagination he was waving the flag of liberty over a prostrate +world. + +"But, alas! this slavery is riveted by the grasp of centuries; it +requires measures as firm and uncompromising as its own to dislodge +it. Now the pope "--Trenta did not this time attempt to correct +Marescotti--"the pope is theoretically of no nation, but in reality +he is of all nations; and he is surrounded by a court of celibate +priests, also without nation. Observe, cavaliere--this absolute +dominion is attained by celibates only--men with no family ties--no +household influences." (This was spoken, as it were, _en parenthèse_, +as a comment on the earlier portion of the conversation that had taken +place between them.) "Each of these celibate priests is the pope's +courtier--his courtier and his slave; his slave because he is subject +to a higher law than the law of his own conscience, and the law of his +own country. Without home or family, nationality or worldly interest, +the priest is a living machine, to be used in whatever direction his +tyrant dictates. Every priest, therefore, be he cardinal or deacon, +moves and acts the slave of an abstract idea; an idea incompatible +with patriotism, humanity, or freedom." + +An audible and deep groan escaped from the suffering cavaliere as the +count's voice ceased. + +"Now, Cavaliere Trenta, mark the application." As the count proceeded +with his argument, his dark eyes, lit up with the enthusiasm of +his own oratory, riveted themselves on the arm-chair. (It could not +properly be said that his eyes riveted themselves on Trenta, for +he was stooping down, his face covered with his hands, altogether +insensible to any possible appeal that might be addressed to him.) "I, +Manfredi Marescotti, consecrated priest of the people"--and the count +drew himself up to the full height of his lofty figure--"I am as +devoted to my cause--God is my witness"--and he raised his right +hand as though to seal a solemn pledge of truth--"as that consecrated +renegade, the pope! My followers--and their name is legion--believe in +me as implicitly as do the tonsured dastards of the Vatican." + +Another ill-suppressed groan escaped from Trenta, and for a moment +interrupted the count's oration. The miserable cavaliere! He had, +indeed, invoked an explanation, and, cost him what it might, he must +abide it. But he began to think that the explanation had gone too +far. He was sitting there listening to blasphemies. He was actually +imperiling his own soul. He was horrified as he reflected that he +might not obtain absolution when he confessed the awful language +which was addressed to him. Such a risk was really greater than his +submission to etiquette exacted. There were bounds even to that, the +aged chamberlain told himself. + +Gracious heavens!--for him, an unquestioning papalino, a sincere +believer in papal infallibility and the temporal power--to hear the +Holy Father called a renegade, and his faithful servants stigmatized +as dastards! It was monstrous! + +He secretly resolved that, once escaped from No. 4 at the Universo +Hotel--and he wondered that a thunderbolt had not already struck the +count dead where he stood--he would never allow himself to have any +further intercourse whatever with him. + +"I have been elected," continued the count, speaking in the same +emphatic manner, and in the same distinct and harmonious voice, +utterly careless or unobservant of the conflict of feelings under +which the cavaliere was struggling--"head pope, if you please, +cavaliere, so to call me."--("God forbid!" muttered Trenta.)--"It +makes my analogy the clearer--I have been elected by thousands of +devoted followers. But my followers are not slaves, nor am I a tyrant. +I have accepted the glorious title of Priest of the People, and +nothing--_nothing_" the count repeated, vehemently, "shall tempt me +from my duty. I am here at Lucca to establish a mission--to plant +in this fertile soil the sacred banner of freedom--red as the first +streaks of light that lace the eastern heavens; red as the life-blood +from which we draw our being. I am here, under the protection of this +glorious banner, to combat the tyranny upon which the church and the +throne are based. Instead of the fetters of the past, binding mankind +in loathsome trammels of ignorance--instead of the darkness that +broods over a subjugated world--of terrors that rend agonized souls +with horrible tortures--I bring peace, freedom, light, progress. To +the base ideal of perpetual tyranny--both here and hereafter--I oppose +the pure ideal of absolute freedom--freedom to each separate soul to +work out for itself its own innate convictions--freedom to form its +independent destiny. Freedom in state, freedom in church, freedom in +religion, literature, commerce, government--freedom as boundless as +the sunshine that fructifies the teeming earth! Freedom of thought +necessitates freedom in government. As the soul wings itself toward +the light of simple truth, so should the body politic aspire to +perfect freedom. This can only be found in a pure republic; a republic +where all men are equal--where each man lives for the other in living +for himself--where brother cleaves to brother as his own flesh--family +is knit to family--one, yet many--one, yet of all nations!" + +"Communism, in fact!" burst forth the cavaliere. His piping voice, +now hoarse with rage, quivered. "You are here to form a communistic +association! God help us!" + +"I care not what you call it," cried the count, with a rising +passion. "My faith, my hope, is the ideal of freedom as opposed to the +abstraction of hierarchical superstition and monarchic tyranny. What +are popes, kings, princes, and potentates, to me who deem all men +equal? It is by a republic alone that we can regenerate our beloved, +our unfortunate Italy, now tossed between a debauched monarch--a +traitor, who yielded Savoy--an effete Parliament--a pack of lawyers +who represent nothing but their own interests, and a pope--the +recreant of Gaeta! The sooner our ideas are circulated, the sooner +they will permeate among the masses. Already the harvest has been +great elsewhere. I am here to sow, to reap, and to gather. For this +end--mark me, cavaliere, I entreat you--I am here, for none other." + +Here the triumphant patriot became suddenly embarrassed. He stopped, +hesitated, stopped again, took breath, and sighed; then turned full +upon Trenta, in order to obtain some response to the appeal he had +addressed to him. But again Trenta, sullenly silent, had buried +himself in the depths of the arm-chair, and was, so to say, invisible. + +"For this end" (a mournful cadence came into the count's voice when he +at length proceeded) "I am ready to sacrifice my life. My life!--what +is that? I am ready to sacrifice my love--ay, my love--the love of the +only woman who fulfills the longings of my poetic soul." + +The count ceased speaking. The fair Enrica, with her tender smile, +and patient, chastened loveliness--Enrica, as he had imagined her, the +type of the young Madonna, was before him. No, Enrica could never be +his; no child of his would ever be encircled by those soft, womanly +arms! With a strong effort to shake off the feeling which so deeply +moved him, the count continued: + +"In the boundless realms of ideal philosophy"--his noble features were +at this moment lit up into the living image of that hero he so much +resembled--"man grapples hand to hand with the unseen. There are no +limits to his glorious aspirations. He is as God himself. He, too, +becomes a Creator; and a new and purer world forms beneath his hand." + +"Have you done?" asked Trenta, looking up out of the arm-chair. He was +so thoroughly overcome, so subdued, he could have wept. From the very +commencement of the count's explanation, he had felt that it was not +given to him to combat his opinions. If he could, he was not sure that +he would have ventured to do so. "Let pitch alone," says the proverb. + +Now Trenta, of a most cleanly nature, morally and physically--abhorred +pitch, especially such pitch as this. He had long looked upon Count +Marescotti as an atheist, a visionary--but he had never conceived +him capable of establishing an organized system of rebellion and +communism. At Lucca, too! It was horrible! By some means such +an incendiary must be got rid of. Next to the foul Fiend himself +established in the city, he could conceive nothing more awful! It was +a Providence that Marescotti could not marry Enrica! He should tell +the marchesa so. Such sophistry might have perverted Enrica also. It +was more than probable that, instead of reforming him, she might have +fallen a victim to his wickedness. This reflection was infinitely +comforting to the much-enduring cavaliere. It lightened also much of +his apprehension in approaching the marchesa, as the bearer of the +count's refusal. + + +To Trenta's question as to "whether he had done," Marescotti had +promptly replied with easy courtesy, "Certainly, if you desire it. +But, my dear cavaliere," he went on to say, speaking in his usual +manner, "you will now understand why, cost me what it may, I cannot +marry. Never, never, I confess, have I been so fiercely tempted! But +the pang is past!" And he swept his hand over his brow. "Marriage with +me is impossible. You will understand this." + +"Yes, yes, I quite agree with you, count," put in Trenta--sideways, as +it were. He was rejoiced to find he had any common standing-point left +with Marescotti. "I agree with you--marriage is quite impossible. +I hope, too," he added, recovering himself a little, with a faint +twinkle in his eye, "you will find your mission at Lucca equally +impossible. San Riccardo grant it!" And the old man crossed himself, +and secretly fingered an image of the Virgin he wore about his neck. + +"Putting aside the sacred office with which I am invested," resumed +the count, without noticing Trenta's observation, "no wife could +sympathize with me. It would be a case of Byron over again. What agony +it would be to me to see the exquisite Enrica unable to understand +me! A poet, a mystic, I am only fit to live alone. My path"--and +a far-away look came into his eyes--"my path lies alone upon the +mountains--alone! alone!" he added sorrowfully, and a tear trembled on +his eyelid. + +"Then why, may I ask you," retorted Trenta, with energy, raising +himself upright in the arm-chair, "why did you mislead me by such +passionate language to Enrica? Recall the Guinigi Tower, your +attitude--your glances--I must say, Count Marescotti, I consider your +conduct unpardonable--quite unpardonable." + +Trenta's face and forehead were scarlet, his steely blue eyes were +rounded to their utmost width, and, as far as such mild eyes could, +they glared at the count. + +"You have entirely misled me. As to your political opinions, I have, +thank God, nothing to do with them; that is your affair. But in this +matter of Enrica you have unjustifiably misled me. I shall not forgive +you in a hurry, I can tell you." There was a rustling of anger all +over the cavaliere, as the leaves of the forest-trees rustle before +the breath of the coming tempest. + +"My admiration for women," replied the count, "has hitherto been +purely aesthetic. You, cavaliere, cannot understand the discrepancies +of an artistic nature. Women have been to me heretofore as beautiful +abstractions. I have adored them as I adore the works of the great +masters. I would as soon have thought of plucking a virgin from the +canvas--a Venus from her pedestal, as of appropriating one of them. +Enrica Guinigi"--there was a tender inflection in Count Marescotti's +voice whenever he named her, an involuntary bending of the head that +was infinitely touching--"Enrica Guinigi is an exception. I could have +loved her--ah! she is worthy of all love! Her soul is as rare as +her person. I read in the depths of her plaintive eyes the trust of +a child and the fortitude of a heroine. If I dared to give these +thoughts utterance, it was because I knew _she loved another!_" + +"Loved another?" screamed Trenta, losing all self-control and +tottering to his feet. "Loved another?" he repeated, every feature +working convulsively. "What do you mean?" + +Marescotti rose also. Was it possible that Trenta could be in +ignorance, he asked himself, hurriedly, as he stared at the aged +chamberlain, trembling from head to foot. + +"Loved another? You are mad, Count Marescotti, I always said so--mad! +mad!" Trenta gasped for breath. He was hardly able to articulate. + +The count bowed to him ironically. + +"Calm yourself, cavaliere," he said, haughtily, measuring from head +to foot the plump little cavaliere, who stood before him literally +panting with rage. "There is no need for violence. You and the +marchesa must have known of this. I shuddered, when I thought that +Enrica might have been driven into acquiescence with your proposal +against her will. I love her too much to have permitted it." + +The cavaliere could with difficulty bring himself to allow Marescotti +to finish. He was too furious to take in the full sense of what he +said. His throat was parched. + +"You must answer to me for this!" Trenta could barely articulate. +His voice was dry and hoarse. "You must--you shall. You have refused +Enrica, now you insult her. I demand--I demand satisfaction. No +excuse--no excuse!" he shouted. And seeing that Marescotti drew back +toward the window, the cavaliere pressed closer upon him, stamped +his foot upon the floor, and raised his clinched fist as near to the +count's face as his height permitted. + +Had the official sword hung at Trenta's side, he would undoubtedly +have drawn it at that moment and attacked him. In the defense of +Enrica he forgot his age--he forgot every thing. His very voice had +changed into a manly barytone. In the absence of his sword, Trenta +was evidently about to strike Marescotti. As he advanced, the other +retreated. + +A hot flush overspread the count's face for an instant, then it faded +out, and grew pale and rigid. He remembered the cavaliere's great age, +and checked himself. To avoid him, the count retreated to the farthest +limit of the room, hastily seized a chair, and barricaded himself +behind it. "I will not fight you, Cavaliere Trenta," he answered, +speaking with calmness. + +"Ah, coward!" screamed Trenta, "would you dishonor me?" + +"Cavaliere Trenta, this is folly," said the count, crossing his arms +on his breast. "Strike me if you please," he added, seeing that Trenta +still threatened him. "Strike me; I shall not return it. On my honor +as a gentleman, what I have said is true. Had you, cavaliere, been +a younger man, you must have heard it in the city, at the club, the +theatre; it is known everywhere." + +"What is known?" asked Trenta, hoarsely, standing suddenly motionless, +the flush of rage dying out of his countenance, and a look of helpless +suffering taking its place. + +"That Count Nobili loves Enrica Guinigi," answered Marescotti, +abruptly. + +Like a shot Baldassare's words rose to Trenta's remembrance. The poor +old chamberlain turned very white. He quivered like a leaf, and clung +to the table for support. + +"Pardon me, oh! pardon me a thousand times, if I have pained you," +exclaimed the count; he left the place where he was standing, threw +his arms round Trenta, and placed him with careful tenderness on a +seat. His generous heart upbraided him bitterly for having allowed +himself for an instant to be heated by the cavaliere's reproaches. +"How could I possibly imagine you did not know all this?" he asked, in +the gentlest voice. + +Trenta groaned. + +"Take me home, take me home," he murmured, faintly. "Gran Dio! the +marchesa! the marchesa!" He clasped his hands, then let them fall upon +his knees. + +"But what real obstacle can there be to a marriage with Count Nobili?" + +"I cannot speak," answered the cavaliere, almost inaudibly, trying to +rise. "Every obstacle." And he sank back helplessly on the chair. + +Count Marescotti took a silver flask from a drawer, and offered him a +cordial. Trenta swallowed it with the submissiveness of a child. The +count picked up his cane, and placed it in his hand. The cavaliere +mechanically grasped it, rose, and moved feebly toward the door. + +"Let me go," he said, faintly, addressing Marescotti, who urged him to +remain. "Let me go. I must inform the marchesa, I must see Enrica. Ah! +if you knew all!" he whispered, looking piteously at the count. "My +poor Enrica!--my pretty lamb! Who can have led her astray? How can it +have happened? I must go--go at once. I am better now. Yes--give me +your arm, count, I am a little weak. I thank you--it supports me." + +The door of No. 4 was at last opened. The cavaliere descended the +stairs very slowly, supported by Marescotti, whose looks expressed the +deepest compassion. A _fiacre_ was called from the piazza. + +"The Palazzo Trenta," said Count Marescotti to the driver, handing in +the cavaliere. + +"No, no," he faintly interrupted, "not there. To Casa Guinigi. I must +instantly see the marchesa," whispered Trenta in the count's ear. + +The _fiacre_ containing the unhappy chamberlain drove from the door, +and plunged into a dark street toward the cathedral. + +Count Marescotti stood for some minutes in the doorway, gazing after +it. The full blaze of a hot September sun played round his uncovered +head, lighting it up as with a glory. Then he turned, and, slowly +reascending the stairs to No. 4, opened his door, and locked it behind +him. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE MARCHESA'S PASSION. + + +The Marchesa Guinigi dined early. She had just finished when a knock +at the door of her squalid sitting-room on the second story, with the +pea-green walls and shabby furniture, aroused her from what was +the nearest approach to a nap in which she ever indulged. In direct +opposition to Italian habits, she maintained that sleeping in the day +was not only lazy, but pernicious to health. As the marchesa did not +permit herself to be lulled by the morphitic influences of those long, +dreary days of an Italian summer, which must perforce be passed +in closed and darkened chambers, and in a stifling atmosphere, she +resolutely set her face against any one in her palace enjoying this +national luxury. + +At the hottest moment of the twenty-four hours, and in the dog-days, +when the rays of a scalding sun pour down upon roof and wall and +tower like molten lead, searching out each crack and cranny with cruel +persistence, the marchesa was wont stealthily to descend into the +very bowels, as it were, of that great body corporate, the Guinigi +Palace--to see with her own eyes if her orders were obeyed. With hard +words, and threats of instant dismissal, she aroused her sleeping +household. No refuge could hide an offender--no hole, however dark, +could conceal so much as a kitchen-boy. + +The marchesa's eye penetrated everywhere. From garret to cellar she +knew the dimensions of every cupboard--the capacity of each nook--the +measure of the very walls. Woe to the unlucky sleeper! his slumbers +from that hour were numbered; she watched him as if he had committed a +crime. + +When the marchesa, as I have said, was aroused by a knock, she sat up +stiffly, and rubbed her eyes before she would say, "Enter." When she +spoke the word, the door slowly opened, and Cavaliere Trenta +stood before her. Never had he presented himself in such an abject +condition; he was panting for breath; he leaned heavily on his +gold-headed cane; his snowy hair hung in disorder about his forehead, +deep wrinkles had gathered on his face; his eyes were sunk in their +sockets, and his white lips twitched nervously, showing his teeth. + +"Cristo!" exclaimed the marchesa, fixing her keen eyes upon him, "you +are going to have a fit!" + +Trenta shook his head slowly. + +The marchesa pulled a chair to her side. The cavaliere sank into it +with a sigh of exhaustion, put his hand into his pocket, drew out his +handkerchief, placed it before his eyes, and sobbed aloud. + +"Trenta--Cesarino!"--and the marchesa rose, laid her long, white +fingers on his shoulder--it was a cruel hand, spite of its symmetry +and aristocratic whiteness--"what does this mean? Speak, speak! I hate +mystification. I order you to speak!" she added, imperiously. "Have +you seen Count Marescotti?" + +Trenta nodded. + +"What does he say? Is the marriage arranged?" + +Trenta shook his head. If his life had depended upon it he could not +have uttered a single word at that moment. His sobs choked him. Tears +ran down his aged cheeks, moistening the wrinkles and furrows now so +apparent. He was in such a piteous condition that even the marchesa +was softened as she looked at him. + +"If all this is because the marriage with Count Marescotti has failed, +you are a fool, Trenta! a fool, do you hear?" And she leaned over him, +tightened her hand upon his shoulder, and actually shook him. + +Trenta submitted passively. + +"On the whole, I am very glad of it. Do you hear? You talked me over, +Cesarino; I have repented it ever since. Count Marescotti is not the +man I should have selected for raising up heirs to the Guinigi. Now +don't irritate me," she continued, with a disdainful glance at the +cavaliere. "Have done with this folly. Do you hear?" + +"Enrica, Enrica!" groaned Trenta, who, always accustomed to obey +her, began wiping his eyes--they would, however, keep overflowing--"O +marchesa! how can I tell you?" + +"Tell me what?" demanded the marchesa, sternly. + +Her breath came short and quick, her thin face grew set and rigid. +Like a veteran war-horse, she scented the battle from afar! + +"Ah! if you only knew all!" And a great spasm passed over the +cavaliere's frame. "You must prepare yourself for the worst." + +The marchesa laughed--a short, contemptuous laugh--and shrugged her +shoulders. + +"Enrica, Enrica--what can she do?--a child! She cannot compromise me, +or my name." + +"Enrica has compromised both," cried Trenta, roused at last from +his paroxysm of grief. "Enrica has more than compromised it; she +has compromised all the Guinigi that ever lived--you, the palace, +herself--every one. Enrica has a lover!" The marchesa bounded from her +chair; her face turned livid in the waning light. + +"Who told you this?" she asked, in a strange, hollow voice, without +turning her eyes or moving a muscle of her face. + +"Count Marescotti," answered Trenta, meekly. + +He positively cowered beneath the pent-up wrath of the marchesa. + +"Who is the man?" + +"Nobili." + +"What!--Count Nobili?" + +"Yes, Count Nobili." + +With a great effort she commanded herself, and continued interrogating +Trenta. + +"How did Marescotti hear it?" + +"From common report. It is known all over Lucca." + +"Was this the reason that Count Marescotti declined to marry my +niece?" + +The marchesa spoke in the same strange tone, but she fixed her eyes +savagely on Trenta, so as to be able to convince herself how far he +might dare to equivocate. + +"That was a principal reason," replied the cavaliere, in a faltering +voice; "but there were others." + +"What are the others to me? The dishonor of my niece is sufficient." + +There was a desperate composure about the marchesa, more terrible than +passion. + +"Her dishonor! God and all the saints forbid!" retorted Trenta, +clasping his hands. "Marescotti did not speak of dishonor." + +"But I speak of dishonor!" shrieked the marchesa, and the pent-up +rage within her flashed out over her face like a tongue of fire. +"Dishonor!--the vilest, basest dishonor! What do I care "--and she +stamped her foot loudly on the brick floor--"what do I care what +Nobili has done to her? By that one fact of loving him she has soiled +this sacred roof." The marchesa's eyes wandered wildly round the room. +"She has soiled the name I bear. I will cast her forth into the street +to beg--to starve!" + +And as the words fell from her lips she stretched out her long arm and +bony finger as in a withering curse. + +"But, ha! ha!"--and her terrible voice echoed through the empty +room--"I forgot. Count Nobili loves her; he will keep her--in luxury, +too--and in a Guinigi palace!" She hissed out these last words. "She +has learned her way there already. Let her go--go instantly," the +marchesa's hand was on the bell. "Let her go, the soft-voiced viper!" + +The transport of fury which possessed the marchesa had had the effect +of completely recalling Trenta to himself. For his great age, Trenta +possessed extraordinary recuperative powers, both of body and mind. +Not only had he so far recovered while the marchesa had been speaking +as to arrange his hair and his features, and to smoothe the creases +of his official coat into something of their habitual punctilious +neatness, but he had had time to reflect. Unless he could turn +the marchesa from her dreadful purpose, Enrica (still under all +circumstances his beloved child) would infallibly be turned into the +street by her remorseless aunt. + +At the moment that the marchesa had laid her hand upon the bell, +Trenta darted forward and tore it from her hand. + +"For the love of the Virgin, pause before you commit so horrible an +act!" + +So sudden had been his movement, so unwonted his energy, that the +marchesa was checked in the very climax of her passion. + +"If you have no mercy on a child that you have reared at your side," +exclaimed Trenta, laying his hand on hers, "spare yourself, your name, +your house, such a scandal! Is it for this that you cherish the name +of the great Paolo Guinigi, whose acts were acts of clemency and +wisdom? Is it for this you honor the memory of Castruccio Castracani, +who was called the 'father of the people?' Bethink you, marchesa, that +they lived under this very roof. You dare not--no, not even you--dare +not tarnish their memories! Call Enrica here. It is the barest justice +that the accused should be heard. Ask her what she has done? Ask her +what has passed? How she has met Count Nobili? Until an hour ago I +could have sworn she did not even know him." + +"Ay, ay," burst out the marchesa, "so could I. How did she come to +know him?" + +"That is precisely what we must learn," continued Trenta, eagerly +seizing on the slightest abatement of the marchesa's wrath. "That is +what we must ask her. Marchesa, in common decency, you cannot put +your own niece out of your house without seeing her and hearing her +explanation." + +"You may call her, if you please," answered the marchesa, with a look +of dogged rage; "but I warn you, Cesare Trenta, if she avows her love +for Nobili in my presence, I shall esteem that in itself the foulest +crime she can commit. If she avows it, she leaves my house to-night. +Let her die!--I care not what becomes of her!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +ENRICA'S TRIAL. + + +The Cavaliere Trenta, without an instant's delay, seized the bell and +rang it. The broken-down retainer, in his suit of well-worn livery, +shuffled in through the anteroom. + +"What did the excellency command?" he asked in a dreary voice, as the +marchesa did not address him. + +"Tell the signorina that the Marchesa Guinigi desires her presence +immediately," answered the cavaliere, promptly. He would not give her +an opportunity of speaking. + +"Her excellency shall be obeyed," replied the servant, still +addressing himself to the marchesa. He bowed, then glided noiselessly +from the room. + +A door is heard to open, then to shut; a bell is rung; there is a +muttered conversation in the anteroom, and the sound of receding +footsteps; then a side-door in the corner of the sitting-room near the +window opens; there is the slight rustle of a summer dress, and Enrica +stands before them. + +It is the same hour of sunset as when she had sat there three days +before, knitting beside the open casement, with the twisted marble +colonnettes and delicate tracery. The same subtile fragrance of the +magnolia rises upward from the waxy leaves of the tall flowering trees +growing beneath in the Moorish garden. The low rays of the setting sun +flit upon her flaxen hair, defining each delicate curl, and sharply +marking the outline of her slight girlish figure; the slender waist, +the small hands. Even the little foot is visible under the folds of +her light dress. + +Enrica's face is in shadow, but, as she raises it and sees the +cavaliere seated beside her aunt, a quiet smile plays about her mouth, +and a gleam of pleasure rises in her eyes. + +What is it that makes youth in Italy so fresh and beautiful--so lithe, +erect, and strong? What gives that lustre to the eye, that ripple to +the hair, that faultless mould to the features, that mellowness to the +skin--like the ruddy rind of the pomegranate--those rounded limbs that +move with sovereign ease--that step, as of gods treading the earth? +Is it the color of the golden skies? Is it a philter brewed by the +burning sunshine? or is it found in the deep shadows that brood in +the radiance of the starry night? Is it in those sounds of music +ever floating in the air? or in the solemn silence of the +primeval chestnut-woods? Does it come in the crackling of the +mountain-storm--in the terror of the earthquake? Does it breathe from +the azure seas that belt the classic land--or in the rippling +cadence of untrodden streams amid lonely mountains? Whence comes +it?--how?--where? I cannot tell. + +The marchesa is seated on her accustomed seat; her face is shaded by +her hand. So stern, so solemn, is her attitude that her chair seems +suddenly turned into a judgment-seat. + +The cavaliere has risen at Enrica's entrance. Not daring to display +his feelings in the presence of the marchesa, he thrusts his hands +into his pockets, and stands behind her, his head partly turned away, +leaning against the edge of the marble mantel-piece. There is such +absolute silence in the room that the ticking of a clock is distinctly +heard. It is the deadly pause before the slaughter of the battle. "You +sent for me, my aunt?" Enrica speaks in a timid voice, not moving from +the spot where she has entered, near the open window. "What is your +pleasure?" + +"My pleasure!" the marchesa catches up and echoes the words with a +horrible jeer. (She had been collecting her forces for attack; she had +lashed herself into a transport of fury. Her smooth, snake-like +head was reared erect; her upright figure, too thin to be majestic, +stiffened. Thunder and lightning were in her eyes as she turned them +on Enrica.) "You dare to ask me my pleasure! You shall hear it, lost, +miserable girl! Leave this house--go to your lover! Let it be the +motto of his low-born race that a Nobili dishonored a Guinigi. Go--I +wish you were dead!" and she points with her finger toward the door. + +Every word that fell from the marchesa sounded like a curse. As she +speaks, the smiles fade out of Enrica's face as the lurid sunlight +fades before the rising tempest. She grasps a chair for support. Her +bosom heaves under the folds of her thin white dress. Her eyes, which +had fixed themselves on her aunt, fall with an agonized expression on +the floor. Thus she stands, speechless, motionless, passive; stunned, +as it were, by the shock of the words. + +Then a low cry of pain escapes her, a cry like the complaint of a dumb +animal--the bleat of a lamb under the butcher's knife. + +"Have I not reared you as my own child?" cries the marchesa--too +excited to remain silent in the presence of her victim. "Have you ever +left my side? Yet under my ancestral roof you have dared to degrade +yourself. Out upon you!--Go, go--or with my own hand I shall drive you +into the street!" + +She starts up, and is rushing upon Enrica, who stands motionless +before her, when Trenta steps forward, puts his hand firmly on the +marchesa's arm, and draws her back. + +"You have called Enrica here," he whispers, "to question her. Do +so--do so. Look, she is so overcome she cannot speak," and he points +to Enrica, who is now trembling like an aspen-leaf, her fair head +bowed upon her bosom, the big tears trickling down her white cheeks. + +When the marchesa, checked by Trenta, has ceased speaking, Enrica +raises her heavy eyelids and turns her eyes, swimming in tears, +upon her aunt. Then she clasps her hands--the small fingers knitting +themselves together with a grasp of agony--and wrings them. Her lips +move, but no sound comes from them. Something there is so pitiful in +this mute appeal--she looks so slight and frail in the background of +the fading sunlight--there is such a depth of unspoken pathos in +every line of her young face--that the marchesa pauses; she pauses ere +putting into execution her resolve of turning Enrica herself, with her +own hands, from the palace. + +A new sentiment has also within the last few minutes arisen within +her--a sentiment of curiosity. The marchesa is a woman; in many +respects a thorough woman. The first flash of fury once passed, she +feels an intense longing to know how all this had come about. What had +passed? How had Enrica met Nobili? Whether any of her household had +betrayed her? On whom her just vengeance shall fall? + +Each moment that passes as the quick thoughts rattle through her +brain, it seems to her more and more imperative that she should inform +herself what had really happened under her roof! + +At this moment Enrica speaks in a low voice. + +"O my aunt! I have done nothing! Indeed, indeed,"--and a great sob +breaks in and cuts her speech. "I have done nothing." + +"What!" cries the marchesa, her fury again roused by such a daring +assertion. "What do you call nothing? Do you deny that you love +Nobili?" + +"No, my aunt. I love him--I love him." + +The mention of Nobili's name gave Enrica courage. With that name +the sunlit days of meeting came back again. A gleam of their divine +refraction swam before her. Nobili--is he not strong, and brave, and +true? Is he not near at hand? Oh, if he only knew her need!--oh, if he +could only rush to her--bear her in his arms away--away to untrodden +lands of love and bliss where she could hide her head upon his breast +and be at peace! + +All this gave her courage. She passes her hand over her face and +brushes the tears away. Her blue eyes, that shine out now like a rent +in a cloudy sky, are meekly but fearlessly cast upon her aunt. + +"You dare to tell me you love him--you dare to avow it in my presence, +degraded girl! have you no pride--no decency?" + +"I have done nothing," Enrica answers in the same voice, "of which +I am ashamed. From the first moment I saw him I loved him. I +loved--him--oh! how I loved him!" She repeats this softly, as if +speaking to herself. An inner light shines over her whole countenance. +"And Nobili loves me. I know it." Her voice sounds sweet and firm. "He +is mine!" + +"Fool, you think so; you are but one of many!" The marchesa, incensed +beyond endurance at her firmness, raises her head with the action of +a snake about to spring upon its prey. "Dare you deny that you are his +mistress?" + +(Could the marchesa have seen the cavaliere standing behind her, at +that moment, and how those eyes of his were riveted on Enrica with a +look in which hope, thankfulness, pity, and joy, crossed and combated +together--mercy on us! she would have turned and struck him!) + +The shock of the words overcame Enrica. She fixes her eyes on her aunt +as if not understanding their meaning. Then a deep blush covers her +from head to foot; she trembles and presses both her hands to her +bosom as if in pain. + +"Spare her, spare her!" is heard in less audible sounds from Trenta to +the marchesa. The marchesa tosses her head defiantly. + +"I am to be Count Nobili's wife," Enrica says at last, in a faltering +voice. "The Holy Mother is my witness, I have done nothing wrong. I +have met him in the cathedral, and at the door of the Moorish garden. +He has written to me, and I have answered." + +"Doubtless; and you have met him alone?" asked the marchesa, with a +savage sneer. + +"Never, my aunt; Teresa was always with me." + +"Teresa, curse her! She shall leave the house as naked as she came +into it. How many other of my servants did you corrupt?" + +"Not one; it was known to her and to me only." + +"And why not to me, your guardian? why not to me?" And the marchesa +advances step by step toward Enrica, as the bitter consciousness of +having been hoodwinked by such a child fills her with fresh rage. "You +have deceived me--I who have fed and clothed and nourished you--I who, +but for this, would have endowed you with all I have, bequeathed to +you a name greater than that of kings! Answer me this, Enrica. Leave +off wringing your hands and turning up your eyes. Answer me!" + +"My aunt, I was afraid." + +"Afraid!" and the marchesa laughs a loud and scornful laugh; "you were +not, afraid to meet this man in secret." + +"No. Fear him! what had I to fear? Nobili loves me." + +The word was spoken. Now she had courage to meet the marchesa's +gaze unmoved, spite of the menace of her look and attitude. Enrica's +conscience acquitted her of any wrong save the wrong of concealment, +"Had you asked me," she adds, more timidly, "I should have spoken. You +have asked me now, and I have told you." + +The very spirit of truth spoke in Enrica. Not even the marchesa could +doubt her. Enrica had not disgraced the name she bore. She believed +her; but there was a sting behind sharper to her than death. That +sting remained. Enrica had confessed her love for the man she hated! + +As to the cavaliere, the difficulty he experienced at this moment in +controlling his feelings amounted to positive agony. His Enrica is +safe! San Riccardo be thanked! She is safe--she is pure! Except +his eyes, which glowed with the secret ecstasy he felt, he appeared +outwardly as impassive as a stone. The marchesa turned and reseated +herself. There is, spite of her violence, an indescribable majesty +about her as she sits erect and firm upon her chair in judgment on her +niece. Right or wrong, the marchesa is a woman born to command. + +"It is not for me," she says, with lofty composure, "to reason with +a love-sick girl, whose mind runs to the tune of her lover's name. +Of all living men I abhor Count Nobili. To love him, in my eyes, is +a crime--yes, a crime," she repeats, raising her voice, seeing that +Enrica is about to speak. "I know him--he is a vain, purse-proud +reprobate. He has come and planted himself like a mushroom within our +ancient walls. Nor did this content him--he has had the presumption to +lodge himself in a Guinigi palace. The blood in his veins is as mud. +That he cannot help, nor do I reproach him for it; but he has forced +himself into our class--he has mingled his name with the old names of +the city; he has dared to speak--live--act--as if he were one of us. +You, Enrica, are the last of the Guinigi. I had hoped that a child I +had reared at my side would have learned and reflected my will--would +have repaid me for years of care by her obedience." + +"O my aunt!" exclaims Enrica, sinking on her knees, "forgive +me--forgive me! I am ungrateful." + +"Rise," cries the marchesa, sternly, not in the least touched by this +outburst of natural feeling. "I care not for words--your acts show you +have defied me. The project which for years I have silently nursed +in my bosom, waiting for the fitting time to disclose it to you--the +project of building up through you the great Guinigi name." + +The marchesa pauses; she gasps, as if for breath. A quick flush steals +over her white face, and for a moment she leans back in her chair, +unable to proceed. Then she presses her hand to her forehead, on which +the perspiration had risen in beads. + +"Alas! I did not know it!" Enrica is now sobbing bitterly. "Why--oh! +why, did you not trust me?" + +In a strange, weary-sounding voice the marchesa continues: + +"Let us not speak of it. Enrica"--she turns her gray eyes full +upon her, as she stands motionless in front of the pillared +casement--"Enrica, you must choose. Renounce Nobili, or prepare to +enter a convent. His wife you can never be." + +As a shot that strikes a brightly-plumaged bird full in its +softly-feathered breast, so did these dreadful words strike Enrica. +There is a faint, low cry, she has fallen upon the floor! + +The marchesa did not move, but, looking at her where she lay, she +slowly shook her head. Not so the cavaliere. He rushed forward, and +raised her tenderly in his arms. The tears streamed down his aged +cheeks. + +"Take her away!" cried the marchesa; "take her away! She has broken my +heart!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +WHAT CAME OF IT. + + +When Cavaliere Trenta returned, after he had led away Enrica, and +consigned her to Teresa, he was very grave. As he crossed the room +toward the marchesa, he moved feebly, and leaned heavily on his stick. +Then he drew a chair opposite to her, sat down, heaved a deep sigh, +and raised his eyes to her face. + +The marchesa had not moved. She did not move now, but sat the picture +of hard, haughty despair--a despair that would gnaw body and soul, yet +give no sigh. But the cavaliere was now too much absorbed by Enrica's +sufferings to affect even to take much heed of the marchesa. + +"This is a very serious business," he began, abruptly. "You may +have to answer for that girl's life. I shall be the first to witness +against you." + +Never in her life had the marchesa heard Cesare Trenta deliver himself +of such a decided censure upon her conduct. His wheedling, coaxing +manner was all gone. He was neither the courtier nor the counselor. +He neither insinuated nor suggested, but spoke bluntly out bold words, +and those upon a subject she esteemed essentially her own. Even in the +depth of her despondency it made a certain impression upon her. + +She roused herself and glared at him, but there was no shrinking in +his face. Trenta's clear round eyes, so honest and loyal in their +expression, seemed to pierce her through and through. She fancied, +too, that he contemplated her with a sort of horror. + +"You have accused Enrica," he continued; "she has cleared herself. You +cannot doubt her. Why do you continue to torture her?" + +"That is my affair," answered the marchesa, doggedly. "She has +deceived me, and defied me. She has outraged the usages of society. Is +not that enough?" + +"You have brought her up to fear you," interrupted Trenta. "Had she +not feared you, she would never have deceived you." + +"What is that to you? How dare you question me?" cried the marchesa, +the glitter of passion lighting up her eyes. "Is it not enough that +by this deception she has foiled me in the whole purpose of my life? I +have given her the choice. Resign Nobili, or a convent." + +Saying this, she closed her lips tightly. Trenta, in the heat of his +enthusiasm for Enrica, had gone too far. He felt it; he hastened to +rectify his error. + +"Every thing that concerns you and your family, Marchesa Guinigi, is a +subject of overwhelming interest to me." + +Now the cavaliere spoke in his blandest manner. The smoothness of +the courtier seemed to unknit the wrinkles on his face. The look of +displeasure melted out of his eyes, the roughness fled from his voice. + +"Remember, marchesa, I am your oldest friend. A crisis has arrived; a +scandal may ensue. You must now decide." + +"I have decided," returned the marchesa; "that decision you have +heard." And again her lips closed hermetically. + +"But permit me. There are many considerations that will doubtless +present themselves to you as necessary ingredients of this decision. +If Enrica goes into religion, the Guinigi race is doomed. Why should +you, with your own hand, destroy the work of your life? If Enrica will +not consent to renounce her engagement to Count Nobili, why should she +not marry him? There is no real obstacle other than your will." + +No sooner were these daring words uttered, than the cavaliere +positively trembled. The marchesa listened to them in ominous silence. +Such a possibility had never presented itself for a instant to her +imagination. She turned slowly round, pressed her hands tightly on her +knees, and darkly eyed him. + +"You think that I should consent to such a marriage?" she asked in a +deep voice, a mocking smile upon her lips. + +"I think, marchesa, that you should sacrifice every thing--yes--every +thing." And Trenta, feeling himself on safe ground, repeated the word +with an audacity that would have surprised those who only knew him +in the polite details of ordinary life. "I think that you should +sacrifice every thing to the interests of your house." + +This was hitting the marchesa home. She felt it and winced; but her +resolution was unshaken. + +"Did I not know that you are descended from a line as ancient, though +not so illustrious as my own, I should think I was listening to a Jew +peddler of Leghorn," she replied, with insolent cynicism. + +The cavaliere felt deeply offended, but had the presence of mind to +affect a smile, as though what she had said was an excellent joke. + +"Nobili shall never mix his blood with the Guinigi--I swear it! Rather +let our name die out from the land." + +She raised both her hands in the twilight to ratify the imprecation +she had hurled upon her race. Her voice died away into the corner of +the darkening room; her thoughts wandered. She sat in spirit upon the +seigneurial throne, below, in the presence-chamber. Should Nobili sit +there, on that hallowed seat of her ancestors?--the old Lombard +palace call him master, living--gather his bones with their ashes, +dead?--Never! Better far moulder into ruin as they had mouldered. Had +she not already permitted herself to be too much influenced? She had +offered Enrica in marriage to Count Marescotti, and he had refused +her--refused her niece! + +Suddenly she shook off the incubus of these thoughts and turned toward +Trenta. He had been watching her anxiously. + +"I can never forgive Enrica," she said. "She may not have disgraced +herself--that matters little--but she has disgraced me. She must enter +a convent; until then I will allow her to remain in my house." + +"Exactly," burst in Trenta, again betrayed into undue warmth by this +concession. + +The cavaliere was old; he had seen that life revolves itself strangely +in a circle, from which we may diverge, but from which we seldom +disentangle ourselves. Desperate resolves are taken, tragedies are +planned, but Fate or Providence intervenes. The old balance pendulates +again--the foot falls into the familiar step. Death comes to cut the +Gordian knot. The grave-sod covers all that is left, and the worm +feeds on the busy brain. + +As a man of the world, Trenta was a profound believer in the chapter +of accidents. + +"I will not put Enrica out of my house," resumed the marchesa, +gazing at him suspiciously. (Trenta seemed, she thought, wonderfully +interested in Enrica's fate. She had noticed this interest once +before. She did not like it. What was Enrica to him? Trenta was _her_ +friend.) "But she shall remain on one condition only--Nobili's name +must never be mentioned. You can inform her of this, as you have taken +already so much upon yourself. Do you hear?" + +"Certainly, certainly," answered the chamberlain with alacrity. "You +shall be obeyed. I will answer for it--excellent marchesa, you are +right, always right"--and he stooped down and gently took her thin +fingers in his fat hands, and touched them with his lips. + +"I will cause no scandal," she continued, withdrawing her hand. "Once +in a convent, Enrica can harm no one." + +"No, certainly not," responded Trenta, "and the family will become +extinct. This palace and its precious heirlooms will be sold." + +The marchesa put out her hand with silent horror. + +"It is the case with so many of our great families," continued the +impassable Trenta. "Now, on the other hand, Enrica may possibly change +her mind; Nobili may change his mind. Circumstances quite unforeseen +may occur--who can answer for circumstances?" + +The marchesa listened silently. This was always a good sign; she +was too obstinate to confess herself convinced. But, spite of her +prejudices, her natural shrewdness forbade her to reject absolutely +the voice of reason. + +"I shall not treat Enrica cruelly," was her reply, "nor will I cause a +scandal, but I can never forgive her. By this act of loving Nobili she +has separated herself from me irrevocably. Let her renounce him; she +has her choice--mine is already made." + +The cavaliere listened in silence. Much had been gained, in his +opinion, by this partial concession. The subject had been broached, +the hated name mentioned, the possibility of the marriage mooted. He +rose with a cheerful smile to take his leave. + +"Marchesa, it is late--permit me to salute you; you must require +repose." + +"Yes," she answered, sighing deeply. "It seems to me a year since I +entered this room. I must leave Lucca. Enrica cannot, after what +has passed, remain here. Thanks to her, I, in the solitude of my own +palace, am become the common town-talk. Cesare, I shall leave Lucca +to-morrow for my villa of Corellia. Good-night." + +The cavaliere again kissed her hand and departed. + +"If that weathercock of a thousand colors, that idiot, Marescotti," +muttered the cavaliere, as he descended the stairs, "could only be got +to give up his impious mission, and marry the dear child, all might +yet be right. He has an eye and a tongue that would charm a woman +into anything. Alas! alas! what a pasticcio!--made by herself--made by +herself and her lawsuits about the defunct Guinigi--damn them!" + +It was seldom that the cavaliere used bad words--excuse him. + + + + +PART III + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A LONELY TOWN. + + +The road from Lucca to Corellia lies at the foot of lofty mountains, +over-mantled by chestnut-forests, and cleft asunder by the river +Serchio--the broad, willful Serchio, sprung from the flanks of virgin +fastnesses. In its course a thousand valleys open up, scoring the +banks. Each valley has its tributary stream, down which, even in the +dog-days, cool breezes rustle. The lower hills lying warm toward the +south, and the broad glassy lands by the river, are trellised with +vines. Some fling their branches in wild festoons on mulberry or aspen +trees. Some trained in long arbors are held up by pillars of unbarked +wood; others trail upon the earth in delicious luxuriance. The white +and purple grapes peep from the already shriveled leaves, or hang in +rich masses on the brown earth. + +It is the vintage. The peasants, busy as bees, swarm on the +hill-sides; the women pluck the fruit; the men bear it away in wooden +measures. While they work, they sing those wild Tuscan melodies that +linger in the air like long-drawn sighs. The donkeys, too, climb up +and down, saddled with wooden panniers, crammed with grapes. These +grapes are shot into large tubs, and placed in a shady outhouse. Some +black-eyed boy will dance merrily on these tubs, by-and-by, with his +naked feet, and squeeze out the juice. This juice is then covered and +left to ferment, then bottled into flasks, covered with wicker-work, +corked with tow, and finally stowed away in caves among the rocks. + +The marchesa's lumbering coach, drawn by three horses harnessed +abreast (another horse, smaller than the rest, put in tandem in +front), creaks along the road by the river-side, on its high wheels. +She sits within, a stony look upon her hard white face. Enrica, pale +and silent, is beside her. No word has passed between them since they +left Lucca two hours ago. They pass groups of peasants, their labors +over for the day--turning out of the vineyards upon the high-road. The +donkeys are driven on in front. They are braying for joy; their faces +are turned homeward. Boys run at their heels, and spur them on with +sticks and stones. The women lag behind talking--their white head-gear +and gold ear-rings catching the low sunshine that strikes through +rents of parting mountains. Every man takes off his hat to the +marchesa; every woman wishes her good-day. + +It is only the boys who do not fear her. They have no caps to raise; +when the carriage has passed, they leave the donkeys and hang on +behind like a swarm of bees. The driver is quite aware of this, and +his long whip, which he has cracked at intervals all the way from +Lucca--would reach the grinning, white-toothed little vagabonds well; +but he--the driver--grins too, and spares them. + +Together they all mount the zigzag mountain-pass, that turns short off +from the right bank of the valley of the Serchio, toward Corellia. The +peasants sing choruses as they trudge upward, taking short cuts among +the trees at the angles of the zigzag. The evening lights come and go +among the chestnut-trees and on the soft, short grass. Here a fierce +flick of sunshine shoots across the road; there deep gloom darkens an +angle into which the coach plunges, the peasants, grouped on the top +of a bank overhead, standing out darkly in the yellow glow. + +It is a lonely pass in the very bosom of the Apennines, midway between +Lucca and Modena. In winter the road is clogged with snow; nothing can +pass. Now, there is no sound but the singing of water-falls, and the +trickle of water-courses, the chirrup of the _cicala_, not yet gone +to its rest--and the murmur of the hot breezes rustling in the distant +forest. + +No sound--save when sudden thunder-pelts wake awful echoes among the +great brotherhood of mountain-tops--when torrents burst forth, pouring +downward, flooding the narrow garden ledges, and tearing away the patches +of corn and vineyard, the people's food. Before--behind--around--arise +peaks of purple Apennines, cresting upward into the blue sky--an earthen +sea dashed into sudden breakers, then struck motionless. In front, in +solitary state, rises the lofty summit of La Pagna, casting off its giant +mountain-fellows right and left, which fade away into a golden haze toward +Modena. + +High up overhead, crowning a precipitous rock, stands Corellia, a +knot of browned, sun-baked houses, flat-roofed, open-galleried, +many-storied, nestling round a ruined castle, athwart whose rents the +ardent sunshine darts. This ruined castle and the tower of an ancient +Lombard church, heavily arched and galleried with stone, gleaming +out upon a surface of faded brickwork, form the outline of the little +town. It is inclosed by solid walls, and entered by an archway so low +that the marchesa's driver has to dismount as he passes through. The +heavy old carriage rumbles in with a hollow noise; the horse's hoofs +strike upon the rough stones with a harsh, loud sound. + +The whole town of Corellia belongs to the marchesa. It is an ancient +fief of the Guinigi. Legend says that Castruccio Castracani was born +here. This is enough for the marchesa. As in the palace of Lucca, she +still--even at lonely Corellia--lives as it were under the shadow of +that great ancestral name. + +Lonely Corellia! Yes, it is lonely! The church bells, high up in the +Lombard tower sound loudly the matins and the eventide. They sound +louder still on the saints days and festivals. With the festivals +pass summer and winter, both dreary to the poor. Children are born, +and marriage-flutes wake the echoes of the mountain solitudes--and +mothers weep, hearing them, remembering their young days and present +pinching want. The aged groan, for joy to them comes like a fresh +pang! + +The marchesa's carriage passes through Corellia at a foot's pace. The +driver has no choice. It is most difficult to drive at all--the street +is so narrow, and the door-steps of the houses jut out so into the +narrow space. The horses, too, hired at Lucca, twenty miles away, are +tired, poor beasts, and reeking with the heat. They can hardly keep +their feet upon the rugged, slippery stones that pave the dirty +alley. As the marchesa passes slowly by, wan-faced women--colored +handkerchiefs gathered in folds upon their heads, knitting or spinning +flax cut from the little field without upon the mountain-side--put +down the black, curly-headed urchins that cling to their laps--rise +from where they are resting on the door-step, and salute the marchesa +with an awe-struck stare. She, in no mood for condescension, answers +them with a frown. Why have these wan-faced mothers, with scarcely +bread to eat, children between their knees? Why has God given her +none? Again the impious thought rises within her which tempted her +when standing before the marriage-bed in the nuptial chamber. "God is +my enemy." "He has smitten me with a curse." "Why have I no child?" +"No child, nothing but her"--and she flashes a savage glance at +Enrica, who has sunk backward, covering her tear-stained face with +a black veil, to avoid the peering eyes of the Corellia +townsfolk--"nothing but her. Born to disgrace me. Would she were dead! +Then all would end, and I should go down--the last Guinigi--to an +honored grave." + +The sick, too, are sitting at the doorways as the marchesa passes +by. The mark of fever is on many an ashy cheek. These sick have been +carried from their beds to breathe such air as evening brings. Air! +There is no air from heaven in these foul streets. No sweet breath +circulates; no summer scents of grasses and flowers reach the lonely +town hung up so high. The summer sun scorches. The icy winds of +winter, sweeping down from Alpine ridges, whistle round the walls. +Within are chilly, desolate hearths, on which no fire is kindled. +These sick, as the carriage passes, turn their weary eyes, and lift up +their wasted hands in mute salutations to that dreaded mistress who is +lord of all--the great marchesa. Will they not lie in the marchesa's +ground when their hour comes? Alas! how soon--their weakness tells +them very soon! Will they not be carried in an open bier up those +long flights of steps--all hers--cut in the rocky sides of overlapping +rocks, to the cemetery, darkly shaded by waving cypresses? The ground +is hers, the rocks, the steps, the stones, the very flowers that +brown, skinny hands will sprinkle on their bier--all hers. From birth +to bridal, and the marriage-bed (so fruitful to the poor), from bridal +to death, all hers. The land they live on, and the graves they fill, +all--but a shadow of her greatness! + +At the corner of the squalid, ill-smelling street through which she +is now passing, is the town fountain. This fountain, once a willful +mountain-torrent, now cruelly captured and borne hither by municipal +force, splashes downward through a sculptured circle cut in a +marble slab, into a covered trough below. Here bold-eyed maidens are +gathered, who poise copper vessels on their dark heads--maidens who +can chat, and laugh, and romp, on holidays, and with flushed faces +dance wild tarantellas (fingers for castanets), where the old tale of +love is told in many a subtile step, and shuffle, rush, escape, and +feint, ending in certain capture! Beside the maidens linger some +mountain lads. Now their work is over, they loll against the wall, +pipe in mouth, or lie stretched on a plot of grass that grows green +under the spray of the fountain. In a dark angle, a little behind from +these, there is a shrine hollowed out of the city wall. Within the +shrine an image of the Holy Mother of the Seven Sorrows stands, her +arms outstretched, her bosom pierced by seven gilded arrows. The +shrine is protected by an iron grating. Bunches of pale hill-side +blossoms, ferns, and a few blades of corn, are thrust in between the +bars. Some lie at the Virgin's feet--offerings from those who have +nothing else to give. A little group (but these are old, and bowed by +grief and want) kneel beside the shrine in the quiet evening-tide. + +The rumble of a carriage, so strange a sound in lonely Corellia, +rouses all. From year to year, no wheels pass through the town save +the marchesa's. Ere she appears, all know who it must be. The kneelers +at the shrine start up and hobble forward to stare and wonder at that +strange world whence she comes, so far away at Lucca. The maidens +courtesy and smile; the lads jump up, and range themselves +respectfully against the wall; yet in their hearts neither care for +her--neither the maidens nor the lads--no one cares for the marchesa. +They are all looking out for Enrica. Why does the signorina lie back +in the carriage a mass of clothes? The maidens would like to see how +those clothes are made, to cut their poor garments something like +them. The lads would like to let their eyes rest on her golden hair. +Why does the Signorina Enrica not nod and smile to those she knows, as +is her wont? Has that old tyrant, her aunt--these young ones are bold, +and dare to whisper what others think; they have no care, and, like +the lilies of the field, live in the wild, free air--has that old +tyrant, her aunt, bewitched her? + +Now the carriage has emerged from the dark alley, and entered the +dirty but somewhat less dark piazza--the market-place of Corellia. The +old Lombard church of Santa Barbara, with its big bells in the arched +tower, hanging plainly to be seen, opens into the piazza by a flight +of steps and a sculptured doorway. The Municipio, too, calling itself +a _palace_ (heaven save the mark!), with its list of births, deaths, +and marriages, posted on a black-board outside the door, to be seen of +all, adorns it. The Café of the Tricolor, and such shops as Corellia +boasts of, are there opposite. Men, smoking, and drinking native wine, +are lounging about. Ser Giacomo, the notary, spectacles on nose, sits +at a table in a corner, reading aloud to a select audience a weekly +broad-sheet published at Lucca, news of men and things not of the +mountain-tops. Every soul starts up as they hear wheels approaching. +If a bomb had burst in the piazza the panic could not be greater. They +know it is the marchesa. They know that now the marchesa is come she +will grind and harry them, and seize her share of grapes, and corn, +and olives, to the uttermost farthing. Silvestro, her steward, a +timid, pitiful man, can be got over by soft words, and the sight of +want and misery. Not so the marchesa. They know that now she is come +she will call the Town Council, fine them, pursue them for rent, cite +them to the High Court of Barga, imprison them if they cannot pay. +They know her, and they curse her. The ill-news of her arrival runs +from lip to lip. Checco, the butcher, who sells his meat cut into +dark, indescribably-shaped scraps, more fit for dogs than men, first +sees the carriage turn into the piazza. He passes the word on to +Oreste, the barber round the corner. Oreste, who, with his brother +Pilade, both wearing snow-white aprons, are squaring themselves at +their open doorway, over which hangs a copper basin, shaped like +Manbrino's helmet, looking for customers--Oreste and Pilade turn pale. +Then Oreste tells the baker, Pietro, who, naked as Nature made him, +has run out from his oven to the open door, for a breath of air. The +bewildered clerk at the Municipio, who sits and writes, and sleeps +by turns, all day, in a low room beside a desk, taking notes for the +sindaco (mayor) from all who come (he is so tired, that clerk, he +would hear the last trumpet sound unmoved), even he hears the news, +and starts up. + +Now the carriage stops. It has drawn up in the centre of the piazza. +It is the marchesa's custom. She puts her head out of the window, and +takes a long, grave look all round. These are her vassals. They fear +her. She knows it, and she glories in it. Every head is uncovered, +every eye turned upon her. It is obviously some one's duty to salute +her and to welcome her to her domain. She has stopped for this +purpose. It is always done. No one, however, stirs. Ser Giacomo, the +notary, bows low beside the table where he has been caught reading the +Lucca broad-sheet; but Ser Giacomo does not stir. How he wishes he had +staid at home! + +He has not the courage to move one step toward her. Something must be +done, so Ser Giacomo he runs and fetches the sindaco from inside the +recesses of the _café_, where he is playing dominoes under a lighted +lamp. The sindaco must give the marchesa a formal welcome. The +sindaco, a saddler by trade--a snuffy little man, with a face drawn +and yellow as parchment, wearing his working-clothes--advances to the +carriage with a step as cautious as a cat. + +"I trust the illustrious lady is well," he says timidly, bowing low +and trying to smile. Mr. Sindaco is frightened, but he can be proud +enough to his fellow-townsfolk, and he is downright cruel to that poor +lad his clerk, at the Municipal Palace. + +The marchesa, with a cold, distant air, that would instantly check +any approach to familiarity--if any one were bold enough to be +familiar--answers gravely, "That she is thankful to say she is in her +usual health." + +The sindaco--although better off than many, painfully conscious of +long arrears of unpaid rent--waxing a little bolder at the sound of +his own voice and his well-chosen phrases, continues: + +"I am glad to hear it, Signora Marchesa." The sindaco further +observes, "That he hopes for the illustrious lady's indulgence and +good-will." + +His smile has faded now; his voice trembles. If his skin were not so +yellow, he would be white all over, for the marchesa's looks are not +encouraging. The sindaco dreads a summons to the High Court of Barga, +where the provincial prisons are--with which he may be soon better +acquainted, he fears. + +In reply, the marchesa--who perfectly understands all this in a +general way--scowls, and fixes her rigid eyes upon him. + +"Signore Sindaco, I cannot stop to listen to any grievance now; I will +promise no indulgence. I must pay my bills. You must pay me, Signore +Sindaco; that is but fair." + +The poor little snuffy mayor bows a dolorous acquiescence. He is +hopeless, but polite--like a true Italian, who would thank the hangman +as he fastens the rope round his neck. But the marchesa's words strike +terror into all who hear them. All owe her long arrears of rent, and +much besides. Why--oh! why--did the cruel lady come to Corellia? + +Having announced her intentions in a clear, metallic voice, the +marchesa draws her head back into the coach. + +"Send Silvestro to me," she adds, addressing the sindaco. "Silvestro +will inform me of all I want to know." (Silvestro is her steward.) + +"Is the noble young Lady Enrica unwell?" asks the persevering +sindaco, gazing earnestly through the window. + +He knows his doom. He has nothing to hope from the marchesa's +clemency, so he may as well gratify his burning curiosity by a +question about the much-beloved Enrica, who must certainly have been +ill-used by her aunt to keep so much out of sight. + +"The people of Corellia would also offer their respectful homage to +her," bravely adds Mr. Sindaco, tempting his fate. "The Lady Enrica is +much esteemed here in the town." + +As he speaks the sindaco gazes in wonder at the muffled figure in +the corner. Can this be she? Why does she not move forward and +answer?--and show her pretty face, and approve the people's greeting? + +"My niece has a headache; leave her alone," answers the marchesa, +curtly. "Do not speak to her, Mr. Sindaco. She will visit Corellia +another day; meanwhile, adieu." + +The marchesa waves her hand majestically, and signs for him to retire. +This the sindaco does with an inward groan at the thought of what is +coming on him. + +Poor Enrica, feeling as if a curse were on her, cutting her off +from all her former life, shrinks back deeper into the corner of the +carriage, draws the black veil closer about her face, and sobs aloud. +The marchesa turns her head away. The driver cracks his long whip over +the steaming horses, which move feebly forward with a jerk. Thus the +coach slowly traverses the whole length of the piazza, the wheels +rumbling themselves into silence out in a long street leading to +another gate on the farther side of the town. + +Not another word more is said that night among the townsfolk; but +there is not a man at Corellia who does not curse the marchesa in +his heart. Ser Giacomo, the notary, folds up his newspaper in dead +silence, puts it into his pocket, and departs. The lights in the +dark _café_, which burn sometimes all day when it is cloudy, are +extinguished. The domino-players disappear. Oreste and Pilade shut up +their shop despondingly. The baker Pietro comes out no more to cool +at the door. Anyway, there must be bakers, he reflects, to bake +the bread; so Pietro retreats, comforted, to his oven, and works +frantically all night. He is safe, Pietro hopes, though he has paid no +rent for two whole years, and has sold some of the corn which ought to +have gone to the marchesa. + +Meanwhile the heavy carriage, with its huge leather hood and double +rumble, swaying dangerously to and fro, descends a steep and rugged +road embowered in forest, leading to a narrow ledge upon the summit +of a line of cliffs. On the very edge of these cliffs, formed of a +dark-red basaltic stone, the marchesa's villa stands. A deep, dark +precipice drops down beneath. Opposite is a range of mountains, fair +and forest-spread on the lower flanks, rising above into wild crags, +and broken, blackened peaks, that mock the soft blue radiance of the +evening sky. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. + + +Silvestro, the steward, is a man "full of conscience," as people say, +deeply sensible of his responsibilities, and more in dread of the +marchesa than of the Church. It is this dread that makes him so +emaciated--hesitate when he speaks, and bend his back and shoulders +into a constant cringe. But for this dread, Silvestro would forgive +the poor people more. He sees such pinching misery every day--lives in +it--suffers from it; how can he ask those for money who have none? +It is like forcing blood out of a stone. He is not the man to do it. +Silvestro lives at hand; he hears the rattle of the hail that burns +the grapes up to a cinder--the terrible din of the thunder before the +forked lightning strikes the cattle; he sees with his own eyes the +griping want of bread in the savage winter-time; his own eyes behold +the little lambs, dead of hunger, lying by the road-side. Worse still, +he sees other lambs--human lambs with Christian souls--fade and pine +and shrink into a little grave, from failing of mother's milk, dried +up for want of proper food. He sees, too, the aged die before God +calls them, failing through lack of nourishment--a little wine, +perhaps, or a mouthful of soup; the young and strong grow old with +ceaseless striving. Poor Silvestro! he sees too much. He cannot be +severe. He is born merciful. Silvestro is honest as the day, but he +hides things from the marchesa; he is honest, but he cannot--no, he +cannot--grind and vex the poor, as she would have him do. Yet she has +no one to take his place in that God-forgotten town--so they pull on, +man and mistress--a truly ill-matched pair--pull on, year after +year. It is a weary life for him when the great lady comes up for her +villeggiatura--Silvestro, divided, cleft in twain, so to say, as he +is, between his awe and respect for the marchesa and her will, and his +terrible sympathy for all suffering creatures, man or beast. + +As to the marchesa, she despises Silvestro too profoundly to notice +his changing moods. It is not her habit to look for any thing but +obedience--absolute obedience--from those beneath her. A thousand +times she has told herself such a fool would ruin her; but, up to this +present time, she has borne with him, partly from convenience, and +partly because she fears to get a rogue in his place. She does not +guess how carefully Silvestro has hid the truth from her; she would +not give him credit for the power of concealing any thing. + +The sindaco having sent a boy up to Silvestro's house with the +marchesa's message, "that he is to attend her," the steward comes +hurrying down through the terraces cut in the steep ground behind the +villa--broad, stately terraces, with balustrades, and big empty vases, +and statues, and grand old lemon-trees set about. Great flights of +marble steps cross and recross, rest on a marble stage, and then +recross again. Here and there a pointed cypress-tree towers upward +like a green pyramid in a desert of azure sky. Bright-leaved autumn +flowers lie in masses on the rich brown earth, and dainty streamlets +come rushing downward in little sculptured troughs. + +What a dismal sigh Silvestro gave when he got the marchesa's message, +and knew that she had arrived! How he wrung his hands and looked +hopelessly upward to heaven with vacant, colorless eyes, the big +heat-drops gathering on his bald, wrinkled forehead! He has so much to +tell her!--It must be told too; he can hide the truth no longer. She +will be sure to ask to see the accounts. Alas! alas! what will his +mistress say? For a moment Silvestro gazes wistfully at the mountains +all around with a vacant stare. Oh, that the mountains would +cover him! Anyway, there are caves and holes, he thinks, where the +marchesa's wrath would never reach him; caves and holes where he might +live hidden for years, cared for by those who love him. Shall he flee, +and never see his mistress's dark, dreadful eyes again? Folly! + +Silvestro rouses himself. He resolves to meet his fate like a man, +whatever that may be. He will not forsake his duty.--So Silvestro +comes hurrying down by the terraces, upon which the shadows fall, to +the house--a gray mediaeval tower, machicolated and turreted--the only +remains of a strong fortress that in feudal times guarded these passes +from Modena into Tuscany. To this gray tower is attached a large +modern dwelling--a villa--painted of a dull-yellow color, with an +overlapping roof, the walls pierced full of windows. The tower, villa, +and the line of cliffs on which they stand, face east and west; on +one side the forest and Corellia crowning a rocky height, on the other +side mountains, with a deep abyss at the foot of the cliffs, yawning +between. It is the marchesa's pleasure to inhabit the old tower rather +than the pleasant villa, with its big windows and large, cheerful +rooms. + +Being tall and spare, Silvestro stoops under the low, arched doorway, +heavily clamped with iron and nails, leading into the tower; then he +mounts very slowly a winding stair of stone to the second story. The +sound of his footsteps brings a whole pack of dogs rushing out upon +the gravel. + +(On the gravel before the house there is a fountain springing up out +of a marble basin full of gold-fish. Pots are set round the edge with +the sweetest-smelling flowers--tuberoses, heliotropes, and gardenias.) +The dogs, barking loudly, run round the basin and upset some of the +pots. One noble mastiff, with long white hair and strong straight +limbs--the leader of the pack--pursues Silvestro up the dark, tiring +stairs. When the mastiff has reached him and smelt at him he stands +still, wags his tail, and thrusts his nose into Silvestro's hand. + +"Poor Argo!" says the steward, meekly. "Don't bark at me; I cannot +bear it now." + +Argo gives a friendly sniff, and leaves him. + +At a door on the right, Silvestro stops short, to collect his thoughts +and his breath. He has not seen his mistress for a year. His soul +sinks at the thought of what he must tell her now. "Can she punish +me?" he asks himself, vaguely. Perhaps. He must bear it if she does. +He has done all he can. Consoled by this reflection, he knocks. A +well-known voice answers, "Come in." Silvestro's clammy hand is on the +lock--a worm-eaten door creaks on its hinges--he enters. + +The marchesa nods to Silvestro without speaking. She is seated before +a high desk of carved walnut-wood, facing the door. The desk is +covered with papers. A file of papers is in her hand; others lie upon +her lap. All round there are cupboards, shelves, and drawers, piled +with papers and documents, most of them yellow with age. These consist +of old leases, contracts, copies of various lawsuits with her tenants, +appeals to Barga, mortgages, accounts. The room is low, and rounded to +the shape of the tower. Naked joists and rafters of black wood support +the ceiling. The light comes in through some loop-holes, high up, cut +in the thickness of the wall. Some tall, high-backed chairs, covered +with strips of faded satin, stand near the chimney. A wooden bedstead, +without curtains, is partly concealed behind a painted screen, covered +with gods and goddesses, much consumed and discolored from the damp. +As the room had felt a little chilly from want of use, a large fire of +unbarked wood had been kindled. The fire blazes fiercely on the flat +stones within an open hearth, unguarded by a grate. + +Having nodded to Silvestro, the marchesa takes no further notice +of him. From time to time she flings a loose paper from those lying +before her--over her shoulder toward the fire, which is at her back. +Of these papers some reach the fire; others, but half consumed, fall +back upon the floor. The flames of the wood-fire leap out and seize +the papers--now one by one--now as they lie in little heaps. The +flames leap up; the burning papers crumple along the floor, in little +streaks of fire, catching others that lie, still farther on in the +room, still unconsumed. Ere these papers have sunk into ashes, a fresh +supply, thrown over her shoulder by the marchesa, have caught the +flames. All the space behind her chair is covered with smouldering +papers. A stack of wood, placed near to replenish the fire, has +caught, and is smouldering also. The fire, too, on the hearth is +burning fiercely; it crackles up the wide open chimney in a mass of +smoke and sparks. + +The marchesa is far too much absorbed to notice this. Silvestro, +standing near the door--the high desk and the marchesa's tall figure +between him and the hearth--does not perceive it either. Still the +marchesa bends over her papers, reading some and throwing others over +her shoulders into the flames behind. + +Silvestro, who had grown hot and cold twenty times in a minute, +standing before her, his book under his arm--thinking she had +forgotten him--addresses her at last. + +"How does madama feel?" Silvestro asks most humbly, turning his +lack-lustre eyes upon her, "Well," is the marchesa's brief reply. She +signs to him to lay his book upon her desk. She takes it in her hand. +She turns over the pages, following line after line with the tip of +her long, white forefinger. + +"There seems very little, Silvestro," she says, running her eyes up +and down each page as she turns it slowly over. Her brow knits until +her dark eyebrows almost meet--"very little. Has the corn brought in +so small a sum, and the olives, and the grapes?" + +"Madama," begins Silvestro, and he bends his head and shoulders, +and squeezes his skinny hands together, in a desperate effort to +obliterate himself altogether, if possible, in the face of such +mishaps--"madama will condescend to remember the late spring frosts. +There is no corn anywhere. Upon the lowlands the frost was most +severe; in April, too, when the grain was forward. The olives bore a +little last season, but Corellia is a cold place--too cold for olives; +the trees, too, are very old. This year there will be no crop at all. +As for the grapes--" + +"_Accidente_ to the grapes!" interrupts the marchesa, reddening. "The +grapes always fail. Every thing fails under you." + +Silvestro shrinks back in terror at the sound of her harsh voice. Oh, +that those purple mountains around would cover him! The moment of her +wrath is come. What will she say to him? + +"I wish I had not an acre of vineyard," the marchesa continues. +"Disease, or hail, or drought, or rain, it is always the same--the +grapes always fail." + +"The peasants are starving, madama," Silvestro takes courage to say, +but his voice is low and muffled. + +"They have chestnuts," she answers quickly, "let them live on +chestnuts." + +Silvestro starts violently. He draws back a step or two nearer the +door. + +"Let the gracious madama consider, many have not even a patch of +chestnuts. There is great misery, madama--indeed, there is great +misery." Silvestro goes on to say. He must speak now or never. +"Madama"--and he holds up his bony hands--"you will have no rent at +all from the peasants. They must be kept all the winter." + +"Silvestro, you are a fool," cries the marchesa, eying him +contemptuously, as she would a troublesome child--"a fool; pray how am +I to keep the peasants, and pay the taxes? I must live." + +"Doubtless, excellent madama." Silvestro was infinitely relieved at +the calmness with which the marchesa received his announcement. He +could not have believed it. He feels most grateful to her. "But, if +madama will speak with Fra Pacifico, he will tell her how bitter the +distress must be this winter. The Town Council"--Silvestro, deceived +by her apparent calmness, has made a mistake in naming the Town +Council. It is too late. The words have been spoken. Knowing his +mistress's temper, Silvestro imperceptibly glides toward the door as +he mentions that body--"The Town Council has decreed--" His words die +away in his throat at her aspect. + +"Santo dei Santi!" she screams, boiling over with rage, "I forbid you +to talk to me of the Town Council!" + +Silvestro's hand is upon the lock to insure escape. + +"Madama--consider," pleads Silvestro, wellnigh desperate. "The Town +Council might appeal to Barga," Silvestro almost whispers now. + +"Let them--let them; it is just what I should like. Let them appeal. +I will fight them at law, and beat them in full court--the ruffians!" +She gives a short, scornful laugh. "Yes, we will fight it out at +Barga." + +Suddenly the marchesa stops. Her eyes have now reached the +balance-sheet on the last page. She draws a long breath. + +"Why, there is nothing!" she exclaims, placing her forefinger on +the total, then raising her head and fixing her eyes on +Silvestro--"nothing!" + +Silvestro shrinks, as it were, into himself. He silently bows his head +in terrified acquiescence. + +"A thousand francs! How am I to live on a thousand francs!" + +Silvestro shakes from head to foot. One hand slides from the lock; he +joins it to the other, clasps them both together, and sways himself to +and fro as a man in bodily anguish. + +At the sight of the balance-sheet a kind of horror has come over the +marchesa. So intense is this feeling, she absolutely forgets to +abuse Silvestro. All she desires is to get rid of him before she has +betrayed her alarm. + +"I shall call a council," she says, collecting herself; "I shall take +the chair. I shall find funds to meet these wants. Give the sindaco +and Ser Giacomo notice of this, Silvestro, immediately." + +The steward stares at his mistress in mute amazement. He inclines his +head, and turns to go; better ask her no questions and escape. + +"Silvestro!"--the marchesa calls after him imperiously--"come here." +(She is resolved that he, a menial, shall see no change in her.) "At +this season the woods are full of game. I will have no poachers, mind. +Let notices be posted up at the town-gate and at the church-door--do +you hear? No one shall carry a gun within my woods." + +Silvestro's lips form to two single words, and these come very faint: +"The poor!" Then he holds himself together, terrified. + +"The poor!" retorts the marchesa, defiantly--"the poor! For shame, +Silvestro! They shall not overrun my woods and break through my +vineyards--they shall not! You hear?" Her shrill voice rings round the +low room, "No poachers--no trespassers, remember that; I shall tell +Adamo the same. Now go, and, as you pass, tell Fra Pacifico I want him +to-morrow." ("He must help me with Enrica," was her thought.) + +When Silvestro was gone, a haggard look came over the marchesa's pale +face. One by one she turned over the leaves of the rental lying before +her, glanced at them, then laid the book down upon the desk. She +leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and fell into a fit of +musing--the burning papers on the hearth, and those also smouldering +on the floor, lighting up every grain in the wood-work of the +cupboards at her back. + +This was ruin--absolute ruin! The broad lands that spread wellnigh for +forty miles in the mountains and along the river Serchio--the feudal +tower in which she sat, over which still floated, on festivals, the +banner of the Guinigi (crosses of gold on a red field--borne at +the Crusades); the stately palace at Lucca--its precious +heirlooms--strangers must have it all! + +She had so fortified herself against all signs of outward emotion, +other than she chose to show, that even in solitude she was composed; +but the veins swelled in her forehead, and she turned very white. Yet +there had been a way. "Enrica"--her name escaped the marchesa's thin +lips unwittingly. "Enrica."--The sound of her own voice startled +her. (Enrica was now alone, shut up by her aunt's order in her +little chamber on the third floor over her own. On their arrival, the +marchesa had sternly dismissed her without a word.) + +"Enrica."--With that name rose up within her a thousand conflicting +thoughts. She had severed herself from Enrica. But for Cavaliere +Trenta she would have driven her from the palace. She had not cared +whether Enrica lived or died--indeed, she had wished her dead. Yet +Enrica could save the land--the palace--make the great name live! Had +she but known all this at Lucca! Was it too late? Trenta had urged the +marriage with Count Nobili. But Trenta urged every marriage. Could she +consent to such a marriage? Own herself ruined--wrong?--Feel Nobili's +foot upon her neck?--Impossible! Her obstinacy was so great, that she +could not bring herself to yield, though all that made life dear was +slipping from her grasp. + +Yes--yes, it was too late.--The thing was done. She must stand to +her own words. Tortures would not have wrung it from her--but in the +solitude of that bare room the marchesa felt she had gone too far. +The landmark of her life, her pride, broke down; her stout heart +failed--tears stood in her dark eyes. + +At this moment the report of a gun was heard ringing out from the +mountains opposite. It echoed along the cliffs and died away into +the abyss below. The marchesa was instantly leaning out of the lowest +loop-hole, and calling in a loud voice, "Adamo--Adamo--Angelo, where +are you?" (Adamo and Pipa his wife, and Angelo their son, were her +attendants.) + +Adamo, a stout, big-limbed man, bull-necked--with large lazy eyes and +a black beard as thick as horse-hair, a rifle slung by a leather strap +across his chest, answered out of the shrubs--now blackening in the +twilight: "I am here, padrona, command me." + +"Adamo, who is shooting on my land?" + +"Padrona, I do not know." + +"Where is Angelo?" + +"Here am I," answered a childish voice, and a ragged, loose-limbed +lad--a shock of chestnut hair, out of which the sun had taken all +the color, hanging over his face, from which his merry eyes +twinkle--leaped out on the gravel. + +"You do not know, Adamo? What does this mean? You ought to know. I am +but just come back, and there are strangers about already with guns. +Is this the way you serve me, Adamo?--and I pay you a crown a month. +You idle vagabond!" + +"Padrona," spoke Adamo in a deep voice--"I am here alone--this boy +helps me but little." + +"Alone, Adamo! you dare to say alone, and you have the dogs? Hear how +they bark--they have heard the shot too--good dogs, good dogs, they +are left me--alone.--Argo is stronger than three men; Argo knocks over +any one, and he is trained to follow on the scent like a bloodhound. +Adamo, you are an idiot!" Adamo hung his head, either in shame or +rage, but he dared not reply. + +"Now take the dogs out with you instantly--you hear, Adamo? Argo, and +Ponto the bull-dog, and Tuzzi and the others. Take them and go down at +once to the bottom of the cliffs. Search among the rocks everywhere. +Creep along the vines-terraces, and through the olive-grounds. Be sure +when you go down below the cliffs to search the mouth of the chasm. +Go at once. Set the dogs on all you find. Argo will pin them. He is a +brave dog. With Argo you are stronger than any one you will meet. If +you catch any men, take them at once to the municipality. Wretches, +they deserve it!--poaching in my woods! Listen--before you go, tell +Pipa to come to me soon." + +Pipa's footsteps came clattering up the stairs to the marchesa's room. +The light of the lamp she carried--for it was already dark within +the tower--caught the spray of the fountain outside as she passed the +narrow slits that served for windows. + +"Pipa," said the marchesa, as she stood before her in the doorway, a +broad smile on her merry brown face, "set that lamp on the desk here +before me. So--that will do. Now go up-stairs and tell the Signorina +Enrica that I bid her 'Good-night,' and that I will see her to-morrow +morning after breakfast. Then you may go to bed, Pipa. I am busy, +and shall sit up late." Pipa curtsied in silence, and closed the +marchesa's door. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCHESA'S PAPERS. + + +Midnight had struck from the church-clock at Corellia. The strokes +seemed to come slower by night than day, and sounded hollower. Hours +ago the last light had gone out. The moon had set behind the cleft +summits of La Pagna. Distant thunder had died away among the rocks. +The night was close and still. The villa lay in deep shadow, but the +outline of the turrets of the tower were clearly marked against the +starry sky. All slept, or seemed to sleep. + +A thin blue vapor curls out from the marchesa's casement. This vapor, +at first light as a fog-drift, winds itself upward, and settles into a +cloud, that hovers in the air. Each moment the cloud rises higher +and higher. Now it has grown into a lurid canopy, that overhangs the +tower. A sudden glow from an arched loop-hole on the second story +shows every bar of iron across it. This is caught up below in a broad +flash across the basin of the fountain. Within there is a crackling +as of dry leaves--a clinging, heavy smell of heated air. Another and +another flame curls round the narrow loop-hole, twisting upward on the +solid wall. + +At this instant there is a low growl, as from a kicked dog. A door +below is banged-to and locked. Then steps are heard upon the gravel. +It is Adamo. He had returned, as the marchesa bade him, and has come +to tell her he has searched everywhere--down even to the reeds by the +river Serchio (where he had discharged his gun at a water-hen), but +had found no one, though all the way the dogs had sniffed and whined. + +Adamo catches sight of the crimson glare reflected upon the fountain. +He looks up at the tower--he sees the flames. A look of horror comes +into his round black eyes. Then, with a twitch, settling his gun +firmly upon his shoulder, he rushes to the unlocked door and flings it +wide open. + +"Pipa! Wife! Angelo!" Adamo shouts down the stone passage connecting +the tower with the villa where they slept. "Wake up! The tower is on +fire! Fire! Fire!" + +As Adam opened his mouth, the rush of hot air, pent upon the winding +stair, drawn downward by the draught from the open door, catches +his breath. He staggers against the wall. Then the strong man shook +himself together--again he shouts, "Pipa! Pipa! rise!" + +Without waiting for an answer, putting his hand over his mouth, Adamo +charges up the stone stairs--up to the marchesa's door. Her room is on +fire. + +"I must save her! I must save her! I will think of Pipa and the +children afterward." + +Each step Adamo takes upward, the heat grows fiercer, the smoke that +pours down denser. Twice he had slipped and almost fallen, but he +battles bravely with the heat and blinding smoke, and keeps his +footing. + +Now Adamo is on the landing of the first floor--Adamo blinded, his +head reeling--but lifting his strong limbs, and firm broad feet, he +struggles upward. He has reached the marchesa's door. The place is +marked by a chink of fire underneath. Adamo passes his hand over the +panel; it is unconsumed, the fire drawing the other way out by the +window. + +"O God! if the door is bolted! I shall drop if I am not quick." +Adamo's fingers were on the lock. "The door is bolted! Blessed Virgin, +help me!" + +He unslings his unloaded gun--he had forgotten it till then--and, +tightly seizing it in his strong hands, he flings the butt end against +the lock. The wood is old, the bolt is loose. + +"Holy Jesus! It yields! It opens!" + +Overcome by the rush of fiery air, again Adamo staggers. As he lifts +his hands to raise the hair, which, moist from heat, clings to his +forehead, his fingers strike against a medal of the Virgin he wore +round his naked throat. + +"Mother of God, help me!" A desperate courage seizes him; he rushes +in--all before him swims in a red mist. "Help me, Madonna!" comes to +his parched lips. "O God, where is the marchesa?" + +A puff of wind from the open door for an instant raised the smoke +and sparks; in that instant Adamo sees a dark heap lying on the floor +close to the door. It is the marchesa. "Is she dead or alive?" He +cannot stop to tell. He raises her. She lay within his arms. Her dark +dress, though not consumed, strikes hot against his chest. Not an +instant is to be lost. The fresh rush of air up the stairs has fanned +the flames. Every moment they are rising higher. They redden on the +dark rafters of the ceiling. The sparks fly about in dazzling clouds. +Adamo is on the threshold. Outside it is now so dark that, spite of +danger, he has to pause and feel his way downward, or he might dash +his precious burden against the walls. In that pause a piercing +cry from above strikes upon his ear, but in the crackling of the +increasing flames and a fresh torrent of smoke and burning sparks +that burst out from the room, Adamo's brain--always of the dullest--is +deadened. He forgets that cry. All his thought is to save his +mistress. Even Pipa and Angelo and little Gigi are forgotten. + +Ere he reaches the level of the first story, the alarm-bell over his +head clangs out a goodly peal. A bound of joy within his honest heart +gives him fresh courage. + +"It is the Madonna! When I touched her image, I knew that she would +help me. Pipa has heard me. Pipa has pulled the bell. She is safe! And +Angelo--and little Gigi, safe! safe! Brave Pipa! How I love her!" + +Before a watch could tick twenty seconds, and while Adamo's foot was +still on the last round of the winding stair, the church-bells of +Corellia clash out in answer to the alarm-bell. + +Now Adamo has reached the outer door. He stands beneath the stars. His +face and hands are black, his hair is singed; his woolen clothes are +hot and burn upon him. The cool night air makes his skin smart with +pain. Already Pipa's arms are round him. Angelo, too, has caught him +by the legs, then leaps into the air with a wild hoot. Bewildered Pipa +cannot speak. No more can Adamo; but Pipa's clinging arms say more +than words. Tenderly Adamo lays the marchesa down beside the fountain. +He totters on a step or two, feeling suddenly giddy and strangely +weak. He stands still. The strain had been too much for the simple +soul, who led a quiet life with Pipa and the children. Tears rise in +his big black eyes. Greatly ashamed, and wondering what has come to +him, he sinks upon the ground. Pipa, watching him, again flings her +arms about him; but Adamo gave her a glance so fierce, as he points to +the marchesa lying helpless upon the ground, it sent her quickly from +him. With a smothered sob Pipa turns away to help her. + +(Ah! cruel Pipa, and is your heart so full that you have forgotten +Enrica, left helpless in the tower?--Yet so it was. Enrica is +forgotten. Cruel, cruel Pipa! And stupid Adamo, whose head turns round +so fast he must hold on by a tree not to fall again.) + +Silvestro and Fra Pacifico now rushed out of the darkness; Fra +Pacifico aroused out of his first sleep. He had not seen the marchesa +since her arrival. He did not know whether Enrica had come with her +from Lucca or not. Seeing Pipa busy about the fountain, the women, +thought Fra Pacifico, were safe; so Fra Pacifico strode off on his +strong legs to see what could be done to quench the fire, and save, +if possible, the more combustible villa. Surely the villa must be +consumed! The smoke now darkened the heavens. The flames belted the +thick tower-walls as with a burning girdle. Showers of sparks and +flames rose out from each aperture with sudden bursts, revealing every +detail on the gray old walls; moss and lichen, a trail of ivy that +had forced itself upward, long grass that floated in the hot air; a +crevice under the battlements where a bird had built its nest. Then +a swirl of smoke swooped down and smothered all, while overhead the +mighty company of constellations looked calmly down in their cold +brightness! + +A crowd of men now came running down from Corellia, roused by the +church-bells. Pietro, the baker, still hard at work, was the first to +hear the bell, to dash into the street, and shout, "Help! help! Fire! +fire! At the villa!" + +Oreste and Pilade heard him. They came tumbling out. Ser Giacomo +roused the sindaco--who in his turn woke his clerk; but when Mr. +Sindaco was fairly off down the hill, this much-injured and very weary +youth turned back and went to bed. + +Some bore lighted torches, others copper buckets. Pietro, the butcher, +brought the municipal ladder. These men promptly formed a line down +the hill, to carry the water from the willful mountain-stream that +fed the town fountain. Fra Pacifico took the lead. (He had heard the +alarm, and had rung the church-bells himself.) No one cared for the +marchesa; but a burning house was a fine sight, and where Fra Pacifico +went all Corellia followed. Adamo, recovered now, was soon upon the +ladder, receiving the buckets from below. Pipa beside the fountain +watched the marchesa, sprinkling water on her face. "Surely her +eyelids faintly quiver!" thinks Pipa.--Pipa watched the marchesa +speechless--watched her as birth and death are only watched! + +The marchesa's eyes had quivered; now they slowly unclose. Pipa, who, +next to the Virgin and the saints, worshiped her mistress--laughed +wildly--sobbed--then laughed again--kissed her hand, her +forehead--then pressed her in her arms. Supported by Pipa, the +marchesa sat up--she turned, and then she saw the mountains of smoke +bursting from the tower, forming into great clouds that rose over the +tree-tops, and shut out the stars. The marchesa glanced quickly round +with her keen, black eyes--she glanced as one searching for some thing +she cannot find; then her lips parted, and one word fell faintly from +them: "Enrica!" + +Pipa caught the half-uttered name, she echoed it with a scream. + +"Ahi! The signorina! The Signorina Enrica!" + +Pipa shouted to Adamo on the ladder. + +"Adamo! Adamo! where is the signorina?" + +Adamo's heart sank at her voice. On the instant he recalled that cry +he had heard upon the stairs. + +"Where did you see her last?" Adamo shouted back to Pipa out of the +din--his big stupid eyes looking down upon her face. "Up-stairs?" + +Pipa nodded. She could not speak, it was too horrible. + +"Santo Dio! I did not know it!" He struck upon his breast. "Assassin! +I have killed her! Assassin! Beast! what have I done?" + +Again the air rang with Pipa's shrill cries. The Corellia men, who +with eager hands pass the buckets down the hill, stop, and stare, and +wonder. Fra Pacifico, who had eyes and ears for every one, turned, and +ran forward to where Pipa sat wringing her hands upon the ground, the +marchesa leaning against her. + +"Is Enrica in the tower?" asked Fra Pacifico. + +"Yes, yes!" the marchesa answered feebly. "You must save her!" + +"Then follow me!" shouted the priest, swinging his strong arms above +his head. + +Adamo leaped from the ladder. Others--they were among the very +poorest--stepped out and joined him and the priest; but at the very +entrance they were met and buffeted by such a gust of fiery wind, such +sparks and choking smoke, that they all fell back aghast. Fra Pacifico +alone stood unmoved, his tall, burly figure dark against the glare. At +this instant a man wrapped in a cloak rushed out of the wood, crossed +the red circle reflected from the fire, and dashed into the archway. + +"Stop him! stop him!" shouted Adamo from behind. + +"You go to certain death!" cried Fra Pacifico, laying his hand upon +him. + +"I am prepared to die," the other answered, and pushed by him. + +Twice he essayed to mount the stairs. Twice he was driven back before +them all. See! He has covered his head with his cloak. He has set his +foot firmly upon the stone steps. Up, up he mounts--now he is gone! +Without there was a breathless silence. "Who is he?--Can he save +her?"--Words were not spoken, but every eye asked this question. The +men without are brave, ready to face danger in dark alley--by stream +or river--or on the mountain-side. Danger is pastime to them, but each +one feels in his own heart he is glad not to go. Fra Pacifico stands +motionless, a sad stern look upon his swarthy face. For the first time +in his life he has not been foremost in danger! + +By this time, Fra Pacifico thinks, unless choked, the stranger must be +near the upper story. + +The marchesa has now risen. She stands upright, her eyes riveted on +the tower. She knows there is a door that opens from the top of the +winding stair, on the highest story, next Enrica's room, a door out on +the battlements. Will the stranger see it? O God! will he see +it?--or is the smoke too thick?--or has he fainted ere he reached +so high?--or, if he has reached her, is Enrica dead? How heavy +the moments pass--weighted with life or death! Look, look! Surely +something moves between the turrets of the tower! Yes, something +moves. It rises--a muffled form between the turrets--the figure of a +man wrapped in a cloak--on the near side out of the smoke and flames. +Yes--it is the stranger--Enrica in his arms! All is clearly seen, +cut as it were against a crimson background. A shout rises from every +living man--a deep, full shout as out of bursting hearts that vent +themselves. Out of the shout the words ring out--"The steps!--the +steps!--There--to the right--cut in the battlements! The steps!--the +steps!--close by the flagstaff! Pass the steps down to the lower roof +of the villa" (The wind set on the other side, drawing the fire that +way. The villa was not touched.) + +The stranger heard and bowed his head. He has found the steps--he has +reached the lower roof of the villa--he is safe! + +No one below had moved. The hands by which the water was passed +were now laid upon the ladder. It was shifted over to the other side +against the villa walls. Adamo and Fra Pacifico stand upon the lower +rungs, to steady it. The stranger throws his cloak below, the better +to descend. + +"Who is he?" That strong, well-knit frame, those square shoulders, +that curly chestnut hair, the pleasant smile upon his glowing face, +proclaim him. It is Count Nobili! He has lands along the Serchio, +between Barga and Corellia, and was well known as a keen sportsman. + +"Bravo! bravo! Evviva! Count Nobili--evviva!" Caps were tossed into +the air, hands were wildly clapped, friendly arms are stretched out to +bear him up when he descends. Adamo is wildly excited; Adamo wants +to mount the ladder to help. The others pull him back. Fra Pacifico +stands ready to receive Enrica, a baffled look on his face. It is the +first time Fra Pacifico has stood by and seen another do his work. + +See, Count Nobili is on the ladder, Enrica in his arms! As his feet +touch the ground, again the people shout: "Bravo! Count Nobili! +Evviva!" Their hot southern blood is roused by the sight of such noble +daring. The people press upon him--they fold him in their arms--they +kiss his hands, his cheeks, even his very feet. + +Nobili's eyes flash. He, too, forgets all else, and, with a glance +that thrills Enrica from head to foot, he kisses her before them all. +The men circle round him. They shout louder than before. + +As the crowd parted, the dark figure of the marchesa, standing near +the fountain, was disclosed. Before she had time to stir, Count Nobili +had led Enrica to her. He knelt upon the ground, and, kissing Enrica's +hand, placed it within her own. Then he rose, and, with that grace +natural to him, bowed and stood aside, waiting for her to speak. + +The marchesa neither moved nor did she speak. When she felt the warm +touch of Enrica's hand within her own, it seemed to rouse her. She +drew her toward her and kissed her with more love than she had ever +shown before. + +"I thank you, Count Nobili," she said, in a strange, cold voice. Even +at that moment she could not bring herself to look him in the face. +"You have saved my niece's life." + +"Madame," replied Nobili, his sweet-toned voice trembling, "I have +saved my own. Had Enrica perished, I should not have lived." + +In these few words the chivalric nature of the man spoke out. The +marchesa waved her hand. She was stately even now. Nobili understood +her gesture, and, stung to the very soul, he drew back. + +"Permit me," he said, haughtily, before he turned away, "to add my +help to those who are laboring to save your house." + +The marchesa bowed her head in acquiescence; then, with unsteady +steps, she moved backward and seated herself upon the ground. + +Pipa, meanwhile, had flung her arms about Enrica, with such an energy +that she pinned her to the spot. Pipa pressed her hands about Enrica, +feeling every limb; Pipa turned Enrica's white face up ward to the +blaze; she stroked her long, fair hair that fell like a mantle round +her. + +"Blessed Mother!" she sobbed, drawing her coarse fingers through the +matted curls, "not a hair singed! Oh, the noble count! Oh, how I love +him--" + +"No, dear Pipa," Enrica answered, softly, "I am not hurt--only +frightened. The fire had but just reached the door when he came. He +was just in time." + +"To think we had forgotten her!" murmured Pipa, still holding her +tightly. + +"Who remembered me first?" asked Enrica, eagerly. + +"The marchesa, signorina, the marchesa. She remembered you. The +marchesa was brought down by Adamo. Your name was the first word she +uttered." + +Enrica's blue eyes glistened. In an instant she had disengaged herself +from Pipa, and was kneeling at the marchesa's feet. + +"Dear aunt, forgive me. Now that I am saved, forgive me! You must +forgive me, and forgive him, too!" + +These last words came faint and low. The marchesa put her finger on +her lip. + +"Not now, Enrica, not now. To-morrow we will speak." + +Meanwhile Count Nobili, Fra Pacifico, and the Corellia men, strove +what human strength could do to put the fire out. Even the +sindaco, forgetting the threats about his rent, labored hard and +willingly--only Silvestro did nothing. Silvestro seemed stunned; he +sat upon the ground staring, and crying like a child. + +To save the rooms within the tower was impossible. Every plank of wood +was burning. The ceilings had fallen in; only the blackened walls and +stone stairs remained. The villa was untouched--the wind, setting the +other way, and the thick walls of the tower, had saved it. + +Now every hand that could be spared was turned to bring beds from the +steward's for the marchesa and Enrica. They had gone into Pipa's +room until the villa was made ready. Pipa told Adamo, and he told the +others, that the marchesa had not seen the burning papers, and the +lighted pile of wood, until the flames rose high behind her back. She +had rushed forward, and fallen. + +When all was over, Count Nobili was carried up the hill back to +Corellia, in triumph, on the shoulders of Pietro the baker, and +Oreste, the strongest of the brothers. Every soul of the poor +townsfolk--women as well as men who had not gone down to help--had +risen, and was out. They had put lights into their windows. They +crowded the doorways. The market-place was full, and the church-porch. +The fame of Nobili's courage had already reached them. All bless him +as he passes--bless him louder when Nobili, all aglow with happiness, +empties his pockets of all the coin he has, and promises more +to-morrow. At this the women lay hold of him, and dance round him. It +was long before he was released. At last Fra Pacifico carried him off, +almost by force, to sleep at the curato. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE. + + +Fra Pacifico was a dark, burly man, with a large, weather-beaten +face, kind gray eyes under a pair of shaggy eyebrows, a resolute nose, +large, full-lipped mouth, and a clean-shaven double chin, that rested +comfortably upon his priestly stock. He was no longer young, but he +had a frame like iron, and in his time he had possessed a force of +arm and muscle enough to fell an ox. His strength and daring were +acknowledged by all the mountain-folks from Corellia to Barga, hardy +fellows, and judges of what a man can do. Moreover, Fra Pacifico +was more than six feet high--and who does not respect a man of such +inches? In fair fight he had killed his man--a brigand chief--who +prowled about the mountains toward Carrara. His band had fled and +never returned. + +Fra Pacifico had stood with his strong feet planted on the earth, +over the edge of a rocky precipice--by which the high-road passed--and +seized a furious horse dragging a cart holding six poor souls +below. Fra Pacifico had found a shepherd of Corellia--one of his +flock--struck down by fever on a rocky peak some twenty miles distant, +and he had carried him on his back, and laid him on his bed at home. +Every one had some story to tell of his prowess, coolness, and manly +daring. When he walked along the streets, the ragged children--as +black with sun and dirt as unfledged ravens--sidled up to him, and, +looking up into his gray eyes, ran between his firm-set legs, plucked +him by the cassock, and felt in his pockets for an apple or a cake. +Then the children held him tight until he had raised them up and +kissed them. + +Spite of the labors of the previous night (no one had worked harder), +Fra Pacifico had risen with daybreak. His office accustomed him to +little sleep. There was no time by day or night that he could call his +own. If any one was stricken with sickness in the night, or suddenly +seized for death in those pale hours when the day hovers, half-born, +over the slumbering earth, Fra Pacifico must rise and wake his +acolyte, the baker's boy, who, going late to bed, was hard to rouse. +Along with him he must grope up and down slippery steps, and along +dark alleys, bearing the Host under a red umbrella, until he had +placed it within the dying lips. If a baby was weakly, or born before +its time, and, having given one look at this sorrowful world, was +about to lose its eyes on it forever, Fra Pacifico must run out at any +moment to christen it. + +There was no doctor at Corellia, the people were too poor; so Fra +Pacifico was called upon to do a doctor's duty. He must draw the teeth +of such as needed it; bind up cuts and sores; set limbs; and give +such simple drugs as he knew the nature of. He must draw up papers for +those who could not afford to pay the notary; write letters for +those who could only make a cross; hear and conceal every secret that +reached him in the confessional or on the death-bed. He must be +at hand at any hour in the twenty-four--ready to counsel, soothe, +command, and reprimand; to bless, to curse, and, if need be, to +strike, when his righteous anger rose; to fetch and carry for all, +and, poor himself, to give out of his scanty store. These were his +priestly duties. + +Fra Pacifico lived at the back of the old Lombard church of Santa +Barbara, in a house overlooking a damp square, overgrown with moss +and weeds. Between the tower where the bells hung, and the body of the +church, an open loggia (balcony), roofed with wood and tiles, rested +on slender pillars. In the loggia, Fra Pacifico, when at leisure, +would sit and rest and read his breviary; sometimes smoke a solitary +pipe--stretching out his shapely legs in the luxury of doing nothing. +Behind the loggia were the priest's four rooms, bare even for the +bareness of that squalid place. He kept no servant, but it was counted +an honor to serve him, and the mothers of Corellia came by turns to +cook and wash for him. + +Fra Pacifico, as I have said, had risen at daybreak. Now he is +searching to find a messenger to send to Lucca, as the marchesa had +desired, to summon Cavaliere Trenta. That done, he takes a key out of +his pocket and unlocks the church-door. Here, kneeling at the altar, +he celebrates a private mass of thanksgiving for the marchesa and +Enrica. Then, with long strides, he descends the hill to see what is +doing at the villa. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"SAY NOT TOO MUCH." + + +The sun was streaming on mountain and forest before Count Nobili woke +from a deep sleep. As he cast his drowsy eyes around upon the homely +little room, the coarsely-painted frescoes on the walls--the gaudy +cups and plates arranged in a cupboard opposite the bed--and on a wax +Gesù Bambino, placed in state upon the mantel-piece, surrounded by a +flock of blue sheep, browsing on purple grass, he could not at first +remember where he was. The noises from the square below--the clink of +the donkey's hoofs upon the pavement as they struggled up the steep +alley laden with charcoal; the screams of children--the clamor of +women's voices moving to and fro with their wooden shoes--and the boom +of the church-bells sounding overhead for morning mass--came to him as +in a dream. + +As he raised his hand to push back the hair which fell over his +eyes, a sharp twitch of pain--for his hands were scorched and +blistered--brought all that had happened vividly before him. A warmth +of joy and love glowed at his heart. He had saved Enrica's life. +Henceforth that life was his. From that day they would never part. +From that day, forgetting all others, he would live for her alone. + +He must see her instantly--if possible, before his enemy, her aunt, +had risen--see Enrica, and speak to her, alone. Oh, the luxury of +that! How he longed to feast his eyes upon the softness of her beauty! +To fill his ears with the music of her voice! To touch her little +hand, and scent the fragrance of her breath upon his cheek! There was +no thought within Nobili but love and loyalty. At that moment Enrica +was the only woman in the world whom he loved, or ever could love! + +He dressed himself in haste, opened the door, and stepped out into +the loggia. Not finding Fra Pacifico there, or in the other rooms, he +passed down the stone steps into the little square, threading his way +beyond as he best could, through the tortuous little alleys toward the +gate. Most of the men had already gone to work; but such as lingered, +or whose business kept them at home, rose as he passed, and bared +their heads to him. The mothers and the girls stared at him and +smiled; troops of children followed at his heels through the town, +until he reached the gate. + +Without, the holiness of Nature was around. The morning air blew upon +him crisp and clear. The sky, blue as a turquoise, was unbroken by a +cloud. The trees were bathed in gold. The chain of Apennines rose up +before him in lines of dreamy loveliness, like another world, midway +toward heaven. A passing shower veiled the massive summits toward +Massa and Carrara, but the broad valley of the Serchio, mapped out in +smallest details, lay serenely luminous below. Beyond the gate there +was no certain road. It broke into little tracts and rocky paths +terracing downward. Following these, streams ran bubbling, sparkling +like gems as they dashed against the stones. No shadows rested upon +the grass, cooled by the dew and carpeted by flowers. The woods danced +in the October sunshine. Painted butterflies and gnats circled in the +warm air; green lizards gamboled among the rocks that cut the +turf. Flocks of autumn birds swooped round in rapid flight. Some +freshly-shorn sheep, led by a ragged child, cropped the short herbage +fragrant with strong herbs. A bristly pig carrying a bell about his +neck, ran wildly up and down the grassy slope in search of chestnuts. + +Through this sylvan wilderness Nobili came stepping downward by the +little paths, like a young god full of strength and love! + +The villa lay beneath him; the blackened ruins of the tower rose over +the chestnut-tops. These blackened ruins showed him which way to go. +As he set his foot upon the topmost terrace of the garden, his heart +beat fast. + +Enrica would be there, he knew it. Enrica would be waiting for him. +Could Nobili yearn so fondly for Enrica and she not know it? Could the +mystic bond that knit them together, from the first moment they had +met, leave her unconscious of his presence? No; that subtile charm +that draws lovers together, and breathes from heart to heart the +sacred fire, had warned her. She was standing there--there, beneath +him, under the shadow of a flowery thicket. Enrica was leaning against +the trunk of a magnolia-tree, the shining leaves framing her in a rich +canopy, through which a glint of sunshine pierced, falling upon her +light hair and the white dress she wore. + +Nobili paused to look at her. Miser-like, he would pause to gloat upon +his treasure! How well a golden glory would become that sunny head! +She only wanted wings, he thought, to make an angel of her. Enrica's +face was bent. Her thoughts, far away, were lost in a delicious world, +neither earth nor heaven--a world with Nobili! What mysteries were +there, what unknown joys, or sharper pains perchance, she neither knew +nor cared. She would share all with him! In a moment the place she +stood on was darkened. Something stood between her and the sun. She +looked up and gave a little cry, then stood motionless, the color +going and coming upon her cheek. One bound, and Nobili was beside her. +He strained her to him with a passion that robbed him of all words. +Scarcely knowing what he did, he grasped the tangled meshes of her +silken hair and covered them with kisses. Then he raised her soft face +in his hand, and gazed upon it long and fervently. + +Enrica's plaintive eyes melted as they met his. She quivered in his +embrace. Her whole soul went out to him as she lay within his arms. He +bent his head--their trembling lips clung together in one long kiss. +Then the little golden head drooped upon his breast, and nestled +there, as if at last at home. Never before had Enrica's dainty form +yielded beneath his touch. Before, he had but clasped her little hand, +or pressed her dress, or stolen a hasty kiss on those truant locks +of hers. Now Enrica was his own, his very own. The blood shot up like +fire over his face. His eyes devoured her. As she lay encircled in his +arms, a burning blush crimsoned her cheeks. She turned away her face, +and feebly tried to loosen herself from him. Nobili only pressed her +closer. He would not let her go. + +"Do not turn from me, Enrica," he softly murmured. "Would you rob me +of the rapture of my first embrace?" + +There was a passionate tremor in his voice that re vibrated within her +from head to foot. Her flushed cheek grew pale as she listened. + +"Heavens! how I have longed for you! How I have longed for you sitting +at home! And you so near!" + +"And I have longed for you," whispered Enrica, blushing again +redder than summer roses.--Enrica was too simple to dissemble.--"O +Nobili!"--and she raised her dreamy eyes upward to his, then dropped +them again before the fire of his glance--"you cannot tell how lonely +I have been. Oh! I have suffered so much; I thought I should have +died." + +"My own Enrica, that is gone and past. Now we shall never part. I have +won you for my wife. Even the marchesa must own this. Last night the +old life died out as the smoke from that old tower. To-day you have +waked to a new life with me." + +Again Nobili's arms stole round her; again he sealed the sacrament of +love with a fervid kiss. + +Enrica trembled from head to foot--a scared look came over her. The +rush of passionate joy, coming upon the terrors of the past night, was +more than she could bear. Nobili watched the change. + +"Forgive me, love," he said, "I will be calmer. Lay your dear head +against me. We will sit together here--under the trees." + +"Yes," said Enrica in a faltering voice; "I have so much to say." +Then, suddenly recalling the blessing of his presence, a smile stole +about her bloodless lips. She gave a happy sigh. "Yes, Nobili--we can +talk now without fear. But I can talk only of you. I have no thought +but you. I never dreamed of such happiness as this! O Nobili!" And she +hid her face in the strong arm entwined about her. + +"Speak to me, Enrica; I will listen to you forever." + +Enrica clasped his hand, looked at it, sighed, pressed it between both +of hers, sighed again, then raised it to her lips. + +"Dear hand," she said, "how it is burnt! But for this hand, I should +be nothing now but a little heap of ashes in the tower. Nobili"--her +tone suddenly changed--"Nobili, I will try to love life now that you +have given it to me." Her voice rang out like music, and her telltale +eyes caught his, with a glance as passionate as his own. "Count +Marescotti," she said, absently, as giving utterance to a passing +thought--"Count Marescotti told me, only a week ago, that I was born +to be unhappy. He said he read it in my eyes. I believed him then--not +now--not now." + +Why, she could not have explained, but, as the count's name passed +her lips, Enrica was sorry she had mentioned it. Nobili noted this. He +gave an imperceptible start, and drew back a little from her. + +"Do you know Count Marescotti?" Enrica asked him, timidly. + +"I know him by sight," was Nobili's reply. "He is a mad fellow--a +republican. Why does he come to Lucca?" + +Enrica shook her head. + +"I do not know," she answered, still confused. + +"Where did you meet him, Enrica?" + +She blushed, and dropped her eyes. As she gave him no answer, he asked +another question, gazing down upon her earnestly: + +"How did Count Marescotti come to know what your eyes said?" + +As Nobili spoke, his voice sounded changed. He waited for an answer +with a look as if he had been wronged. Enrica's answer did not come +immediately. She felt frightened. + +"Oh! why," she thought, "had she mentioned Marescotti's name?" Nobili +was angry with her--she was sure he was angry with her. + +"I met him at my aunt's one evening," she said at last, gathering +courage as she stole her little hand into one of his, and knit her +fingers tightly within his own. "We went up into the Guinigi Tower +together. There were dear old Trenta and Baldassare Lena with us." + +"Indeed!" replied Nobili, coldly. "I did not know that the Marchesa +Guinigi ever received young men." + +As Nobili said this he fixed his eyes upon Enrica's face. What could +he read there but assurance of the perfect innocence within? Yet +the name of Count Marescotti had grated upon his ear like a discord +clashing among sweet sounds. He shook the feeling off, however, for +the time. Again he was her gracious lover. + +"Tell me, love," he said, drawing Enrica to him, "did you hear my +signal last night?--the shot I fired below, out of the woods?" + +"Yes, I heard a shot. Something told me it must be you. I thought I +should have died when I heard my aunt order Adamo to unloose those +dreadful dogs. How did you escape them?" + +"The cunning beasts! They were upon my track. How I did it in the +darkness I cannot tell, but I managed to scramble down the cliff and +to reach the opposite mountain. The chasm was then between us. So the +dogs lost the scent upon the rocks, and missed me. I left Lucca almost +as soon as you. Trenta told me that the marchesa had brought you here +because you would not give me up. Dear heart, how I grieved that I had +brought suffering on you!" + +He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, then continued: + +"As long as it was day, I prowled about under the cliffs in the shadow +of the chasm. I watched the stars come out. There was one star that +shone brightly above the tower; to me that star was you, Enrica. I +could have knelt to it." + +"Dear Nobili!" murmured Enrica, softly. + +"As I waited there, I saw a great red vapor gather over the +battlements. The alarm-bell sounded. I climbed up through the wood, +where the rocks are lower, and watched among the shrubs. I saw the +marchesa carried out in Adamo's arms. I heard your name, dear love, +passed from mouth to mouth. I looked around--you were not there. I +understood it all; I rushed to save you." + +Again Nobili wound his arms round Enrica and drew her to him with +passionate ardor. The thought of Count Marescotti had faded out like a +bad dream at daylight. + +Enrica's blue eyes dimmed with tears. + +"Oh, do not weep, Enrica!" he cried. "Let the past go, love. Did the +marchesa think that bolts and bars, and Adamo, and watch-dogs, would +keep Nobili from you?" He gave a merry laugh. "I shall not leave +Corellia until we are affianced. Fra Pacifico knows it--I told him so +last night. Cavaliere Trenta is expected to-day from Lucca. Both will +speak to your aunt. One may have done so already, for what I know, +for Fra Pacifico had left his house before I rose. He must be here. Is +this a time to weep, Enrica?" he asked her tenderly. How comely Nobili +looked! What life and joy sparkled in his bright eyes! + +"I am very foolish--I hope you will forgive me," was Enrica's answer, +spoken a little sadly. Her confidence in herself was shaken, since +Count Marescotti's name had jarred between them. "Let us walk a little +in the shade." + +"Yes. Lean on me, dearest; the morning is delicious. But remember, +Enrica, I will have smiles--nothing but smiles." + +As Nobili bore her up on his strong arm, pacing up and down among the +flowering trees that, bowing in the light breeze, shed gaudy petals at +their feet--Nobili looked so strong, and resolute, and bold--his eyes +had such a power in them as he gazed down proudly upon her--that +the tears which trembled upon Enrica's eyelids disappeared. Nobili's +strength came to her as her own strength. She, who had been so crushed +and wounded, brought so near to death, needed this to raise her up to +life. And now it came--came as she gazed at him. + +Yes, she would live--live a new life with him. And Nobili had done +it--done it unconsciously, as the sun unfolds the bosom of the rose, +and from the delicate bud creates the perfect flower. + +Something Nobili understood of what was passing within her, but not +all. He had yet to learn the treasures of faith and love shut up in +the bosom of that silent girl--to learn how much she loved him--only +_him_. (A new lesson for one who had trifled with so many, and given +and taken such facile oaths!) + +Neither spoke, but wandered up and down in vague delight. + +Why was it that at this moment Nobili's thoughts strayed to Lucca, and +to Nera Boccarini?--Nera rose before him, glowing and velvet-eyed, +as on that night she had so tempted him. He drove her image from him. +Nera was dead to him. Dead?--Fool!--And did he think that any thing +can die? Do not our very thoughts rise up and haunt us in some subtile +consequence of after-life? Nothing dies--nothing is isolated. Each act +of daily intercourse--the merest trifle, as the gravest issue--makes +up the chain of life. Link by link that chain draws on, weighted with +good or ill, and clings about us to the very grave. + +Thinking of Nera, Nobili's color changed--a dark look clouded his +ready smile. Enrica asked, "What pains you?" + +"Nothing, love, nothing," Nobili answered vaguely, "only I fear I am +not worthy of you." + +Enrica raised her eyes to his. Such a depth of tenderness and purity +beamed from them, that Nobili asked himself with shame, how he could +have forgotten her. With this blue-eyed angel by his side it seemed +impossible, and yet-- + +Pressing Enrica's hand more tightly, he placed it fondly on his own. +"So small, so true," he murmured, gazing at it as it lay on his broad +palm. + +"Yes, Nobili, true to death," she answered, with a sigh. + +Still holding her hand, "Enrica," he said, solemnly, "I swear to love +you and no other, while I live. God is my witness!" + +As he lifted up his head in the earnestness with which he spoke, the +sunshine, streaming downward, shone full upon his face. + +Enrica trembled. "Oh! do not say too much," she cried, gazing up at +him entranced. + +With that sun-ray upon his face, Nobili seemed to her, at that moment, +more than mortal! + +"Angel!" exclaimed Count Nobili, wrought up to sudden passion, "can +you doubt me?" + +Before Enrica could reply, a snake, warmed by the hot sun, curled +upward from the terraced wall behind them, where it had basked, and +glided swiftly between them. Nobili's heel was on it; in an instant +he had crushed its head. But there between them lay the quivering +reptile, its speckled scales catching the light. Enrica shrieked and +started back. + +"O God! what an evil omen!" She said no more, only her shifting color +and uneasy eyes told what she felt. + +"An evil omen, love!" and Nobili brushed away the snake with his foot +into the underwood, and laughed. "Not so. It is an omen that I shall +crush all who would part us. That is how I read it." + +Enrica shook her head. That snake crawling between them was the first +warning to her that she was still on earth. Till then it had seemed to +her that Nobili's presence must be like paradise. Now for a moment a +terrible doubt crept over her. Could happiness be sad? It must be so, +for now she could not tell whether she was sad or happy. + +"Oh! do not say too much, dear Nobili," she repeated almost to +herself, "or--" Her voice dropped. She looked toward the spot where +the snake had fallen, and shuddered. + +Nobili did not then reply, but, taking Enrica by the hand, he led her +up a flight of steps to a higher terrace, where a cypress avenue threw +long shadows across the marble pavement. + +"You are mine," he whispered, "mine--as by a miracle!" + +There was such rapture in his voice that heaven came down into her +heart, and every doubt was stilled. + +At this moment Fra Pacifico's towering figure appeared ascending a +lower flight of steps toward them, coming from the house. He trod with +that firm, grand step churchmen have in common with actors--only the +stage upon which each treads is different. Behind Fra Pacifico was +the short, plump figure and the white hat of Cavaliere Trenta (a dwarf +beside the priest), his rosy face rosier than ever from the rapid +drive from Lucca. Trenta's kind eyes twinkled under his white eyebrows +as he spied Enrica above, standing side by side with Nobili. How +different the dear child looked from that last time he had seen her at +Lucca! + +Enrica flew down the steps to meet him. She threw her arms round his +neck. Count Nobili followed her; he shook hands with the cavaliere and +Fra Pacifico. + +"His reverence and I thought we should find you two together," said +Cavaliere Trenta, with a chuckle. "Count Nobili, I wish you joy." + +His voice faltered a little, and a spotless handkerchief was drawn +out and called into service. Nobili reddened, then bowed with formal +courtesy. + +"It is all come right, I see."--Trenta gave a sly glance from one to +the other, though the tears were in his eyes.--"I shall live to open +the marriage-ball on the first floor of the palace yet. Bagatella! I +would have tried to give the dear child to you myself, had I known how +much she loved you--but you have taken her. Well, well--possession is +better than gift." + +"She gave herself to me, cavaliere. Last night's work only made the +gift public," was Nobili's reply. + +There was a tone of triumph in Nobili's voice as he said this. He +stooped and pressed his lips to Enrica's hand. Enrica stood by with +downcast eyes--a spray of pink oleander swaying from the terrace-wall +in the light breeze above her head, for background. + +The old cavaliere nodded his head, round which the little curls set +faultlessly under his white hat. + +"My dear Count Nobili, permit me to offer my advice. You must settle +this matter at once--at once, I say;" and Trenta struck his stick upon +the marble balustrade for greater emphasis. + +"I quite agree with you," put in Fra Pacifico in his deep voice. "The +impression made by your courage last night must not be lost by delay. +I never saw an act of greater daring. Had you not come, I should have +tried to save Enrica, but I am past my prime; I should have failed." + +"You cannot count on the marchesa's gratitude," continued Trenta; "an +excellent lady, and my oldest friend, but proud and capricious. You +must take her like the wind when it blows--ha! ha! like the wind. I am +come here to help you both." + +"Cavaliere," said Nobili, turning toward him (his vagrant eyes had +wandered off to Enrica, so charming, with the pink oleander and its +dark-green leaves waving above her blond head), "do me the favor to +ask the Marchesa Guinigi at what hour she will admit me to sign the +marriage-contract. I have pressing business that calls me back to +Lucca to-day." + +"So soon, dear Nobili?" a soft voice whispered at his ear, "so soon?" +And then there was a sigh. Surely her paradise was very brief! Enrica +had thought in her simplicity that, once met, they two never should +part again, but spend the live-long days together side by side among +the woods, lingering by flowing streams; or in the rich shade of +purple vine-bowers; or in mossy caves, shaded by tall ferns, hid on +the mountain-side, and let time and the world roll by. This was the +life she dreamed of. Could any grief be there? + +"Yes, love," Nobili answered to her question. "I must return to Lucca +to-night. I started on the instant, as the cavaliere knows. Before I +go, however, all must be settled about our marriage, and the contract +signed. I will take no denial." + +Nobili spoke with the determination that was in him. Enrica's heart +gave a bound. "The contract!" She had never thought of that. "The +contract and the marriage!"--"Both close at hand!--Then the life she +dreamed of must come true in very earnest!" + +The cavaliere looked doubtingly at Fra Pacifico. Fra Pacifico shrugged +his big shoulders, looked back again at Cavaliere Trenta, and smiled +rather grimly. There was always a sense of suppressed power, moral and +physical, about Fra Pacifico. In conversation he had a way of leaving +the burden of small talk to others, and of reserving himself for +special occasions; but when he spoke he must be listened to. + +"Quick work, my dear count," was all the priest said to Nobili in +answer. "Do you think you can insure the marchesa's consent?" Now he +addressed the cavaliere. + +"Oh, my friend will be reasonable, no doubt. After last night, +she must consent." The cavaliere was always ready to put the best +construction upon every thing. "If she raises any obstacles, I think I +shall be able to remove them." + +"Consent!" cried Nobili, fiercely echoing back the word, "she must +consent--she will be mad to refuse." + +"Well--well--we shall see.--You, Count Nobili, have done all to make +it sure. The terms of the contract (I have heard of them from Fra +Pacifico) are princely." A look from Count Nobili stopped Trenta from +saying more. + +"Now, Enrica," and the cavaliere turned and took her arm, "come in and +give me some breakfast. An old man of eighty must eat, if he means to +dance at weddings." + +"You, Nobili, must come with me," said Fra Pacifico, laying his hand +on the count's shoulder. "We will wait the cavaliere's summons to +return here over a bottle of the marchesa's best vintage, and a cutlet +cooked by Maria. She is my best cook; I have one for every day in the +week." + +So they parted--Trenta with Enrica descending flight after flight +of steps, leading from terrace to terrace, down to the villa; Nobili +mounting upward to the forest with Fra Pacifico toward Corellia, to +await the marchesa's answer. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE CONTRACT. + + +Fra Pacifico, with Adamo and Pipa, had labored ever since-daybreak +to arrange the rooms at the villa before the marchesa rose. Pipa had +freely used the broom and many pails of water. All the windows were +thrown open, and clouds of invisible incense from the flowers without +sweetened the fusty rooms. + +The villa had not been inhabited for nearly fifty years. It was +scantily provided with furniture, but there were chairs and tables +and beds, and all the rough necessaries of life. To make all straight, +whole generations of beetles had been swept away; and patriarchal +spiders, which clung tenaciously to the damp spots on the walls. A +scorpion or two had been found, which, firmly resisting to quit the +chinks where they had grown and multiplied, had died by decapitation. +Fra Pacifico would not have owned it, but he had discovered and killed +a nest of black adders that lay concealed, curled up in a curtain. + +He had with his own hands, in the early morning, carefully fashioned +the spacious sala on the ground-floor to the marchesa's liking. A huge +sofa, with a faded amber cover, had been drawn out of a recess, and +so placed that the light should fall at her back.--She objected to the +sunshine, with true Italian perverseness. Some arm-chairs, once gilt, +and still bearing a coronet, were placed in a semicircle opposite. The +windows of the sala, and two glass doors of the same size and make, +looked east and west; toward the terraces and the garden on one side, +and over the cliffs and the chasm to the opposite mountains on the +other. The walls were broken by doors of varnished pine-wood. These +doors led, on the right, to the chapel, Enrica's bedroom, and many +empty apartments; on the left, to the marchesa's suite of rooms, the +offices, and the stone corridor which communicated with the now ruined +tower. High up on the walls of the sala, two large and roughly-painted +frescoes decorated the empty spaces. A Dutch seaport on one side, with +sloping roofs and tall gables, bordering a broad river, upon which +ships sailed vaguely away into a yellow haze. (Not more vaguely +sailing, perhaps, than many human ships, with life-sails set to +catch the wind of fortune--ships which never make more way than +these painted emblems!) Opposite, a hunting-party of the olden time +picnicked in a forest-glade; a brown and red palace in the background, +in front lords and ladies lounging on the grass--bundles of +satin, velvet, powder, ribbons, feathers, shoulder-knots, ruffles, +long-tailed coats, and trains. + +A door to the left opened. There was a sound of voices talking. + +"My honored marchesa," the cavaliere was heard to say in his most +dulcet tones, "in the state of your affairs, you cannot refuse. Why +then delay? The day is passing by; Count Nobili is impatient. Let me +implore you to lose no more time." + +While he was speaking the marchesa entered the sala, passing close +under the fresco of the vaguely-sailing ships upon the wall.--Can the +marchesa tell whither she is drifting more than these?--She glanced +round approvingly, then seated herself upon the sofa. Trenta +obsequiously placed a footstool at her feet, a cushion at her back. +Even the tempered light, which had been carefully prepared for her by +closing the outer wooden shutters, could not conceal how sallow and +worn she looked, nor the black circles that had gathered round her +eyes. Her dark dress hung about her as if she had suddenly grown thin; +her white hands fell listlessly at her side. The marchesa knew that +she must consent to Count Nobili's conditions. She knew she must +consent this very day. But such a struggle as this knowledge cost her, +coming so close upon the agitation of the previous night, was more +than even her iron nerves could bear. As she leaned back upon the +sofa, shading her eyes with her hand, as was her habit, she felt she +could not frame the words with which to answer the cavaliere, were it +to save her life. + +As for the cavaliere, who had seated himself opposite, his plump +little person was so engulfed in an arm-chair, that nothing but +his snowy head was visible. This he waved up and down reflectively, +rattled his stick upon the floor, and glanced indignantly from time to +time at the marchesa. Why would she not answer him? + +Meanwhile a little color had risen upon her cheeks. She forced herself +to sit erect, arranged the folds of her dark dress, then, in a kind of +stately silence, seemed to lend herself to listen to what Trenta might +have to urge, as though it concerned her as little as that rose-leaf +which comes floating in from the open door and drops at her feet. + +"Well, marchesa, well--what is your answer?" asked Trenta, much +nettled at her assumed indifference. "Remember that Count Nobili and +Fra Pacifico have been waiting for some hours." + +"Let Nobili wait," answered the marchesa, a sudden glare darting into +her dark eyes; "he is born to wait for such as I." + +"Still"--Trenta was both tired and angry, but he dared not show it; +only he rattled his stick louder on the floor, and from time to time +aimed a savage blow with it against the carved legs of a neighboring +table--"still, why do the thing ungraciously? The count's offers are +magnificent. Surely in the face of absolute ruin--Fra Pacifico assures +me--" + +"Let Fra Pacifico mind his own business," was the marchesa's answer. + +"Nobili saved Enrica's life last night; that cannot be denied." + +"Yes--last night, last night; and I am to be forced and fettered +because I set myself on fire! I wish I had perished, and Enrica too!" + +A gesture of horror from the cavaliere recalled the marchesa to a +sense of what she had uttered. + +"And do you deem it nothing, Cesare Trenta, after a life spent in +building up the ancient name I bear, that I should be brought to sign +a marriage-contract with a peddler's son?" She trembled with passion. + +"Yet it must be done," answered Trenta. + +"Must be done! Must be done! I would rather die! Mark my words, +Cesare. No good will come of this marriage. That young man is weak and +dissolute. He is mad with wealth, and the vulgar influence that +comes with wealth. As a man, he is unworthy of my niece, who, I must +confess, has the temper of an angel." + +"I believe that you are wrong, marchesa; Count Nobili is much beloved +in Lucca. Fra Pacifico has known him from boyhood. He praises him +greatly. I also like him." + +"Like him!--Yes, Cesare, you are such an easy fool you like every one. +First Marescotti, then Nobili. Marescotti was a gentleman, but this +fellow--" She left the sentence incomplete. "Remember my words--you +are deceived in him." + +"At all events," retorted the cavaliere, "it is too late to discuss +these matters now. Time presses. Enrica loves him. He insists on +marrying her. You have no money, and cannot give her a portion. My +respected marchesa, I have often ventured to represent to you what +those lawsuits would entail! Per Bacco! There must be an end of all +things--may I call them in?" + +The poor old chamberlain was completely exhausted. He had spent four +hours in reasoning with his friend. The marchesa turned her head +away and shuddered; she could not bring herself to speak the word of +bidding. The cavaliere accepted this silence for consent. He struggled +out of the ponderous arm-chair, and went out into the garden. There +(leaning over the balustrade of the lowest terrace, under the +willful branches of a big nonia-tree, weighted with fronds of scarlet +trumpet-flowers, that hung out lazily from the wall, to which the +stem was nailed) Cavaliere Trenta found Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico +awaiting the marchesa's summons. Behind them, at a respectful +distance, stood Ser Giacomo, the notary from Corellia. Streamlets pure +as crystal ran bubbling down beside them in marble runnels; statues +of gods and goddesses balanced each other, on pedestals, at the angles +where the steps turned. In front, on the gravel, a pair of peacocks +strutted, spreading their gaudy tails in the sunshine. + +As the four men entered the sala, they seemed to bring the evening +shadows with them. These suddenly slanted across the floor like +pointed arrows, darkening the places where the sun had shone. Was it +fancy, or did the sparkling fountain at the door, as it fell backward +into the marble basin, murmur with a sound like human sighs? + +Count Nobili walked first. He was grave and pale. Having made a formal +obeisance to the marchesa, his quick eye traveled round in search of +Enrica. Not finding her, it settled again upon her aunt. As Nobili +entered, she raised her smooth, snake-like head, and met his gaze in +silence. She had scarcely bowed, in recognition of his salute. Now, +with the slightest possible inclination of her head, she signed to him +to take his place on one of the chairs before her. + +Fra Pacifico, his full, broad face perfectly unmoved, and Cavaliere +Trenta, who watched the scene nervously with troubled, twinkling eyes, +placed themselves on either side of Count Nobili. Ser Giacomo had +already slipped round behind the sofa, and seated himself at a table +placed against the wall, the marriage-contract spread out before +him. There was an awkward pause. Then Count Nobili rose, and, in that +sweet-toned voice which had fallen like a charm on many a woman's ear, +addressed the marchesa. + +"Marchesa Guinigi, hereditary Governess of Lucca, and Countess of +the Garfagnana, I am come to ask in marriage the hand of your niece, +Enrica Guinigi. I desire no portion with her. The lady herself is a +portion more than enough for me." + +As Nobili ceased speaking, the ruddy color shot across his brow and +cheeks, and his eyes glistened. His generous nature spoke in those few +words. + +"Count Nobili," replied the marchesa, carefully avoiding his eye, +which eagerly sought hers--"am I correct in addressing you as Count +Nobili?--Pardon me if I am wrong." Here she paused, and affected to +hesitate. "Do you bear any other name? I am really quite ignorant of +the new titles." + +This question was asked with outward courtesy, but there was such a +twang of scorn in the marchesa's tone, such an expression of contempt +upon her lip, that the old chamberlain trembled on his chair. Even at +this last moment it was possible that her infernal pride might scatter +every thing to the winds. + +"Call me Mario Nobili--that will do," answered the count, reddening to +the roots of his chestnut curls. + +The marchesa inclined her head, and smiled a sarcastic smile, as if +rejoicing to acquaint herself with a fact before unknown. Then she +resumed: + +"Mario Nobili--you saved my niece's life last night. I am advised that +I cannot refuse you her hand in marriage, although--" + +Such a black frown clouded Nobili's countenance under the sting of her +covert insults that Trenta hastily interposed. + +"Permit me to remind you, Marchesa Guinigi, that, subject to your +approval, the conditions of the marriage have been already arranged +by me and Fra Pacifico, before you consented to meet Count Nobili. The +present interview is purely formal. We are met in order to sign the +marriage-contract. The notary, I see, is ready. The contract lies +before him. May I be permitted to call in the lady?" + +"One moment, Cavaliere Trenta," interposed Nobili, who was still +standing, holding up his hand to stop him--"one moment. I must request +permission to repeat myself the terms of the contract to the Marchesa +Guinigi before I presume to receive the honor of her assent." + +It was now the marchesa's turn to be discomfited. This was the avowal +of an open bargain between Count Nobili and herself. A common exchange +of value for value; such as low creatures barter for with each other +in the exchange. She felt this, and hated Nobili more keenly for +having had the wit to wound her. + +"I bind myself, immediately on the signing of the contract, to +discharge every mortgage, debt, and incumbrance on these feudal lands +of Corellia in the Garfagnana; also any debts in and about the Guinigi +Palace and lands, within and without the walls of Lucca. I take upon +myself every incumbrance," Nobili repeated emphatically, raising his +voice. "My purpose is fully noted in that contract, hastily drawn up +at my desire. I also bestow on the marchesa's niece the Guinigi Palace +I bought at Lucca--to the marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi, and her +heirs forever; also a dowry of fifty thousand francs a year, should +she survive me." + +What is it about gold that invests its possessor with such instant +power? Is knowledge power?--or does gold weigh more than brains? I +think so. Gold-pieces and Genius weighed in scales would send poor +Genius kicking! + +From the moment Count Nobili had made apparent the wealth which +he possessed, he was master of the situation. The marchesa's quick +perception told her so. While he was accepting all her debts, with the +superb indifference of a millionaire, she grew cold all over. + +"Tell the notary," she said, endeavoring to maintain her usual haughty +manner, "to put down that, at my death, I bequeath to my niece all of +which I die possessed--the palace at Lucca, and the heirlooms, +plate, jewels, armor, and the picture of my great ancestor Castruccio +Castracani, to be kept hanging in the place where it now is, opposite +the seigneurial throne in the presence-chamber." + +Here she paused. The hasty scratch of Ser Giacomo's pen was heard upon +the parchment. Spite of her efforts to control her feelings, an ashy +pallor spread over the marchesa's face. She grasped her two hands +together so tightly that the finger-tips grew crimson; a nervous +quiver shook her from head to foot. Cavaliere Trenta, who read the +marchesa like a book, watched her in perfect agony. What was going to +happen? Would she faint? + +"I also bequeath," continued the marchesa, rising from her seat with +solemn action, and speaking in a low, hushed voice, her eyes fixed on +the floor--"I also bequeath the great Guinigi name and our ancestral +honors to my niece--to bear them after my death, together with her +husband, then to pass to her eldest child. And may that great name be +honored!" + +The marchesa reseated herself, raised her thin white hands, and threw +up her eyes to heaven. The sacrifice was made! + +"May I call in the lady?" again asked the cavaliere, addressing no one +in particular. + +"I will fetch her in," replied Fra Pacifico, rising from his chair. +"She is my spiritual daughter." + +No one moved while Fra Pacifico was absent. Ser Giacomo, the notary, +dressed in his Sunday suit of black, remained, pen in hand, staring +at the wall. Never in his humble life had he formed one of such a +distinguished company. All his life Ser Giacomo had heard of the +Marchesa Guinigi as a most awful lady. If Fra Pacifico had not caught +him within his little office near the _café_, rather than have faced +her, Ser Giacomo would have run away. + +The door opened, and Enrica stood upon the threshold. There was an +air of innocent triumph about her. She had bound a blue ribbon in her +golden curls, and placed a rose in the band that encircled her slight +waist. Enrica was, in truth, but a common mortal, but she looked so +fresh, and bright, and young, with such tender, trusting eyes--there +was such an aureole of purity about her, she might have passed for a +virgin saint. + +As he caught sight of Enrica, the moody expression on Count Nobili's +face changed, and broke into a smile. In her presence he forgot the +marchesa. Was not such a prize worthy of any battle? What did +it signify to him if Enrica were called Guinigi? And as to those +tumbledown palaces and heirlooms--what of them? He could buy scores +of old palaces any day if he chose. Quickly he stepped forward to meet +her as she entered. Fra Pacifico rose, and with great solemnity signed +them both with a thrice-repeated cross, then he placed Enrica's hand +in Nobili's. The count raised it to his lips, and kissed it fervently. + +"My Enrica," he whispered, "this is a glorious day!" + +"Oh, it is heavenly!" she answered back, softly. + +The marchesa's white face darkened as she looked at Enrica. How dared +Enrica be so happy? But she repressed the reproaches that rose to +her lips, though her heart swelled to bursting, and the veins in her +forehead distended with rage. + +"Can Enrica be of my flesh and blood?" exclaimed the marchesa in a low +voice to the cavaliere who now stood at her side. "Fool! she believes +in her lover! It is a horrible sacrifice! Mark my words--a horrible +sacrifice!" + +Nobili and Enrica had taken their places behind the notary. The +slanting shadows from the open door struck upon them with deeper +gloom, and the low murmur of the fountain seemed now to form itself +into a moan. + +"Do I sign here?" asked Count Nobili. + +Ser Giacomo trembled like a leaf. + +"Yes, excellency, you sign here," he stammered, pointing to the +precise spot; but Ser Giacomo looked so terrified that Nobili, +forgetting where he was, laughed out loud and turned to Enrica, who +laughed also. + +"Stop that unseemly mirth," called out the marchesa from the sofa; +"it is most indecent. Let the act that buries a great name at least be +conducted with decorum." + +"That great name shall not die," spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico +from the background; "I call a blessing upon it, and upon the present +act. The name shall live. When we are dead and rotting in our +graves, a race shall rise from them"--and he pointed to Nobili and +Enrica--"that shall recall the great legends of the past among the +citizens of Lucca." + +Fearful of what the marchesa might be moved to reply (even the +marchesa, however, had a certain dread of Fra Pacifico when he assumed +the dignity of his priestly office), Trenta hurried forward and +offered his arm to lead her to the table. She rose slowly to her feet, +and cast her eyes round at the group of happy faces about her; all +happy save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of sweat +were standing. + +"Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, "fear not to +sign the marriage-contract. Think of the blessings it will bring to +hundreds of miserable peasants, who are suffering from your want of +means to help them!" + +"Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able to control +herself, "I respect your office, but this is still my house, and I +order you to be silent. Where am I to sign?"--she addressed herself to +Ser Giacomo. + +"Here, madame," answered the almost inaudible voice of the notary. + +The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand wrote her full +name and titles. She took a malicious pleasure in spreading them out +over the page. + +Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after her aunt's. +Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. Cavaliere Trenta and +the priest were the witnesses. + +"There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili said, addressing +her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact day you may please to name; +but, madame"--and with a lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced +nearer to where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to touch +her--"I beg you not to keep me waiting long." + +The marchesa drew back, and contemplated him with a haughty stare. +His manner and his request were both alike offensive to her. She would +have Count Nobili to understand that she would admit no shadow of +familiarity; that her will had been forced, but that in all else she +regarded him with the same animosity as before. + +Nobili had understood her action and her meaning. "Devil!" he muttered +between his clinched teeth. He hated himself for having been betrayed +into the smallest warmth. With a flashing eye he turned from the +marchesa to Enrica, and whispered in her ear, "My only love, this is +more than I can bear!" + +Enrica had heard nothing. She had been lost in happy thoughts. In her +mind a vision was passing. She was in the close street of San Simone, +within its deep shadows that fell so early in the afternoon. Before +her stood the two grim palaces, the cavernous doorways and the +sculptured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both: one, her old home; +the other, that was to be her home. She saw herself go in here, cross +the pillared court and mount upward. It was neither day nor night, but +all shone with crystal brightness. Then Nobili's voice came to her, +and she roused herself. + +"My love," he repeated, "I must go--I must go! I cannot trust myself a +moment longer with--" + +What he had on his lips need not be written. "That lady," he added, +hastily correcting himself, and he pointed to the marchesa, who, led +by the cavaliere, had reseated herself upon the sofa, looking defiance +at everybody. + +"I have borne it all for your sake, Enrica." As Nobili spoke, he led +her aside to one of the windows. "Now, good-by," and his eyes gathered +upon her with passionate fondness; "think of me day and night." + +Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first entered, except +to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her head dropped on her breast. A +dread--a horror came suddenly upon her. "O Nobili, why must we part?" + +"Scarcely to part," he answered, pressing her hand--"only for a few +days; then always to be together." + +Enrica tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it firmly. +Then she turned away her head, and big tears rolled down her cheeks. +When at last Nobili tore himself from her, Enrica followed him to the +door, and, regardless of her aunt's furious glances, she kissed her +hand, and waved it after him. There was a world of love in the action. + +Spite of his indignation, Count Nobili did not fail duly to make his +salutation to the marchesa. + +The cavaliere and Fra Pacifico followed him out. Twilight now darkened +the garden. The fragrance of the flowers was oppressive in the still +air. A star or two had come out, and twinkled faintly on the broad +expanse of deep-blue sky. The fountain murmured hollow in the silence +of coming night. + +"Good-by," said Cavaliere Trenta to Nobili, in his thin voice. +"I deeply regret the marchesa's rudeness. She is unhinged--quite +unhinged; but her heart is excellent, believe me, most excellent." + +"Do not talk of the marchesa," exclaimed Nobili, as he rapidly +ascended flight after flight of the terraces. "Let me forget her, or I +shall never return to Corellia. Dio Sagrato!" and Nobili clinched his +fist. "The marchesa is the most cursed thing God ever created!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE CLUB AT LUCCA. + + +The piazza at Lucca is surrounded by four avenues of plane-trees. In +the centre stands the colossal statue of a Bourbon with disheveled +hair, a cornucopia at her feet. Facing the west is the ducal palace, +a spacious modern building, in which the sovereigns of Lucca kept a +splendid court. Here Cesare Trenta had flourished. Opposite the palace +is the Hotel of the Universo, where, as we know, Count Marescotti +lodged at No. 4, on the second story. Midway in the piazza a deep +and narrow street dives into the body of the city--a street of many +colors, with houses red, gray, brown, and tawny, mellowed and tempered +by the hand of Time into rich tints that melt into warm shadows. In +the background rise domes, and towers, and mediaeval church-fronts, +galleried and fretted with arches, pillars, and statues. Here a +golden mosaic blazes in the sun, yonder a brazen San Michele with +outstretched arms rises against the sky; and, scattered up and down, +many a grand old palace-roof uprears its venerable front, with open +pillared belvedere, adorned with ancient frescoes. A dull, sleepy old +city, Lucca, but full of beauty! + +On the opposite side of the piazza, behind the plane-trees, stand two +separate buildings, of no particular pretension, other than that both +are of marble. One is the theatre, the other is the club. About the +club there is some attempt at ornamentation. A wide portico, raised +on broad steps, runs along the entire front, supported by Corinthian +columns. Under this portico there are orange-trees in green stands, +rows of chairs, and tables laid with white table-cloths, plates, and +napkins, ready for an _al-fresco_ meal. + +It is five o'clock in the afternoon of a splendid day early in +October--the next day, in fact, after the contract was signed at +Corellia. The hour for the drive upon the ramparts at Lucca is not +till six. This, therefore, is the favorite moment for a lounge at the +club. The portico is dotted with black coats and hats. Baldassare lay +asleep between two chairs. He had arranged himself so as not to crease +a pair of new trousers--all'Inglese--not that any Englishman would +have worn such garments--they were too conspicuous; but his tailor +tells him they are English, and Baldassare willingly believes him. + +Baldassare is not a member, but he was admitted to the club by the +influence of his patron, the old chamberlain; not without protest, +however, with the paternal shop close by. Being there, Baldassare +stands his ground in a sullen, silent way. He has much jewelry about +him, and wears many showy rings. Trenta says publicly that these rings +are false; but Trenta is not at the club to-day. + +Lolling back in a chair near Baldassare, with his short legs crossed, +and his thumbs stuck into the arm-holes of his coat, is Count Orsetti, +smiling, fat, and innocuous. His mother has not yet decided when he is +to speak the irrevocable words to Teresa Ottolini. Orsetti is far too +dutiful a son to do so before she gives him permission. His mother +might change her mind at the last moment; then Orsetti would change +his mind, too, and burn incense on other altars. Orsetti has a +meerschaum between his teeth, from which he is puffing out columns of +smoke. With his head thrown back, he is watching it as it curls upward +into the vaulted portico. The languid young man, Orazio Franchi, +supported by a stick, is at this moment ascending the steps. To +see him drag one leg after the other, one would think his days were +numbered. Not at all. Franchi is strong and healthy, but he cultivates +languor as an accomplishment. Everybody at Lucca is idle, but +nobody is languid, so Franchi has thought fit to adopt that line of +distinction. His thin, lanky arms, stooping figure, and a head set on +a long neck that droops upon his chest, as well as a certain indolent +grace, suit the _rôle_. When Franchi had mounted the steps he stood +still, heaved an audible sigh of infinite relief, then he sank into a +chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. Count Malatesta, who was near, +leaning against the wall behind, took his cigar from his mouth and +laughed. + +"Sù!--Via!--A little courage to bear the burden of a weary life. What +has tired you, Orazio?" + +"I have walked from the gate here," answered Orazio, without unclosing +his eyes. + +"Go on, go on," is Malatesta's reply, "nothing like perseverance. You +will lose the use of your limbs in time. It is this cursed air. Per +Bacco! it will infect me. Why, oh! why, my penates, was I born at +Lucca? It is the dullest place. No one ever draws a knife, or fights a +duel, or runs away with his neighbor's wife. Why don't they? It would +be excitement. Cospetto! we marry, and are given in marriage, and +breed like pigeons in our own holes.--Come, Franchi, have you no news? +Wake up, man! You are full of wickedness, spite of your laziness." + +Franchi opened his eyes, stretched himself, then yawned, and leaned +his head upon his arm that rested on one of the small tables near. + +"News?--oh!--ah! There is plenty of news, but I am too tired to tell +it." + +"News! and I not know it!" cried Count Malatesta. + +Several others spoke, then all gathered round Franchi. Count Malatesta +slapped Franchi on the back. + +"Come, my Trojan, speak. I insist upon it," said Orsetti, rising. + +Franchi looked up at him. There was a French cook at Palazzo Orsetti. +No one had such Chateau Lafitte. Orazio is far from insensible to +these blessings. + +"Well, listen. Old Sansovino has returned to his villa at Riparata. +His wife is with him." + +"His wife?" shouted Orsetti. "Chè, chè! Any woman but his wife, and +I'll believe you. Why, she has lived for the last fifteen years +with Duke Bartolo at Venice. Sansovino did not mind the duke, but he +charged her with forgery. You remember? About her dower. There was a +lawsuit, I think. No, no--not his wife." + +"Yes, his wife," answered Franchi, crossing his arms with great +deliberation. "The Countess Sansovino was received by her attached +husband with bouquets, and a band of music. She drove up to the +front-door in gala--in a four-in-hand, _à la Daumont_. All the +tenantry were in waiting--her children too (each by a different +father)--to receive her. It was most touching. Old Sansovino did it +very well, they tell me. He clasped her to his heart, and melted into +tears like a _père noble_" + +"O Bello!" exclaimed Orsetti, "if old Sansovino cried, it must have +been with shame. After this, I will believe any thing." + +"The Countess Sansovino is very rich," a voice remarked from the +background. + +"Well, if she forges, I suppose so," another answered. + +"O Marriage! large are the folds of thy ample mantle!" cried Count +Malatesta. "Who shall say we are not free in Italy? Now, why do they +not do this kind of thing in Lucca? Will any one tell me?--I want to +know." + +There was a general laugh. "Well, they may possibly do worse," said +Franchi, languidly. + +"What do you mean?" asked Malatesta, sharply. "Is there more scandal?" + +Franchi nodded. A crowd collected round him. + +"How the devil, Franchi, do you know so much? Out with it! You must +tell us." + +"Give me time!--give me time!" was Franchi's answer. He raised his +head, and eyed them all with a look of feigned surprise. "Is it +possible no one has heard it?" + +He was answered by a general protest that nothing had been heard. + +"Nobody knows what has happened at the Universo?" Franchi asked with +unusual energy. + +"No, no!" burst forth from Malatesta and Orsetti. "No, no!" sounded +from behind. + +"That is quite possible," continued Orazio, with a cynical smile. "To +tell you the truth, I did not think you had heard it. It only happened +half an hour ago." + +"What happened?" asked Count Orsetti. + +"A secret commission has been sent from Rome." There was a breathless +silence. "The government is alarmed. A secret commission to examine +Count Marescotti's papers, and to imprison him." + +"That's his uncle's doing--the Jesuit!" cried Malatesta. "This is the +second time. Marescotti will be shut up for life." + +"Did they catch him?" asked Orsetti. + +"No; he got out of an upper window, and escaped across the roof. He +had taken all the upper floor of the Universo for his accomplices, who +were expected from Paris." + +"Honor to Lucca!" Malatesta put in. "We are progressing." + +"He's gone," continued Orazio, falling back exhausted on his chair, +"but his papers--" Here Franchi thought it right to pause and faintly +wink. "I'll tell you the rest when I have smoked a cigar. Give me a +light." + +"No, no, you must smoke afterward," said Orsetti, rapping him smartly +on the back. "Go on--what about Marescotti's papers?" + +"Compromising--very," murmured Franchi, feebly, leaning back out of +the range of Orsetti's arm. + +"The Red count was a communist, we all know," observed Malatesta. + +"_Mon cher_! he was a poet also," responded Orazio. Orazio's languor +never interfered with his love of scandal. "When any lady struck his +fancy, Marescotti made a sonnet--a damaging practice. These sonnets +are a diary of his life. The police were much diverted, I assure +you, and so was I. I was in the hotel; I gave them the key to all the +ladies." + +"You might have done better than waste your fine energies in making +ladies names public town-talk," said Orsetti, frowning. + +"Well, that's a matter of opinion," replied Orazio, with a certain +calm insolence peculiar to him. "I have no ladylove in Lucca." + +"Delicious!" broke in Malatesta, brightening up all over. "Don't +quarrel over a choice bone.--Who is compromised the most? I'll have +her name placarded. Some one must make a row." + +"Enrica Guinigi is the most compromised," answered Orazio, striking +a match to light his cigar. "Marescotti celebrates her as the young +Madonna before the archangel Gabriel visited her. Ha! ha!" + +Malatesta gave a low whistle. + +"Enrica Guinigi! Is not that the marchesa's niece?" asked Orsetti; "a +pretty, fair-faced girl I see driving with her aunt on the ramparts +sometimes?" + +"The same," answered Malatesta. "But what, in the name of all the +devils, could Marescotti know of her? No one has ever spoken to her." + +Baldassare now leaned forward and listened; the name of Enrica woke +him from his sleep. He hardly dared to join the circle formed round +Franchi, for Franchi always snubbed him, and called him "Young +Galipots," when Trenta was absent. + +"Perhaps Marescotti was the archangel Gabriel himself," said +Malatesta, with a leer. + +"But answer my question," insisted Orsetti, who, as an avowed suitor +of Lucca maidens had their honor and good name at heart. "Don't be +a fool, but tell me what you know. This idle story, involving the +reputation of a young girl, is shameful. I protest against it!" + +"Do you?" sneered Orazio, leaning back, and pulling at his sandy +mustache. "That is because you know nothing about it. This _Sainte +Vierge_ has already been much talked about--first, with Nobili, who +lives opposite--when _ma tante_ was sleeping. Then she spent a day +with several men upon the Guinigi Tower, an elegant retirement among +the crows. After that old Trenta offered her formally in marriage to +Marescotti." + +"What!--After the Guinigi Tower?" put in Malatesta. "Of course +Marescotti refused her?" + +"'Refused her, of course, with thanks.' So says the sonnet." Orazio +went on to say all this in a calm, tranquil way, casting the bread +of scandal on social waters as he puffed at his cigar. "It is very +prettily rhymed--the sonnet--I have read it. The young Madonna is +warmly painted. _Now, why did Marescotti refuse to marry her?_ That is +what I want to know." And Franchi looked round upon his audience with +a glance of gratified malice. + +"Even in Lucca!--even in Lucca!" Malatesta clapped his hands +and chuckled until he almost choked. "Laus Veneri!--the mighty +goddess!--She has reared an altar even here in this benighted city. I +was a skeptic, but a Paphian miracle has converted me. I must drink a +punch in honor of the great goddess." + +Here Baldassare rose and leaned over from behind. + +"I went up the Guinigi Tower with the party," he ventured to say. +"There were four of us. The Cavaliere Trenta told me in the street +just before that it was all right, and that the lady had agreed to +marry Count Marescotti. There can be no secret about it now that every +one knows it. Count Marescotti raved so about the Signorina Enrica, +that he nearly jumped over the parapet." + +"Better for her if you had helped him over," muttered Orazio, with a +sarcastic stare. "The sonnet would not then have been written." + +But Baldassare, conscious that he had intelligence that would make +him welcome, stood his ground. "You do not seem to know what has +happened," he continued. + +"More news!" cried Malatesta. "Gracious heavens! Wave after wave it +comes!--a mighty sea. I hear the distant roar--it dashes high!--It +breaks!--Speak, oh, speak, Adonis!" + +"The Marchesa Guinigi has left Lucca suddenly." + +"Who cares? Do you, Pietrino?" asked Franchi of Orsetti, with a +contemptuous glance at Baldassare. + +"Let him speak," cried Malatesta; "Baldassare is an oracle." + +"The marchesa left Lucca suddenly," persisted Baldassare, not daring +to notice Orsetti's insolence. "She took her niece with her." + +"Have it cried about the streets," interrupted Orazio, opening his +eyes. + +"Yesterday morning an express came down for Cavaliere Trenta. The +ancient tower of Corellia has been entirely burnt. The marchesa was +rescued." + +"And the niece--is the niece gone to glory on the funeral-pyre?" + +"No," answered Baldassare, helplessly, settling his stupid eyes on +Orazio, whose thrusts he could not parry. "She was saved by Count +Nobili, who was accidentally shooting on the mountains near." + +"Oh, bah!" cried Malatesta, with a knowing grin; "I never believe in +accidents. There is a ruling power. That power is love--love--love." + +"The cavaliere is not yet returned." + +"This is a strange story," said Orsetti, gravely. "Nobili too, and +Marescotti. She must be a lively damsel. What will Nera Boccarini say +to her truant knight, who rescues maidens _accidentally_ on distant +mountains? What had Nobili to do in the Garfagnana?" + +"Ask him," lisped Orazio; "it will save more talking. I wish Nobili +joy of his bargain," he added, turning to Malatesta. + +"I wonder that he cares to take up with Marescotti's leavings." + +"Here's Ruspoli, crossing the square. Perhaps he can throw some light +on this strange story," said Orsetti. + +Prince Ruspoli, still at Lucca, is on a visit to some relatives. He +is, as I have said, decidedly horsey, and is much looked up to by the +"golden youths," his companions, in consequence. As a gentleman rider +at races and steeple-chases, as a hunter on the Roman Campagna, and +the driver of a "stage" on the Corso, Ruspoli is unrivaled. He breeds +racers, and he has an English stud-groom, who has taught him to speak +English with a drawl, enlivened by stable-slang. He is slim, fair, and +singularly awkward, and of a uniform pale yellow--yellow complexion, +yellow hair, and yellow eyebrows. Poole's clothes never fit him, and +he walks, as he dances, with his legs far apart, as if a horse +were under him. He carries a hunting-whip in his hand spite of the +month--October (these little anomalies are undetected in New Italy, +where there is so much to learn). Prince Ruspoli swings round this +whip as he mounts the steps of the club. The others, who are watching +his approach, are secretly devoured with envy. + +"Wall, Pietrino--wall, Beppo," said Ruspoli, shaking hands with +Orsetti and Malatesta, and nodding to Orazio, out of whose sails he +took the wind by force of stolid indifference (Baldassare he ignored, +or mistook him for a waiter, if he saw him at all), "you are all +discussing the news, of course. Lucca's lively to-day. You'll all +do in time, even to steeple-chases. We must run one down on the low +grounds in the spring. Dick, my English groom, is always plaguing me +about it." + +Then Prince Ruspoli pulled himself together with a jerk, as a man does +stiff from the saddle, laid his hunting-whip upon a table, stuffed his +hands into his pockets, and looked round. + +"What news have you heard?" asked Beppo Malatesta. "There's such a +lot." + +"Wall, the news I have heard is, that Count Nobili is engaged to marry +the Marchesa Guinigi's little niece. Dear little thing, they say--like +an English '_mees_'--fair, with red hair." + +"Is that your style of beauty?" lisped Orazio, looking hard at him. +But Ruspoli did not notice him. + +"But that's not half," cried Malatesta. "You are an innocent, Ruspoli. +Let me baptize you with scandal." + +"Don't, don't, I hate scandal," said Ruspoli, taking one of his hands +out of his pocket for a moment, and holding it up in remonstrance. +"There is nothing but scandal in these small Italian towns. Take to +hunting, that's the cure. Nobili is to marry the little girl, that's +certain. He's to pay off all the marchesa's debts, that's certain too. +He's rich, she's poor. He wants blood, she has got it." + +"I do not believe in this marriage," said Orazio, measuring Prince +Ruspoli as he stood erect, his slits of eyes without a shadow of +expression. "You remember the ballroom, prince? And the Boccarini +family grouped--and Nobili crying in a corner? Nobili will marry the +Boccarini. She is a stunner." + +After Orazio had ventured this observation about Nera Boccarini, +Prince Ruspoli brought his small, steely eyes to bear upon him with a +fixed stare. + +Orazio affected total unconsciousness, but he quailed inwardly. The +others silently watched Ruspoli. He took up his hunting-whip and +whirled it in the air dangerously near Orazio's head, eying him all +the while as a dog eyes a rat he means to crunch between his teeth. + +"Whoever says that Count Nobili will marry the Boccarini, is a liar!" +Prince Ruspoli spoke with perfect composure, still whirling his whip. +"I shall be happy to explain my reason anywhere, out of the city, on +the shortest notice." + +Orazio started up. "Prince Ruspoli, do you call me a liar?" + +"I beg your pardon," replied Ruspoli, quite unmoved, making Orazio a +mock bow. "Did you say whom Count Nobili would marry? If you did, will +you favor me by repeating it?" + +"I only report town-talk," Franchi answered, sullenly. "I am not +answerable for town-talk." + +Ruspoli was a dead-shot; Orazio only fought with swords. + +"Then I am satisfied," replied Ruspoli, quiet defiance in his look and +tone. "I accuse you, Signore Orazio Franchi, of nothing. I only warn +you." + +"I don't see why we should quarrel about Nobili's marriage. He will +be here himself presently, to explain which of the ladies he prefers," +observed the peaceable Orsetti. + +"I don't know which lady Count Nobili prefers," retorted Ruspoli, +doggedly. "But I tell you the name of the lady he is to marry. It is +Enrica Guinigi." + +"Why, there is Count Nobili!" cried Baldassare, quite loud--"there, +under the plane-trees." + +"Bravo, Adonis!" cried Beppo; "your eyes are as sharp as your feet are +swift." + +Nobili crossed the square; he was coming toward the club. Every face +was turned toward him. He had come down to Lucca like one maddened +by the breath of love. All along the road he had felt drunk with +happiness. To him love was everywhere--in the deep gloom of the +mountain-forests, in the flowing river, diamonded with light under the +pale moonbeams; in the splendor of the starry sky, in midnight dreams +of bliss, and in the awakening of glorious morning. The two old +palaces were full of love--the Moorish garden; the magnolias that +overtopped the wall, and the soft, creamy perfume that wafted from +them; the very street through which he should lead her home; every one +he saw; all he said, thought, or did--it was all love and Enrica! + +Now, having with lover's haste made good progress with all he had +to do, Nobili has come down to the club to meet his friends, and to +receive their congratulations. Every hand is stretched out toward him. +Even Ruspoli, spite of obvious jealousy, liked him. Nobili's face +is lit up with its sunniest smile. Having shaken hands with him, an +ominous silence ensues. Orsetti and Malatesta suddenly find that their +cigars want relighting, and turn aside. Orazio seats himself at a +distance, and scowls at Prince Ruspoli. Nobili gives a quick glance +round. An instant tells him that something is wrong. + +Prince Ruspoli breaks the awkward silence. He walks up, looks at +Nobili with immovable gravity, then slaps him on the shoulder. + +"I congratulate you, Nobili. I hear you are to marry the Marchesa +Guinigi's niece." + +"Balduccio, I thank you. Within a week I hope to bring her home to +Lucca. There will then be but one Guinigi home in the two palaces. The +marchesa makes her heiress of all she possesses." + +Prince Ruspoli is satisfied. Now he will back Count Nobili to any +odds. He will name his next foal Mario Nobili. + +Again Nobili glances round; this time there is the shadow of a frown +upon his smooth brow. Orsetti feels that he must speak. + +"Have you known the lady long?" Orsetti asks, with an embarrassment +foreign to him. + +"Yes, and no," answers Nobili, reddening, and scanning the veiled +expression on Orsetti's face with intense curiosity. "But the +matter has been brought to a crisis by the accidental burning of the +marchesa's house at Corellia. I was present--I saved her niece." + +"I thought it was rather sudden," says Orazio, from behind, in a tone +full of suggestion. "We were in doubt, before you came, to whom the +lady was engaged." + +Nobili starts. + +"What do you mean?" he asks, hastily. + +The color has left his cheeks; his blue eyes grow dark. + +"There has been some foolish gossip from persons who know nothing," +Orsetti answers, advancing to the front. "About some engagement with +another gentleman, whom she had accepted--" + +"Nonsense! Don't listen to him, my good fellow," breaks in Ruspoli. +"These lads have nothing to do but to breed scandal. They would +slander the Virgin; not for wickedness, but for idleness. I mean to +make them hunt. Hunting is the cure." + +Nobili stands as if turned to stone. + +"But I must listen," replies Nobili, fiercely, fire flaming in his +eyes. "This lady's honor is my own. Who has dared to couple her name +with any other man? Orsetti--Ruspoli"--and he turns to them in great +excitement--"you are my friends. What does this mean?" + +"Nothing," said Orsetti, trying to smile, but not succeeding. "I hear, +Nobili, you have behaved with extraordinary generosity," he adds, +fencing the question. + +"Yes, by Jove!" adds Prince Ruspoli. Ruspoli was leaning up against +a pillar, watching Orazio as he would a mischievous cur. "A most +suitable marriage. Not that I care a button for blood, except in +horses." + +Nobili has not moved, but, as each speaks, his eye shifts rapidly from +one to the other. His face from pale grows livid, and there is a throb +about his temples that sounds in his ears like a thousand hammers. + +"Orsetti," Nobili says, sternly, "I address myself to you. You are the +oldest here. You are the first man I knew after I came to Lucca. You +are all concealing something from me. I entreat you, Orsetti, as man +to man, tell me whose name has been coupled with that of my affianced +wife? That it is a lie I know beforehand--a base and palpable lie! She +has been reared at home in perfect solitude." + +Nobili spoke with passionate vehemence. The hot blood rushed over his +face and neck, and tingled to his very fingers. Now he glances from +man to man in an appeal defiant, yet pleading, pitiful to behold. +Every face grows grave. + +Orsetti is the first to reply. + +"I feel deeply for you, Nobili. We all love you." + +"Yes, all," responded Malatesta and Ruspoli, speaking together. + +"You must not attach too much importance to idle gossip," says +Orsetti. + +"No, no," cried Ruspoli, "don't. I will stand by you, Nobili. I know +the lady by sight--a little English beau" + +"Scandal! Who is the man? By God, I'll have his blood within this very +hour!" + +Nobili is now wrought up beyond all endurance. + +"You can't," says Orazio Franchi, tapping his heel upon the marble +pavement. "He's gone." + +"Gone! I'll follow him to hell!" roars Nobili "Who is he?" + +"Possibly he may find his own way there in time," answers Orazio, with +a sneer. He rises so as to increase the distance between himself and +Prince Ruspoli. "But as yet the wretch crawls on mother earth." + +"Silence, Orazio!" shouts Ruspoli, "or you may go there yourself +quicker than Marescotti." + +"Marescotti! Is that the name?" cries Nobili, with a hungry eye, that +seems to thirst for vengeance. "Who is Marescotti?" + +"This is some horrid fiction," Nobili mutters to himself. Stay!--Where +had he heard that name lately? He gnawed his fingers until the blood +came, and a crimson drop fell upon the marble floor. Suddenly an +icy chill rose at his heart. He could not breathe. He sank into a +chair--then rose again, and stood before Orsetti with a face out of +which ten years of youth had fled. Yes, Marescotti--that is the very +man Enrica had mentioned to him under the trees at Corellia. Each +letter of it blazes in fire before his eyes. Yes--she had said +Marescotti had read her eyes. "O God!" and Nobili groans aloud, and +buries his face within his hands. + +"You take this too much to heart, my dear Mario," Count Orsetti said; +"indeed you do, else I would not say so. Remember there is nothing +proved. Be careful," Orsetti whispered in the other's ear, glancing +round. Every eye was riveted on Nobili. + +Orsetti felt that Nobili had forgotten the public place and the others +present--such as Count Malatesta, Orazio Franchi, and Baldassare, who, +though they had not spoken, had devoured every word. + +"It is nothing but a sonnet found among Marescotti's papers." Orsetti +now was speaking. "Marescotti has fled from the police. Nothing but a +sonnet addressed to the lady--a poet's day-dream--untrue of course." + +"Will no one tell me what the sonnet said?" demanded Nobili. He had +mastered himself for the moment. + +"Stuff, stuff!" cried Ruspoli. "Every pretty woman has heaps of +sonnets and admirers. It is a brevet of beauty. After all this row, it +was only an offer of marriage made to Count Marescotti and refused by +him. Probably the lady never knew it." + +"Oh, yes, she did, she accepted him," sounded from behind. It was +Baldassare, whose vanity was piqued because no one had referred to him +for information. + +"Accepted! Refused by Count Marescotti!" Nobili caught and repeated +the words in a voice so strange, it sounded like the echo from a +vault. + +"Wall! by Jove! It's five o'clock!" exclaimed Prince Ruspoli, looking +at his watch. "My dear fellow," he said, addressing Nobili, "I have an +appointment on the ramparts; will you go with me?" He passed his arm +through that of Nobili. It was a painful scene, which Ruspoli desired +to end. Nobili shook his head. He was so stunned and dazed he could +not speak. + +"If it is five o'clock," said Malatesta, "I must go too." + +Malatesta drew Nobili a little apart. "Don't think too much of this, +Nobili. It will all blow over and be forgotten in a month. Take your +wife a trip to Paris or London. We shall hear no more of it, believe +me. Good-by." + +"Count Nobili," called out Franchi, from the other end of the portico, +making a languid bow, "after all that I have heard, I congratulate you +on your marriage most sincerely." + +Nobili did not hear him. All were gone. He was alone with Ruspoli. His +head had dropped upon his breast. There was the shadow of a tear in +Prince Ruspoli's steely eye. It was not enough to be brushed off, for +it absorbed itself and came to nothing, but it was there nevertheless. + +"Wall, Mario," he said, apparently unmoved, "it seems to me the club +is made too hot to hold you. Come home." + +Nobili nodded. He was so weak he had to hang heavily on Prince +Ruspoli's arm as they crossed the piazza. Prince Ruspoli did not leave +him until he saw him safe to his own door. + +"You will judge what is right to do," were Ruspoli's last words. "But +do not be guided by those young scamps. They live in mischief. If you +love the girl, marry her--that is my advice." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS. + + +I have seen a valley canopied by a sky of blue and opaline, girt in +by wooded heights, on which the sun poured down in mid-day splendor. +A broad river sparkled downward, giving back ray for ray. The forest +glowed without a shadow. Each little detail of leaf or stone, even a +blade of grass, was turned to flame. The corn lay smooth and golden. +The grapes and olives hung safe upon the branch. The flax--a goodly +crop--reached to the trees. The peasants labored in the rich brown +soil, singing to the oxen. The women sat spinning beside their doors. +A little maid led out her snowy lamb to graze among the woods, and +children played at "morra" beside the river, which ran at peace, +lapping the silver sand. + +A cloud gathers behind the mountains--yonder, where they come +interlacing down, narrowing the valley. It is a little cloud, no one +observes it; yet it gathers and spreads and blackens, until the sky is +veiled. The sun grows pale. A greenish light steals over the earth. In +the still air there is a sudden freshness. The tall canes growing in +the brakes among the vineyards rustle as if shaken by a spectral +hand. The white-leaved aspens quiver. An icy wind sweeps down the +mountain-sides. A flash of lightning shoots across the sky. Then the +storm bursts. Thunder rolls, and cracks, and crashes; as if the brazen +gates of heaven clashed to and fro. The peasants fly, driving their +cattle before them. The pig's run grunting homeward. The helpless lamb +is stricken where it stands, crouching in a deep gorge; the little +maid sits weeping by. Down beats the hail like pebbles. It strikes +upon the vines, scorches and blackens them. The wheat is leveled +to the ground. The river suddenly swells into a raging torrent. Its +turbid waters bear away the riches of the poor--the cow that served a +little household and followed the children, lowing, to reedy meadows +bathed by limpid streams--a horse caught browsing in a peaceful vale, +thinking no ill--great trees hurling destruction with them. Rafters, +roofs of houses, sometimes a battered corpse, float by. + +The roads are broken up. The bridge is snapped. Years will not repair +the fearful ravage. The evening sun sets on a desolate waste. Men sit +along the road-side wringing their hands beside their ruined crops. +Children creep out upon their naked feet, and look and wonder. Where +is the little kid that ran before and licked their hands? Where is the +gray-skinned, soft-eyed cow that hardly needed a cord to lead her? The +shapely cob, so brave with its tinkling bells and crimson tassels? The +cob that daddy drove to market, and many merry fairs? Gone with the +storm! all gone! + + * * * * * + +Count Nobili was like the Italian climate--in extremes. Like his +native soil, he must live in the sunshine. His was not a nature to +endure a secret sorrow. He must be kissed, caressed, and smoothed by +tender hands and loving voices. He must have applause, approval, be +flattered, envied, and followed. Hitherto all this had come naturally +to him. His gracious temper, generous heart, and great wealth, had +made all bright about him. Now a sudden storm had swept over him and +brought despair into his heart. + +When Prince Ruspoli left him, Nobili felt as battered and sore as if a +whirlwind had caught him, then let him go, and he had dropped to earth +a broken man. Yet in the turmoil of his brain a pale, scared little +face, with wild, beseeching eyes, was ever before him. It would not +leave him. What was this horrible nightmare that had come over him in +the heyday of his joy? It was so vague, yet so tangible if judged by +its effect on others. Others held Enrica dishonored, that was clear. +Was she dishonored? He was bound to her by every tie of honor. He +loved her. She had a charm for him no other woman ever possessed, and +she loved him. A women's eye, he told himself, had never deceived him. +Yes, she loved him. Yet if Enrica were as guileless as she seemed, how +could she conceal from him she had another lover--less loved perhaps +than he--but still a lover? And this lover had refused to marry her? +That was the stab. That every one in Lucca should know his future +bride had been scouted by another man who had turned a rhyme upon her, +and left her! Could he bear this? + +What were Enrica's relations with Marescotti? Some one had said she +had accepted him. Nobili was sure he had heard this. He, Marescotti, +must have approached her nearly by her own confession. He had +celebrated her in sonnets, amorous sonnets--damnable thought!--gone +with her to the Guinigi Tower--then rejected her! A mist seemed to +gather about Nobili as he thought of this. He grew stupid in +long vistas of speculation. Had Enrica not dared to meet +him--Nobili--clandestinely? Was not this very act unmaidenly? (Such +are men: they urge the slip, the fall, then judge a woman by the +force of their own urging!) Had Enrica met Marescotti in secret also? +No--impossible! The scared, white face was before Nobili, now plainer +than ever. No--he hated himself for the very thought. All the chivalry +of his nature rose up to acquit her. + +Still there was a mystery. How far was Enrica concerned in it? Would +she have married Count Marescotti? Trenta was away, or he would +question him. _Had he better ask? What might he hear_? Some one had +deceived him grossly. The marchesa would stick at nothing; yet what +could the marchesa have done without Enrica? Nobili was perplexed +beyond expression. He buried his head within his arms, and leaned upon +a table in an agony of doubt. Then he paced up and down the splendid +room, painted with frescoed walls, and hung with rose and silver +draperies from Paris (it was to have been Enrica's boudoir), looking +south into a delicious town-garden, with statues, and flower-beds, +and terraces of marble diamonded in brilliant colors. To be so +cheated!--to be the laughing-stock of Lucca! Good God! how could he +bear it? To marry a wife who would be pointed at with whispered words! +Of all earthly things this was the bitterest! Could he bear it?--and +Enrica--would she not suffer? And if she did, what then? Why, she +deserved it--she must deserve it, else why was she accused? Enrica was +treacherous--the tool of her aunt. He could not doubt it. If she +cared for him at all, it was for the sake of his money--hateful +thought!--yet, having signed the contract, he supposed he _must_ +give her the name of wife. But the future mother of his children was +branded. + +Oh, the golden days at mountain-capped Corellia!--that watching in the +perfumed woods--that pleading with the stars that shone over Enrica +to bear her his love-sick sighs! Oh, the triumph of saving her dear +life!--the sweetness of her lips in that first embrace under the +magnolia-tree! Fra Pacifico too, with his honest, sturdy ways--and the +white-haired cavaliere, so wise and courteous. Cheats, cheats--all! +It made him sick to think how they must have laughed and jeered at him +when he was gone. Oh, it was damnable! + +His teeth were set. He started up as if he had been stung, and stamped +upon the floor. Then like a madman he rushed up and down the spacious +floor. After a time, brushing the drops of perspiration from his +forehead, Nobili grew calmer. He sat down to think. + +Must he marry Enrica?--he asked himself (he had come to that)--marry +the lady of the sonnet--Marescotti's love? He did not see how he could +help it. The contract was signed, and nothing proved against her. +Well--life was long, and the world wide, and full of pleasant things. +Well--he must bear it--unless there had been sin! Nobili did not see +it, nor did he hear it; but much that is never seen, nor heard, nor +known, is yet true--horribly true. He did see it, but as he thought +these cruel thoughts, and hardened himself in them, a pale, scared +face, with wild, pleading eyes, vanished with a shriek of anguish. + +Others had loved him well, Nobili reasoned--other women--"_Not so well +as I_" an inaudible voice would have whispered, but it was no longer +there to answer--others that had not been rejected--others fairer than +Enrica--Nera! + +With that name there came a world of comfort to him. Nera loved +him--she loved him! He had not seen Nera since that memorable night +she lay like one dead before him. Before he took a final resolve +(by-and-by he must investigate, inquire, know when, and how, and by +whom, all this talk had come), would it not be well to see Nera? It +was a duty, he told himself, he owed her; a duty delayed too long; +only Enrica had so absorbed him. Nera would have heard the town-talk. +How would she take it? Would she be glad, or sorry, he wondered? Then +came a longing upon Nobili he could not resist, to know if Nera still +loved him. If so, what constancy! It deserved reward. He had treated +her shamefully. How sweet her company would be if she would see him! +At all events, he could but try. At this point he rose and rang the +bell. + +When the servant came, Nobili ordered his dinner. He was hungry, he +said, and would eat at once. His carriage he should require later. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +NERA. + + +Close to the Church of San Michele, where a brazen archangel with +outstretched wings flaunts in the blue sky, is the narrow, crypt-like +street of San Salvador. Here stands the Boccarini Palace. It is an +ancient structure, square and large, with an overhanging roof and +open, pillared gallery. On the first floor there is a stone balcony. +Four rows of windows divide the front. The lower ones, barred with +iron, are dismal to the eye. Over the principal entrance are the +Boccarini arms, carved on a stone escutcheon, supported by two angels, +the whole so moss-eaten the details cannot be traced. Above is a +marquis's coronet in which a swallow has built its nest. Both in and +out it is a house where poverty has set its seal. The family is dying +out. When Marchesa Boccarini dies, the palace will be sold, and the +money divided among her daughters. + +As dusk was settling into night a carriage rattled along the deserted +street. The horses--a pair of splendid bays--struck sparks out of the +granite pavement. With a bang they draw up at the entrance, under an +archway, guarded by a _grille_ of rusty iron. A bell is rung; it only +echoes through the gloomy court. The bell was rung again, but no one +came. At last steps were heard, and a dried-up old man, with a face +like parchment, and little ferret eyes, appeared, hastily dragging his +arms into a coat much too large for him. + +He shuffled to the front and bowed. Taking a key from his pocket he +unlocked the iron gates, then planted himself on the threshold, and +turned his ear toward the well-appointed brougham, and Count Nobili +seated within. + +"Do the ladies receive?" Nobili called out. The old man nodded, +bringing his best ear and ferret eyes to bear upon him. + +"Yes, the ladies do receive. Will the excellency descend?" + +Count Nobili jumped out and hurried through the archway into a court +surrounded by a colonnade. + +It is very dark. The palace rises upward four lofty stories. Above is +a square patch of sky, on which a star trembles. The court is full +of damp, unwholesome odors. The foot slips upon the slimy pavement. +Nobili stopped. The old man came limping after, buttoning his coat +together. + +"Ah! poor me!--The excellency is young!" He spoke in the odd, muffled +voice, peculiar to the deaf. "The excellency goes so fast he will fall +if he does not mind. Our court-yard is very damp; the stairs are old." + +"Which is the way up-stairs?" Nobili asked, impatiently. "It is so +dark I have forgotten the turn." + +"Here, excellency--here to the right. By the Madonna there, in the +niche, with the light before it. A thousand excuses! The excellency +will excuse me, but I have not yet lit the lamp on the stairs. I +was resting. There are so many visitors to the Signora Marchesa. The +excellency will not tell the Signora Marchesa that it was dark upon +the stairs? Per pieta!" + +The shriveled old man placed himself full in Nobili's path, and held +out his hands like claws entreatingly. + +"A thousand devils!--no," was Nobili's irate reply, pushing him back. +"Let me go up; I shall say nothing. Cospetto! What is it to me?" + +"Thanks! thanks! The excellency is full of mercy to an old, overworked +servant. There was a time when the Boccarini--" + +Nobili did not wait to hear more, but strode through the darkness at +hazard, to find the stairs. + +"Stop! stop! the excellency will break his limbs against the wall!" +the old man shouted. + +He fumbled in his pocket, and drew out some matches. He struck one +against the wall, held it above his head, and pointed with his bony +finger to a broad stone stair under an inner arch. + +Nobili ascended rapidly; he was in no mood for delay. The old man, +standing at the foot, struck match after match to light him. + +"Above, excellency, you will find our usual lamps. You must go on to +the second story." + +On the landing at the first floor there was still a little daylight +from a window as big as if set in the tribune of a cathedral. Here a +lamp was placed on an old painted table. Some moth-eaten tapestry hung +from a mildewed wall. Here and there a rusty nail had given way, and +the stuff fell in downward folds. Nobili paused. His head was hot and +dizzy. He had dined well, and he had drunk freely. His eyes traveled +upward to the old tapestry--(it was the daughter of Herodias dancing +before Herod the cancan of the day). Something in the face and figure +of the girl recalled Nera to him, or he fancied it--his mind being +full of her. Nobili envied Herod in a dreamy way, who, with round, +leaden eyes, a crown upon his head--watched the dancing girl as she +flung about her lissome limbs. Nobili envied Herod--and the thought +came across him, how pleasant it would be to sit royally enthroned, +and see Nera gambol so! From that--quicker than I can write it--his +thoughts traveled backward to that night when he had danced with Nera +at the Orsetti ball. Again the refrain of that waltz buzzed in +his ear. Again the measure rose and fell in floods of luscious +sweetness--again Nera lay within his arms--her breath was on his +cheek--the perfume of the flowers in her flossy hair was wafted in the +air--the blood stirred in his veins. + +The old man said truly. All the way up the second stair was lit by +little lamps, fed by mouldy oil; and all the way up that waltz rang +in Nobili's ear. It mounted to his brain like fumes of new wine tapped +from the skin. A green door of faded baize faced him on the upper +landing, and another bell--a red tassel fastened to a bit of whipcord. +He rang it hastily. This time a servant came promptly. He carried in +his hand a lamp of brass. + +"Did the ladies receive?" + +"They did," was the answer; and the servant held the lamp aloft to +light Nobili into the anteroom. + +This anteroom was as naked as a barrack. The walls were painted in +a Raphaelesque pattern, the coronet and arms of the Boccarini in the +centre. + +Count Nobili and the servant passed through many lofty rooms of faded +splendor. Chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and reflected the +light of the brass lamp on a thousand crystal facets. The tall mirrors +in the antique frames repeated it. In a cavern-like saloon, hung with +rows of dark pictures upon amber satin, Nobili and the servant stopped +before a door. The servant knocked; A voice said, "Enter." It was the +voice of Marchesa Boccarini. She was sitting with her three daughters. +A lamp, with a colored shade, stood in the centre of a small room, +bearing some aspect of life and comfort. The marchesa and two of her +daughters were working at some mysterious garments, which rapidly +vanished out of sight. Nera was leaning back on a sofa, superbly +idle--staring idly at an opposite window, where the daylight still +lingered. When Count Nobili was announced, they all rose and spoke +together with the loud peacock voices, and the rapid utterance, which +in Italy are supposed to mark a special welcome. Strange that in +the land of song the talking voices of women should be so harsh and +strident! Yet so it is. + +"How long is it since we have seen you, Count Nobili?" It was the +sad-faced marchesa who spoke, and tried to smile a welcome to him. "I +have to thank you for many inquiries, and all sorts of luxuries sent +to my dear child. But we expected you. You never came." + +The two sisters echoed, "You never came." + +Nera did not speak then, but when they had finished, she rose from the +sofa and stood before Nobili drawn up to her full height, radiant +in sovereign beauty. "I have to thank you most." As Nera spoke, her +cheeks flushed, and she dropped her hand into his. It was a simple +act, but full of purpose as Nera did it. Nera intended it should be +so. She reseated herself. As his eye met hers, Nobili grew crimson. +The twilight and the shaded lamp hid this in part, but Nera observed +it, and noted it for future use. + +Count Nobili placed himself beside the marchesa. + +"I am overwhelmed with shame," he said. "What you say is too true. +I had intended coming. Indeed, I waited until your daughter"--and he +glanced at Nera--"could receive me, and satisfy me herself she was not +hurt. I longed to make my penitent excuses for the accident." + +"Oh! it was nothing," said Nera, with a smile, answering for her +mother. + +"What I suffered, no words can tell," continued, Nobili. "Even now I +shudder to think of it--to be the cause--" + +"No, not the cause," answered Marchesa Boccarini. + +The elder sisters echoed-- + +"Not the cause." + +"It was the ribbon," continued the marchesa. "Nera was entangled with +the ribbon when she rose; she did not know it." + +"I ought to have held her up," returned Nobili with a glance at Nera, +who, with a kind of queenly calm, looked him full in the face with her +bold, black eyes. + +"I assure you, marchesa, it was the horror of what I had done that +kept me from calling on you." + +This was not true, and Nera knew it was not true. Nobili had not come, +because he dreaded his weakness and her power. Nobili had not come, +because he doted on Enrica to that excess, a thought alien to her +seemed then to him a crime. What folly! Now he knew Enrica better! All +that was changed. + +"We have felt very grateful," went on to say the marchesa, "I assure +you, Count Nobili, very grateful." + +The poor lady was much exercised in spirit as to how she could frame +an available excuse for leaving the count alone with Nera. Had she +only known beforehand, she would have arranged a little plan to do +so, naturally. But it must be done, she knew. It must be done at any +price, or Nera would never forgive her. + +"You have been so agreeably occupied, too," Nera said, in a firm, full +voice. "No wonder, Count Nobili, you had no time to visit us." + +There was a mute reproach in these few words that made Nobili wince. + +"I have been absent," he replied, much confused. + +"Yes, absent in mind and body," and Nera laughed a cruel little laugh. +"You have been at Corellia, I believe?" she added, significantly, +fixing him with her lustrous eyes. + +"Yes, I have been at Corellia, shooting." Nobili shrank from shame +at the lack of courtesy on his part which had made these social lies +needful. How brilliant Nera was! + +A type of perfect womanhood. Fresh, and strong, and healthy--a mother +for heroes. + +"We have heard of you," went on Nera, throwing her grand head +backward, a quiet deliberation in each word, as if she were dropping +them out, word by word, like poison. "A case of Perseus and Andromeda, +only you rescued the lady from the flames. You half killed me, Count +Nobili, and _en revanche_ you have saved another lady. She must be +very grateful." + +"O Nera!" one of her sisters exclaimed, reproachfully. These innocent +sisters never could accommodate themselves to Nera's caustic tongue. + +Nera gave her sister a look. She rose at once; then the other sister +rose also. They both slipped out of the room. + +"Now," thought the marchesa, "I must go, too." + +"May I be permitted," she said, rising, "before I leave the room +to speak to my confessor, who is waiting for me, on a matter of +business"--this was an excellent sham, and sounded decorous and +natural--"may I be permitted, Count Nobili, to congratulate you on +your approaching marriage? I do not know Enrica Guinigi, but I hear +that she is lovely." + +Nobili bowed with evident constraint. + +"And I," said Nera, softly, directing a broadside upon him from her +brilliant eyes--"allow me to congratulate you also." + +"Thank you," murmured Nobili, scarcely able to form the words. + +"Excuse me," the marchesa said. She courtesied to Nobili and left the +room. + +Nobili and Nera were now alone. Nobili watched her under his eyelids. +Yes, she was splendid. A luxuriant form, a skin mellow and ruddy as a +ripe peach, and such eyes! + +Nera was silent. She guessed his thoughts. She knew men so well. Men +had been her special study. Nera was only twenty-four, but she was +clever, and would have excelled in any thing she pleased. To draw men +to her, as the magnet draws the needle, was the passion of her life; +whether she cared for them or not, to draw them. Not to succeed argued +a want of skill. That maddened her. She was keen and hot upon the +scent, knocking over her man as a sportsman does his bird, full in +the breast. Her aim was marriage. Count Nobili would have suited +her exactly. She had felt for him a warmth that rarely quickened her +pulses. Nobili had evaded her. But revenge is sweet. Now his hour is +come. + +"Count Nobili"--Nera's tempting looks spoke more than words--"come and +sit down by me." She signed to him to place himself upon the sofa. + +Nobili rose as she bade him. He came upon his fate without a word. +Seated so near to Nera, he gazed into her starry eyes, and felt it did +him good. + +"You look ill," Nera said, tuning her voice to a tone of tender pity; +"you have grown older too since I last saw you. Is it love, or grief, +or jealousy, or what?" + +Nobili heaved a deep sigh. His hand, which rested near hers, slipped +forward, and touched her fingers. Nera withdrew them to smooth +the braids of her glossy hair. While she did so she scanned Nobili +closely. "You are not a triumphant lover, certainly. What is the +matter?" + +"You are very good to care," answered Nobili, sighing again, gazing +into her face; "once I thought that my fate did touch you." + +"Yes, once," Nera rejoined. "Once--long ago." She gave an airy laugh +that grated on Nobili's ears. "But we meet so seldom." + +"True, true," he answered hurriedly, "too seldom." His manner was +most constrained. It was plain his mind was running upon some unspoken +thought. + +"Yes," Nera said. "Spite of your absence, however you make yourself +remembered. You give us so much to talk of! Such a succession of +surprises!" + +One by one Nera's phrases dropped out, suggesting so much behind. + +Nobili, greatly excited, felt he must speak or flee. + +"I must confess," she added, giving a stealthy glance out of the +corners of her eyes, "you have surprised me. When do you bring your +wife home, Count Nobili?" As Nera asked this question she bent over +Nobili, so that her breath just swept his heated cheek. + +"Never, perhaps!" cried Nobili, wildly. He could contain himself no +longer. His heart beat almost to bursting. A desperate seduction was +stealing over him. "Never, perhaps!" he repeated. + +Nera gave a little start; then she drew back and leaned against the +sofa, gazing at him. + +"I am come to you, Nera"--Nobili spoke in a hoarse voice--his features +worked with agitation--"I am come to tell you all; to ask you what I +shall do. I am distracted, heart-broken, degraded! Nera, dear Nera, +will you help me? In mercy say you will!" + +He had grasped her hand--he was covering it with hot kisses. He was +so heated with wine and beauty, and a sense of wrong, he had lost all +self-command. + +Nera did not withdraw her hand. Her eyelids dropped, and she replied, +softly: + +"Help you? Oh! so willingly. Could you see my heart you would +understand me." + +She stopped. + +"You can make all right," urged Nobili, maddened by her seductions. + +Again that waltz was buzzing in his ears. Nobili was about to clasp +her in his arms, and ask her he knew not what, when Nera rose, and +seated herself upon a chair opposite to him. + +"You leave me," cried Nobili, piteously, seizing her dress. "That is +not helping me." + +"I must know what you want," she answered, settling the folds of her +dress about her. "Of course, in making this marriage, you have weighed +all the consequences? I take that for granted." + +As Nera spoke she leaned her head upon her hand; the rich beauty of +her face was brought under the lamp's full light. + +"I thought I had," was Nobili's reply, recalled by her movement to +himself, and speaking with more composure--"I thought I had--but +within the last three hours every thing is changed. I have been +insulted at the club." + +"Ah!--you must expect that sort of thing if you marry Enrica Guinigi. +That is inevitable." + +Nobili knit his brows. This was hard from her. + +"What reason do you give for this?" he asked, trying to master his +feelings. "I came to ask you this." + +"Reason, my dear count?" and a smile parted Nera's lips. "A very +obvious reason. Why force me to name it? No one can respect you if you +make such a marriage. You will be always liked--you are so charming." +She paused to fling an amorous glance upon him. "Why did you select +the Guinigi girl?" The question was sharply put. "The marchesa would +never receive you. Why choose her niece?" + +"Because I liked her." Nobili was driven to bay. "A man chooses the +woman he likes." + +"How strange!" exclaimed Nera, throwing up her hands. "How strange!--A +pale-faced school-girl! But--ha! ha!"--(that discordant laugh almost +betrayed her)--"she is not so, it seems." + +Nobili changed color. With every word Nera uttered, he grew hot or +cold, soothed or wild, by turns. Nera watched it all. She read Nobili +like a book. + +"How cunning Enrica Guinigi must be!--very cunning!" Nera repeated as +if the idea had just struck her. "The marchesa's tool!--They are so +poor!--Her niece! Chè vuole!--The family blood! Anyhow, Enrica has +caught you, Nobili." + +Nera leaned back, drew out a fan from behind a cushion, and swayed it +to and fro. + +"Not yet," gasped Nobili--"not yet." + +And Nobili had listened to Nera's cruel words, and had not risen up +and torn out the lying tongue that uttered them! He had sat and heard +Enrica torn to pieces as a panting dove is severed by a hawk limb by +limb! Even now Nobili's better nature, spite of the glamour of this +woman, told him he was a coward to listen to such words, but his good +angel had veiled her wings and fled. + +"I am glad you say 'not yet.' I hope you will take time to consider. +If I can help you, you may command me, Count Nobili." And Nera paused +and sighed. + +"Help me, Nera!--You can save me!" He started to his feet. "I am so +wretched--so wounded--so desperate!" + +"Sit down," she answered, pointing to the sofa. + +Mechanically he obeyed. + +"You are nothing of all this if you do not marry Enrica Guinigi; if +you do, you are all you say." + +"What am I to do?" exclaimed Nobili. "I have signed the contract." + +"Break it"--Nera spoke the words boldly out--"break it, or you will +be dishonored. Do you think you can live in Lucca with a wife that you +have bought?" + +Nobili bounded from his chair. + +"O God!" he said, and clinched his hands. + +"You must be calm," she said, hastily, "or my mother will hear you." +(All she can do, she thinks, is not worse than Nobili deserves, after +that ball.) "Bought!--Yes. Will any one believe the marchesa would +have given her niece to you otherwise?" + +Nobili was pale and silent now. Nera's words had called up long trains +of thought, opening out into horrible vistas. There was a dreadful +logic about all she said that brought instant conviction with it. All +the blood within him seemed whirling in his brain. + +"But Nera, how can I--in honor--break this marriage?" he urged. + +"Break it! well, by going away. No one can force you to marry a girl +who allowed herself to be hawked about here and there--offered to +Marescotti, and refused--to others probably." + +"She may not have known it," said Nobili, roused by her bitter words. + +"Oh, folly! Why come to me, Count Nobili? You are still in love with +her." + +At these words Nobili rose and approached Nera. Something in her +expression checked him; he drew back. With all her allurements, there +was a gulf between them Nobili dared not pass. + +"O Nera! do not drive me mad! Help me, or banish me." + +"I am helping you," she replied, with what seemed passionate +earnestness. "Have you seen the sonnet?" + +"No." + +"If you mean to marry her, do not. Take advice. My mother has seen +it," Nera added, with well-simulated horror. "She would not let me +read it." + +Now this was the sheerest malice. Madame Boccarini had never seen +the sonnet. But if she had, there was not one word in the sonnet that +might not have been addressed to the Blessed Virgin herself. + +"No, I will not see the sonnet," said Nobili, firmly. "Not that I +will marry her, but because I do not choose to see the woman I loved +befouled. If it is what you say--and I believe you implicitly--let it +lie like other dirt, I will not stir it." + +"A generous fellow!" thought Nera. "How I could have loved him! But +not now, not now." + +"You have been the object of a base fraud," continued Nera. Nera would +follow to the end artistically; not leave her work half done. + +"She has deceived me. I know she has deceived me," cried Nobili, with +a pang he could not hide. "She has deceived me, and I loved her!" + +His voice sounded like the cry of a hunted animal. + +Nera did not like this. Her work was not complete. Nobili's obstinate +clinging to Enrica chafed her. + +"Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to Count Marescotti?" +she asked. She grew impatient, and must probe the wound. + +"Never," he answered, shrinking back. + +"Heavens! What falseness! Why, she has passed days and days alone with +him." + +"No, not alone," interrupted Nobili, stung with a sense of his own +shame. + +"Oh, you excuse her!" Nera laughed bitterly. "Poor count, believe me. +I tell you what others conceal." + +Nobili shuddered. His face grew black as night. + +"Do not see that sonnet if you persist in marriage. If not, your +course is clear--fly. If Enrica Guinigi has the smallest sense of +decency, she cannot urge the marriage." + +And Nobili heard this in silence! Oh, shame, and weakness and passion +of hot blood; and women's eyes, and cruel, bitter tongues; and +jealousy, maddening jealousy, hideous, formless, vague, reaching he +knew not whither I Oh, shame! + +"Write to her, and say you have discovered that she was in league with +her aunt, and had other lovers. Every one knows it." + +"But, Nera, if I do, will you comfort me? I shall need it." Nobili +opened both his arms. His eyes clung wildly to hers. She was his only +hope. + +Nera did not move; only she turned her head away to hide her face from +him. She dared not let Nobili move her. Poor Nobili! She could have +loved him dearly! + +Seeing her thus, Nobili's arms dropped to his side hopelessly; a wan +look came over his face. + +"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me, Nera! I offer you a broken heart; have +pity on me! Say, can you love me, Nera? Only a little. Speak! tell +me!" + +Nobili was on his knees before her; every feature of his bright young +face formed into an agony of entreaty. + +There was a flash of triumph in Nera's black eyes as she bent them on +Nobili, that chilled him to the soul. Kneeling before her, he feels +it. He doubts her love, doubts all. She has wrought upon him until he +is desperate. + +"Rise, dear Nobili," Nera whispered softly, touching his lips with +hers, but so slightly. "To-morrow--come again to-morrow. I can +say nothing now." Her manner was constrained. She spoke in little +sentences. "It is late. Supper is ready. My mother waiting. +To-morrow." She pressed the hand he had laid imploringly upon her +knee. She touched the curls upon his brow with her light finger-tips; +but those fixed, despairing eyes beneath she dared not meet. + +"Not one word?" urged Nobili, in a faltering voice. "Send me away +without one word of hope? I shall struggle with horrible thoughts all +night. O Nera, speak one word--but one!" He clasped her hands, and +looked up into her face. He dared do no more. "Love me a little, +Nera," he pleaded, and he laid her warm, full hand upon his throbbing +heart. + +Nera trembled. She rose hastily from her chair, and raised Nobili up +also. + +"I--I--" (she hesitated, and avoided his passionate glance)--"I have +given you good advice. To-morrow I will tell you more about myself." + +"To-morrow, Nera! Why not to-night?" + +Spite of himself Nobili was shocked at her reserve. She was so +self-possessed. He had flung his all upon the die. + +"You have advised me," he answered, stung by her coldness. "You have +convinced me, I shall obey you. Now I must go, unless you bid me +stay." + +Again his eyes pleaded with hers; again found no response. Nera held +out her hand to him. + +"To-morrow," the full, ripe lips uttered--"to-morrow." + +Seeing that he hesitated, Nera pointed with a gesture toward the door, +and Nobili departed. + +When the door had closed, and the sound of his retreating footsteps +along the empty rooms had ceased, Nera raised her hand, then let it +fall heavily upon the table. + +"I have done it!" she exclaimed, triumphantly. "Now I can bear to +think of that Orsetti ball. Poor Nobili! if he had spoken then! But he +did not. It is his own fault." + +After standing a minute or two thinking, Nora uncovered the lamp. Then +she took it up in both her hands, stepped to a mirror that hung near, +and, turning the light hither and thither, looked at her blooming +face, in full and in profile. Then she replaced the lamp upon the +table, yawned, and left the room. + +Next morning a note was put into Count Nobili's hand at breakfast. It +bore the Boccarini arms and the initials of the marchesa. The contents +were these: + +MOST ESTEEMED COUNT: As a friend of our family, I have the honor of +informing you that the marriage of my dear daughter Nera with Prince +Ruspoli is arranged, and will take place in a week. I hope you will +be present. I have the honor to assure you of my most sincere and +distinguished sentiments. + +"MARCHESA AGNESA BOCCARINI." + +In the night train from Lucca that evening, Count Nobili was seated. +"He was about to travel," he had informed his household. "Later he +would send them his address." Before he left, he wrote a letter to +Enrica, and sent it to Corellia. + + + + +PART IV. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +WAITING AND LONGING. + + +It was the morning of the fourth day since Count Nobili had left +Corellia. All had been very quiet about the house. The marchesa +herself took little heed of any thing. She sat much in her own room. +She was silent and preoccupied; but she was not displeased. The one +dominant passion of her soul--the triumph of the Guinigi name--was +now attained. Now she could bear to think of the grand old palace at +Lucca, the seigneurial throne, the nuptial-chamber; now she could gaze +in peace on the countenance of the great Castruccio. No spoiler would +dare to tread these sacred floors. No irreverent hand would presume +to handle her ancestral treasures; no vulgar eye would rest on +the effigies of her race gathered on these walls. All would now be +safe--safe under the protection of wealth, enormous wealth--wealth to +guard, to preserve, to possess. + +Enrica had been the agent by which all this had been effected, +therefore she regarded Enrica at this time with more consideration +than she had ever done before. As to any real sentiments of affection, +the marchesa was incapable of them--a cold, hard woman from her youth, +now vindictive, as well as cold. + +The day after the signing of the contract she called Enrica to her. +Enrica trod lightly across the stuccoed floor to where her aunt was +standing; then she stopped and waited for her to address her. The +marchesa took Enrica's hand within her own for some minutes, and +silently stroked each rosy finger. + +"My child Enrica, are you content?" This question was accompanied by +an inquiring look, as if she would read Enrica through and through. A +sweet smile of ineffable happiness stole over Enrica's soft face. The +marchesa, still holding her hand, uttered something which might +almost be called a sigh. "I hope this will last, else--" She broke off +abruptly. + +Enrica, resenting the implied doubt, disengaged her hand, and drew +back from her. The marchesa, not appearing to observe this, continued: + +"I had other views for you, Enrica; but, before you knew any thing, +you chose a husband for yourself. What do you know about a husband? It +is a bad choice." + +Again Enrica drew back still farther from her aunt, and lifted up her +head as if in remonstrance. But the marchesa was not to be stopped. + +"I hate Count Nobili!" she burst out. "I have had my eye upon him ever +since he came to Lucca. I know him--you do not. It is possible he may +change, but if he does not--" + +For the second time the marchesa did not finish the sentence. + +"And do you think he loves you?" + +As she asked this question she seated herself, and contemplated Enrica +with a cynical smile. + +"Yes, he loves me. It is you who do not know him!" exclaimed Enrica. +"He is so good, so generous, so true; there is no one in the world +like him." + +How pure Enrica looked, pleading for her lover!--her face thrown out +in sharp profile against the dark wall; her short upper lip raised +by her eager speech; the dazzling fairness of her complexion; and her +soft hair hanging loose about her head and neck. + +"I think I do--I think I know him better than you do," the marchesa +answered, somewhat absently. + +She was struck by Enrica's exceeding beauty, which seemed within the +last few days to have suddenly developed and matured. + +"The young man appreciates you, too, I do not doubt. I am told he is a +lover of beauty." + +This was added with a sneer. Enrica grew crimson. + +"Well, well," the marchesa went on to say, "it is too late now--the +thing is done. But remember I have warned you. You chose Count Nobili, +not I. Enrica, I have done my duty to you and to my own name. Now go +and tell the cavaliere I want him." + +The marchesa was always wanting the cavaliere; she was closeted +with him for hours at a time. These conferences all ended in one +conclusion--that she was irretrievably ruined. No one knew this better +than the marchesa herself; but her haughty reluctance either to accept +Count Nobili's money, or to give up Enrica, was the cause of unknown +distress to Trenta. + +Meanwhile the prospect of the wedding had stirred up every one in the +house to a sort of aimless activity. Adamo strode about, his sad, lazy +eyes gazing nowhere in particular. Adamo affected to work hard, but +in reality he did nothing but sweep the leaves away from the border +of the fountain, and remove the _débris_ caused by the fire. Then he +would go down and feed the dogs, who, when at home, lived in a sort +of cave cut out of the cliff under the tower--Argo, the long-haired +mastiff, and Tootsey, the rat-terrier, and Juno, the lurcher, and the +useless bull-dog, who grinned horribly--Adamo fed them, then let them +out to run at will over the flowers, while he went to his mid-day +meal. + +Adamo had no soul for flowers, or he could not have done this; he +could not have seen a bright, many-eyed balsam, or an amber-leaved +zinnia with tufted yellow breast, die miserably on their earthy +beds, trampled under the dogs' feet. Even the marchesa, who concerned +herself so little with such things, had often hidden him for his +carelessness; but Adamo had a way of his own, and by that way he +abided, slowly returning to it, spite of argument or remonstrance. + +"Domine Dio orders the weather, not I," Adamo said in a grunt to Pipa +when his mistress had specially upbraided him for not watering the +lemon-trees ranged along the terraces. "Am I expected to give holy oil +to the plants as Fra Pacifico does to the sick? Chè! chè! what will be +will be!" + +So Adamo went to his dinner in all peace; and Argo and his friends +knocked down the flowers, and scratched deep holes in the gravel, +barking wildly all the time. + +The marchesa, sitting in grave confabulation with Cavaliere Trenta, +rubbed her white hands as she listened. + +There was neither portcullis, nor moat, nor drawbridge to her feudal +stronghold at Corellia, but there was big, white Argo. Argo alone +would pin any one to the earth. + +"Let out the dogs, Adamo," the marchesa would say. "I like to hear +them. They are my soldiers--they defend me." + +"Yes, padrona," Adamo would reply, stolidly. "Surely the Signora +Marchesa wants no other. Argo has the sense of a man when I discourse +to him." + +So Argo barked and yelped, and tore up and down undisturbed, followed +by the pack in full chase after imaginary enemies. Woe betide the +calves of any stranger arriving at that period of the day at the +villa! They might feel Argo's glistening teeth meeting in them, or +be hurled on the ground, for Argo had a nasty trick of clutching +stealthily from behind. Woe betide all but Fra Pacifico, who had so +often licked him in drawn battles, when the dog had leaped upon him, +that now Argo fled at sight of his priestly garments with a howl! + +Adamo, who, after his mid-day meal, required tobacco and repose, would +not move to save any one's soul, much less his body. + +"Argo is a lunatic without me," he would observe, blandly, to Pipa, if +roused by a special outburst of barking, the smoke of his pipe curling +round his bullet-head the while. "Lunatics, either among men or +beasts, are not worth attending to. A sweating horse, a crying woman, +and a yelping cur, heed not." + +Adamo added many more grave remarks between the puffs of his pipe, +turning to Pipa, who sat beside him, distaff in hand, the silver pins, +stuck into her glossy plaits, glistening in the sun. + +When Adamo ceased he nodded his head like an oracle that had spoken, +and dozed, leaning against the wall, until the sun had sunk to rest +into a bed of orange and saffron, and the air was cooled by evening +dews. Not till then did Adamo rise up to work. + +Pipa, who, next to Adamo and the marchesa, loved Enrica with all the +strength of her warm heart, sings all day those unwritten songs of +Tuscany that rise and fall with such spontaneous cadence among the +vineyards, and in the olive-grounds, that they seem bred in the +air--Pipa sings all day for gladness that the signorina is going +to marry a rich and handsome gentleman. Marriage, to Pipa's simple +mind--especially marriage with money--must bring certain blessings, +and crowds of children; she would as soon doubt the seven wounds of +the Madonna as doubt this. Pipa has seen Count Nobili. She approves +of him. His curly auburn hair, so short and crisp; his bold look and +gracious smile--not to speak of certain notes he slipped into her +hand--have quite conquered her. Besides, had Count Nobili not come +down, the noble gentleman, like San Michele, with golden wings behind +him, and a terrible lance in his hand, as set forth in a dingy fresco +in the church at Corellia--come down and rescued the dear signorina +when--oh, horrible!--she had been forgotten in the burning tower? +Pipa's joy develops itself in a vain endeavor to clean the entire +villa. With characteristic discernment, she has begun her labors in +the upper story, which, being unfurnished, no one ever enters. Pipa +has set open all the windows, and thrown back all the blinds; Pipa +sweeps and sprinkles, and sweeps again, combating with dust, and fleas +and insects innumerable, grown bold by a quiet tenancy of nearly fifty +years. While she sweeps, Pipa sings: + + "I'll build a house round, round, quite round, + For us to live at ease, all three; + Father and mother there shall dwell, + And my true love with me." + +Poor Pipa! It is so pleasant to hear her clear voice caroling overhead +like a bird from the open window, and to see her bright face looking +out now and then, her gold ear-rings bobbing to and fro--her black +rippling hair, and her merry eyes blinded with dust and flue--to +swallow a breath of air. Adamo does not work, but Pipa does. If she +goes on like this, Pipa may hope to clean the entire floor in a month; +of the great sala below, and the other rooms where people live, Pipa +does not think. It is not her way to think; she lives by happy, rosy +instinct. + +Pipa chatters much to Enrica about Count Nobili and her marriage when +she is not sweeping or spinning. Enrica continually catches sight of +her staring at her with open mouth and curious eyes, her head a little +on one side the better to observe her. + +"Sweet innocent! she knows nothing that is coming on her," Pipa is +thinking; and then Pipa winks, and laughs outright--laughs to the +empty walls, which echo the laugh back with a hollow sound. + +But if any thing lurks there that mocks Pipa's mirth, it is not +visible to Pipa's outward eye, so she continues addressing herself to +Enrica, who is utterly bewildered by her strange ways. + +Pipa cannot bear to think that Enrica never dressed for her betrothed. +"Poverina!" she says to her, "not dress--not dress! What degradation! +Why, when the Gobbina--a little starved hump-backed bastard--married +the blind beggar Gianni at Corellia, for the sake of the pence he got +sitting all day shaking his box by the _café_--even the Gobbina had +a white dress and a wreath--and you, beloved lady, not so much as to +care to change your clothes! What must the Signore Conte have thought? +Misera mia! We must all seem pagans to him!" And Pipa's heart smote +her sorely, remembering the notes. "Caro Gesù! When you are to be +married we must find you something to wear. To be sure, the marchesa's +luggage was chiefly burnt in the fire, but one box is left. Out of +that box something will come," Pipa feels sure (miracles are nothing +to Pipa, who believes in pilgrimages and the evil-eye); she feels sure +that it will be so. After much talk with Enrica, who only answers her +with a smile, and says absently, looking at the mountains which she +does not see-- + +"Dear Pipa, we will look in the box, as you say." + +"But when, signorina?" insists Pipa, and she kisses Enrica's hand, and +strokes her dress. "But when?" + +"To-morrow," says Enrica, absently. "To-morrow, dear Pipa, not +to-day." + +"Holy mother!" is Pipa's reply, "it has been 'to-morrow' for four +days." "Always to-morrow," mutters Pipa to herself, as she makes the +dust fly with her broom; "and the Signore Conte is to return in a +week! Always to-morrow. What can I do? Such a disgrace was never +known. No bridal dress. No veil. The signorina is too young to +understand such things, and the marchesa is not like other ladies, +or one might venture to speak to her about it. She would only give me +'accidenti' if I did, and that is so unlucky! To-morrow I must make +the signorina search that box. There will be a white dress and a +veil. I dreamed so. Good dreams come from heaven. I have had a candle +lighted for luck before the Santissima in the market-place, and fresh +flowers put into the pots. There will be sure to be a white dress and +a veil--the saints will send them to the signorina." + +Pipa sweeps and sings. Her children, Angelo and Gigi, are roasting +chestnuts under the window outside. + +This time she sings a nursery rhyme: + + "Little Trot, that trots so gayly, + And without legs can walk so bravely! + Trottolin! Trottolino!-- + Via! via!" + +Pipa, in her motherly heart looking out, blesses little Gigi--a chubby +child blackened by the sun--to see him sitting so meek and good beside +his brother. Angelo is a naughty boy. Pipa does not love him so well +as Gigi. Perhaps this is the reason Angelo is so ill-furnished in +point of clothes. His patched and ragged trousers are hitched on with +a piece of string. Shirt he has none; only a little dingy waistcoat +buttoned over his chest, on which lies a silver medal of the Madonna. +Angelo's arms are bare, his face mahogany-color, his head a hopeless +tangle of colorless hair. But Angelo has a pair of eyes that dance, +and a broad, red-lipped mouth, out of which two rows of white teeth +shine like pearls. Angelo has just burnt his fingers picking a +chestnut out of the ashes. He turns very red, but he is too proud to +cry. Angelo's hands and feet are so hard he does not feel the pointed +rocks that break the turf in the forest, nor does he fear the young +snakes, as plenty as lizards, in the warm nooks. All yesterday Angelo +had run up and down to look for chestnuts, on his naked feet. He dared +not mount into the trees, for that would be stealing; but he leaped, +and skipped, and slid when a russet-coated chestnut caught his eye. +Gigi was with him, trusted to his care by Pipa, with many abjurations +and terrible threats of future punishment should he ill-use him. + +Ah! if Pipa knew!--if Pipa had only seen little Gigi lonely in +the woods, and heard his roars for help! Angelo, having found Gigi +troublesome, had tied him by a twisted cord of grass to the trunk of +an ancient chestnut. Gigi was trepanned into this thralldom by a +heap of flowers artful Angelo had brought him--purple crocuses and +cyclamens, and Canterbury bells, and gaudy pea-stalks, all thrown +before the child. Gigi, in his little torn petticoat, had swallowed +the bait, and flung himself upon the bright blossoms, grasping them in +his dirty fingers. Presently the delighted babe turned his eyes upon +cunning Angelo standing behind him, showing his white teeth. Satisfied +that Angelo was there, Gigi buried himself among the flowers. He +crowed to them in his baby way, and flung them here and there. Gigi +would run and catch them, too; but suddenly he felt something which +stopped him. It was a grass cord which Angelo had secretly woven +standing behind Gigi--then had made it fast round Gigi's waist and +knotted it to a tree. A cloud came over Gigi's jolly little face--a +momentary cloud--when he found he could not run after the flowers. +But it soon passed away, and he squatted down upon the grass (the +inveigled child), and again clutched the tempting blossoms. Then his +little eyes peered round for Angelo to play with him. Alas!--Angelo +was gone! + +Gigi sobbed a little to himself silently, but the treacherous flowers +had still power to console him; at least, he could tear them to +pieces. But by-and-by when the sun mounted high over the tops of the +forest-clad mountains, and poured down its burning rays, swallowing up +all the shade and glittering like flame on every leaf, Gigi grew hot +and weary. He was very empty, too; it was just the time that Pipa fed +him. His stomach craved for food. He craved for Pipa, too, for home, +for the soft pressure of Pipa's ample bosom, where he lay so snug. + +Gigi looked round. He did not sob now, but set up a hideous roar, +the big tears coursing down his fat cheeks, marking their course by +furrows in the dirt and grime. The wood echoed to Gigi's roars. He +roared for mammy, for daddy (Angelo Gigi cannot say, it is too long +a word). He kicked away the flowers with his pretty dimpled feet, +the false flowers that had betrayed him. The babe cannot reason, but +instinct tells him that those painted leaves have wronged him. They +are faded now, and lie soiled and crumpled, the ghosts of what they +were. Again Gigi tries to rise and run, but he is drawn roughly down +by the grass rope. He tries to tear it asunder, in vain; Angelo had +taken care of that. At last, hoarse and weary, Gigi subsided into +terrible sobs, that heave his little breast. Sobbing thus, with +pouting lips and heavy eyes, he waits his fate. + +It comes with Angelo!--Angelo, leaping downward through the checkered +glades, his pockets stuffed with chestnuts. Like an angel with healing +in his wings, Angelo comes to Gigi. When he spies him out, Gigi rises, +unsteady on his little feet--rises up, forgetting all, and clasps his +hands. When Angelo comes near, and stands beside him, Gigi flings his +chubby arms about his neck, and nestles to him. + +Angelo, when he sees Gigi's disfigured face and sodden eyes, feels +his conscience prick him. With his pockets full of chestnuts he +pities Gigi; he kisses him, he takes him up, and bears him in his arms +quickly toward home. The happy child closes his weary eyes, and falls +asleep on Angelo's shoulder. Pipa, when she sees Angelo return--so +careful of his little brother--praises him, and gives him a new-baked +cake. Gigi can tell no tales, and Angelo is silent. + +While Pipa sweeps and sings, Angelo and Gigi are roasting these very +chestnuts on a heap of ashes under the window outside. Enrica sat near +them--a little apart--on a low wall, that bordered the summit of the +cliff. The zone of mighty mountains rose sharp and clear before her. +It seemed to her as if she had only to stretch out her hand to touch +them. The morning lights rested on them with a fresh glory; the crisp +air, laden with a scent of herbs, came circling round, and stirred the +curls upon her pretty head. Enrica wore the same quaintly-cut dress, +that swept upon the ground, as when Nobili was there. She had no +other. All had been burnt in the fire. Sitting there, she plucked the +moss that grew upon the wall, and watched it as it dropped into the +abyss. This was shrouded in deepest shadow. The rush of the distant +river in the valley below was audible. Enrica raised her head and +listened. That river flowed round the walls of Lucca. Nobili was +there. Happy river! Oh, that it would bear her to him on its frothy +current!--Surely her life-path lay straight before her now!--straight +into paradise! Not a stone is on that path; not a rise, not a fall. + +"In a week I will return," Nobili had said. In a week. And his eyes +had rested upon her as he spoke the words in a mist of love. Enrica's +face was pale and almost stern, and her blue eyes had strange lights +and shadows in them. How came it that, since he had left her, the +world had grown so old and gray?--that all the impulse of her nature, +the quick ebb and flow of youth and hope, was stilled and faded out, +and all her thoughts absorbed into a dreadful longing? She could not +tell, nor could she tell what ailed her; but she felt that she was +changed. She tried to listen to the prattle of the two children--to +Pipa singing above: + + "Come out! come out! + Never despair! + Father and mother and sweetheart, + All will be there!" + +Enrica could not listen. It was the dark abyss below that drew her +toward its silent bosom. She hung over the wall, her eyes measuring +its depths. What ailed her? Was she smitten mad by the wild tumult of +joy that had swept over her as she stood hand-in-hand with Nobili? Or +was she on the eve of some crisis?--a crisis of life and death? Oh! +why had Nobili left her? When would he return? She could not tell. All +she knew was, that in the streaming sunlight of this wondrous morning, +when earth and heaven were as fair as on the first creation-day, +without him all was dark, sad, and dreary. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A STORM AT THE VILLA. + + +A footstep was heard upon the gravel. The dogs shut up in the cave +scratched furiously, then barked loudly. Following the footsteps a +bareheaded peasant appeared, his red shirt open, showing his sunburnt +chest. He ran up to the open door, a letter in his hand. Seeing Enrica +sitting on the low wall, he stopped and made her a rustic bow. + +"Who are you?" Enrica asked, her heart beating wildly. + +"Illustrissima," and the man bowed again, "I am Giacomo--Giacomo +protected by his reverence Fra Pacifico. You have heard of Giacomo?" + +Enrica shook her head impatiently. + +"Surely you are the Signorina Enrica?" + +"Yes, I am." + +"Then this letter is for you." And Giacomo stepped up and gave it +into her outstretched hand. "I was to tell the illustrissima that the +letter had come express from Lucca to Fra Pacifico. Fra Pacifico could +not bring it down himself, because the wife of the baker Pietro is +ill, and he is nursing her." + +Enrica took the letter, then stared at Giacomo so fixedly, before he +turned to go, it haunted him many days after, for fear the signorina +had given him the evil-eye. + +Enrica held the letter in her hand. She gazed at it (standing on the +spot where she had taken it, midway between the door and the low wall, +a glint of sunshine striking upon her hair, turning it to threads of +gold) in silent ecstasy. It was Nobili's first letter to her. His name +was in the corner, his monogram on the seal. The letter came to her in +her loneliness like Nobili's visible presence. Ah! who does not recall +the rapture of a first love-letter!--the tangible assurance it brings +that our lover is still our own--the hungry eye that runs over every +line traced by that dear hand--the oft-repeated words his voice +has spoken stamped on the page--the hidden sense--the half-dropped +sentences--all echoing within us as note to note in chords of music! + +Enrica's eyes wandered over the address, "To the Noble Signorina +Enrica Guinigi, Corellia," as if each word had been some wonder. She +dwelt upon every crooked line and twist, each tail and flourish, that +Nobili's hand had traced. She pressed the letter to her lips, then +laid it upon her lap and gazed at it, eking out every second of +suspense to its utmost limit. Suddenly a burning curiosity possessed +her to know when he would come. With a gasp that almost stopped her +breath she tore the cover open. The paper shook so violently in her +unsteady hand that the lines seemed to run up and down and dance. +She could distinguish nothing. She pressed her hand to her forehead, +steadied herself, then read: + +ENRICA: When this comes to you I am gone from you forever. You have +betrayed me--how much I do not care to know. Perhaps I think you less +guilty than you are. Of all women, my heart clung to you. I loved you +as men only love once in their lives. For the sake of that love, I +will still screen you all I can. But it is known in Lucca that Count +Marescotti was your accepted lover when you promised yourself to me. +Also, that Count Marescotti refused to marry you when you were offered +by the Marchesa Guinigi. From this knowledge I cannot screen you. +God is my witness, I go, not desiring by my presence or my words to +reproach you further. But, as a man who prizes the honor of his house +and home, I cannot marry you. Tell the marchesa I shall keep my word +to her, although I break the marriage-contract. She will find the +money placed as she desired. + +MARIO NOBILI. + +"PALAZZO NOBILI, LUCCA." + + +Little by little Enrica read the whole, sentence by sentence. At first +the full horror of the words was veiled. They came to her in a dazed, +stupid way. A mist gathered about her. There was a buzzing in her ears +that deadened her brain. She forced herself to read over the letter +again. Then her heart stood still with terror--her cheeks burned--her +head reeled. A deadly cold came over her. Of all within that letter +she understood nothing but the words, "I am gone from you forever." +Gone!--Nobili gone! Never to speak to her again in that sweet +voice!--never to press his lips to hers!--never to gather her to him +in those firm, strong arms! O God! then she must die! If Nobili were +gone, she must die! A terrible pang shot through her; then a great +calmness came over her, and she was very still. "Die!--yes--why +not?--Die!" + +Clutching the letter in her icy hand, Enrica looked round with pale, +tremulous eyes, from which the light has faded. It could not be the +same world of an hour ago. Death had come into it--she is about to +die. Yet the sun shone fiercely upon her face as she turned it upward +and struck upon her eyes. The children laughed over the chestnuts +spluttering in the ashes. Pipa sang merrily above at the open window. +A bird--was it a raven?--poised itself in the air; the cattle grazed +peacefully on the green slopes of the opposite mountain, and a drove +of pigs ran downward to drink at a little pool. She alone has changed. + +A dull, dim consciousness drew her forward toward the low wall, and +the abyss that yawned beneath. There she should lie at peace. There +the stillness would quiet her heart that beat so hard against her +side--surely her heart must burst! She had a dumb instinct that she +should like to sleep; she was so weary. Stronger grew the passion of +her longing to cast herself on that cold bed--deep, deep below--to +rest forever. She tried to move, but could not. She tottered and +almost fell. Then all swam before her. She sank backward against the +door; with her two hands she clutched the post. Her white face was +set. But in her agony not a sound escaped her. Her secret--Nobili's +secret--must be kept, she told herself. No one must ever know that +Nobili had left her--that she was about to die--no one, no one! + +With a last effort she tried to rush forward to take that leap below +which would end all. In vain. All nature rushed in a wild whirlwind +around her! A deadly sickness seized her. Her eyes closed. She dropped +beside the door, a little ruffled heap upon the ground, Nobili's +letter clasped tightly in her hand. + + "My love he is to Lucca gone, + To Lucca fair, a lord to be, + And I would fain a message send, + But who will tell my tale for me?" + +Sang out Pipa from above. + + "All the folk say that I am brown; + The earth is brown, yet gives good corn; + The clove-pink, too, although 'tis brown, + In hands of gentlefolk is borne." + + "They say my love is brown; but he + Shines like an angel-form to me; + They say my love is dark as night, + To me he seems an angel bright!" + +Not hearing the children's voices, and fearing some trick of naughty +Angelo against the peace of her precious Gigi, Pipa leaned put over +the window-sill. "My babe, my babe, where art thou?" was on her lips +to cry; instead, Pipa gave a piercing scream. It broke the mid-day +silence. Argo barked loudly. + +"Dio Gesù!" Pipa cried wildly out. "The signorina, she is dead! Help! +help!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH + + +Many hours had passed. Enrica lay still unconscious upon her bed, her +face framed in her golden hair, her blue eyes open, her limbs stiff, +her body cold. Sometimes her lips parted, and a smile rippled over her +face; then she shuddered, and drew herself, as it were, together. All +this time Nobili's letter was within her hand; her fingers tightened +over it with a convulsive grasp. + +Pipa and the cavaliere were with her. They had done all they could +to revive her, but without effect. Trenta, sitting there, his hands +crossed upon his knees, his eyes fixed upon Enrica, looked suddenly +aged. How all this had come about he could not even guess. He had +heard Pipa's screams, and so had the marchesa, and he had come, and he +and Pipa together had raised her up and placed her on her bed; and the +marchesa had charged him to watch her, and let her know when she came +to her senses. Neither the cavaliere nor Pipa knew that Enrica had had +a letter from Nobili. Pipa noticed a paper in her hand, but did not +know what it was. The signorina had been struck down in a fit, was +Pipa's explanation. It was very terrible, but God or the devil--she +could not tell which--did send fits. They must be borne. An end would +come. She had done all she could. Seeing no present change, Trenta +rose to go to the marchesa. His joints were so stiff he could not move +at all without his stick, and the furrows which had deepened upon his +face were moistened with tears. + +"Is Enrica no better?" the marchesa asked him, in a voice she tried to +steady, but could not. She trembled all over. + +"Enrica is no better," he answered. + +"Will she die?" the marchesa asked again. + +"Who can tell? She is in the hands of God." + +As he spoke, Trenta shot an angry scowl at his friend--he knew her +so well. If Enrica died the Guinigi race was doomed--that made her +tremble, not affection for Enrica. A word more from the marchesa, and +Trenta would have told her this to her face. + +"We are all in the hands of God," the marchesa repeated, solemnly, and +crossed herself. "I believe little in doctors." + +"Still," said Trenta, "if there is no change, it is our duty to send +for one. Is there any doctor at Corellia?" + +"None nearer than Lucca," she replied. "Send for Fra Pacifico. If he +thinks it of any use, a man shall be dispatched to Lucca immediately." + +"Surely you will let Count Nobili know the danger Enrica is in?" + +"No, no!" cried the marchesa, fiercely. "Count Nobili comes back here +to marry Enrica or not at all. I will not have him on any other terms. +If the child dies, he will not come. That at least will be a gain." + +Even on the brink of death and ruin she could think of this! + +"Enrica will not die! she will not die!" sobbed the poor old +cavaliere, breaking down all at once. He sank upon a chair and covered +his face. + +The marchesa rose and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Her heart was +bleeding, too, but from another cause. She bore her wounds in silence. +To complain was not in the marchesa's nature. It would have increased +her suffering rather than have relieved it. Still she pitied her old +friend, although no word expressed it; nothing but the pressure of her +hand resting upon his shoulder. Trenta's sobs were the only sound that +broke the silence. + +"This is losing time," she said. "Send at once for Fra Pacifico. Until +he comes, we know nothing." + +When Fra Pacifico's rugged, mountainous figure entered Enrica's room, +he seemed to fill it. First, he blessed the sweet girl lying before +him with such a terrible mockery of life in her widely-opened eyes. +His deep voice shook and his grave face twitched as he pronounced the +"Beatus." Leaning over the bed, Fra Pacifico proceeded to examine her +in silence. He uncovered her feet, and felt her heart, her hands, +her forehead, lifting up the shining curls as he did so with a tender +touch, and laying them out upon the pillow, as reverently as he would +replace a relic. + +Cavaliere Trenta stood beside him in breathless silence. Was it life +or death? Looking into Fra Pacifico's motionless face, none could +tell. Pipa was kneeling in a corner, running her rosary between her +fingers; she was listening also, with mouth and eyes wide open. + +"Her pulse still beats," Fra Pacifico said at last, betraying no +outward emotion. "It beats, but very feebly. There is a little warmth +about her heart." + +"San Ricardo be thanked!" ejaculated Trenta, clasping his hands. + +With the mention of his ancestral saint, the cavaliere's thoughts ran +on to the Trenta chapel in the church of San Frediano, where they had +all stood so lately together, Enrica blooming in health and beauty at +his side. His sobs choked his voice. + +"Shall I send to Lucca for a doctor?" Trenta asked, as soon as he +could compose himself. + +"As you please. Her condition is very precarious; nothing can be done, +however, but to keep her warm. That I see has been attended to. She +could swallow nothing, therefore no doctor could help her. With such +a pulse, to bleed her would be madness. Her youth may save her. It +is plain to me some shock or horror must have struck her down and +paralyzed the vital powers. How could this have been?" + +The priest stood over her, lost in thought, his bushy eyebrows knit; +then he turned to Pipa. + +"Has any thing happened, Pipa," he asked, "to account for this?" + +"Nothing your reverence," she answered. "I saw the signorina, +and spoke to her, not ten minutes before I found her lying in the +doorway." + +"Had any one seen her?" + +"No one." + +"I sent a letter to her from Count Nobili. Did you see the messenger +arrive?" + +"No; I was cleaning in the upper story. He might have come and gone, +and I not seen him." + +"I heard of no letter," put in the bewildered Trenta. "What letter? No +one mentioned a letter." + +"Possibly," answered Fra Pacifico, in his quiet, impassible way, "but +there was a letter." He turned again to interrogate Pipa. "Then the +signorina must have taken the letter herself." Slightly raising his +eyebrows, a sudden light came into his eyes. "That letter has done +this. What can Nobili have said to her? Did you see any letter beside +her, Pipa, when she fell?" + +Pipa rose up from the corner where she had been kneeling, raised the +sheet, and pointed to a paper clasped in Enrica's hand. As she did so, +Pipa pressed her warm lips upon the colorless little hand. She would +have covered the hand again to keep it warm, but Fra Pacifico stopped +her. + +"We must see that letter; it is absolutely needful--I her confessor, +and you, cavaliere, Enrica's best friend; indeed, her only friend." + +At a touch of his strong hand the letter fell from Enrica's fingers, +though they clung to it convulsively. + +"Of course we must see the letter," the cavaliere responded with +emphasis, waking up from the apathy of grief into which he had been +plunged. + +Fra Pacifico, casting a look of unutterable pity on Enrica, whose +secret it seemed sacrilege to violate while she lay helpless before +them, unfolded the letter. He and the cavaliere, standing on tiptoe +at his side, his head hardly reaching the priest's elbow, read it +together. When Trenta had finished, an expression of horror and rage +came into his face. He threw his arms wildly above his head. + +"The villain!" he exclaimed, "'Gone forever!'--'You have betrayed +me!'--'Cannot marry you!'--'Marescotti!'" + +Here Trenta stopped, remembering suddenly what had passed between +himself and Count Marescotti at their interview, which he justly +considered as confidential. Trenta's first feeling was one of +amazement how Nobili had come to know it. Then he remembered what he +had said to Baldassare in the street, to quiet him, that "it was all +right, and that Enrica would consent to her aunt's commands, and to +his wishes." + +"Beast!" he muttered, "this is what I get by associating with one who +is no gentleman. I'll punish him!" + +A blank terror took possession of the cavaliere. He glanced at Enrica, +so life-like with her fixed, open eyes, and asked himself, if she +recovered, would she ever forgive him? + +"I did it for the best!" he murmured, shaking his white head. "God +knows I did it for the best!--the dear, blessed one!--to give her +a home, and a husband to protect her. I knew nothing about Count +Nobili.--Why did you not tell me, my sweetest?" he said, leaning over +the bed, and addressing Enrica in his bewilderment. + +Alas! the glassy blue eyes stared at him fixedly, the white lips were +motionless. + +The effect of all this on Fra Pacifico had been very different. Under +the strongest excitement, the long habit of his office had taught him +a certain outward composure. He was ignorant of much which was known +to the cavaliere. Fra Pacifico watched his excessive agitation with +grave curiosity. + +"What does this mean about Count Marescotti?" he asked, somewhat +sternly. "What has Count Marescotti to do with her?" + +As he asked this question he stretched his arm authoritatively over +Enrica. Protection to the weak was the first thought of the strong +man. His great bodily strength had been given him for that purpose, +Fra Pacifico always said. + +"I offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti," answered the +cavaliere, lifting up his aged head, and meeting the priest's +suspicious glance with a look of gentle reproach. "What do you think I +could have done but this?" + +"And Count Marescotti refused her?" + +"Yes, he refused her because he was a communist. Nothing passed +between them, nothing. They never met but twice, both times in my +presence." + +Fra Pacifico was satisfied. + +"God be praised!" he muttered to himself. + +Still holding the letter in his hand, the priest turned toward +Enrica. Again he felt her pulse, and passed his broad hand across her +forehead. + +"No change!" he said, sadly--"no change! Poor child, how she must +have suffered! And alone, too! There is some mistake--obviously some +mistake." + +"No mistake about the wretch having forsaken her," interrupted Trenta, +firing up at what he considered Fra Pacifico's ill-placed leniency. +"Domine Dio! No mistake about that." + +"Yes, but there must be," insisted the other. "I have known Nobili +from a boy. He is incapable of such villainy. I tell you, cavaliere, +Nobili is utterly incapable of it. He has been deceived. By-and-by he +will bitterly repent this," and Fra Pacifico held up the letter. + +"Yes," answered Trenta, bitterly--"yes, if she lives. If he has killed +her, what will his repentance matter?" + +"Better wait, however, until we know more. Nobili may be hot-headed, +vain, and credulous, but he is generous to a fault. If he cannot +justify himself, why, then"--the priest's voice changed, his swarthy +face flushed with a dark glow--"I am willing to give him the benefit +of the doubt--charity demands this--but if Nobili cannot justify +himself"--(the cavaliere made an indignant gesture)--"leave him to +me. You shall be satisfied, cavaliere. God deals with men's souls +hereafter, but he permits bodily punishment in this world. Nobili +shall have his, I promise you!" + +Fra Pacifico clinched his huge fist menacingly, and dealt a blow in +the air that would have felled a giant. + +Having given vent to his feelings, to the unmitigated delight of +the cavaliere, who nodded and smiled--for an instant forgetting his +sorrow, and Enrica lying there--Fra Pacifico composed himself. + +"The marchesa must see that letter," he said, in his usual manner. +"Take it to her, cavaliere. Hear what she says." + +The cavaliere took the letter in silence. Then he shrugged his +shoulders despairingly. + +"I must go now to Corellia. I will return soon. That Enrica still +lives is full of hope." Fra Pacifico said this, turning toward the +little bed with its modest shroud of white linen curtains. "But I can +do nothing. The feeble spark of life that still lingers in her frame +would fly forever if tormented by remedies. I have hope in God only." +And he gave a heavy sigh. + +Before Fra Pacifico departed, he took some holy water from a little +vessel near the bed, and sprinkled it upon Enrica. He ordered Pipa to +keep her very warm, and to watch every breath she drew. Then he glided +from the room with the light step of one well used to sickness. + +Cavaliere Trenta followed him slowly. He paused motionless in the +open doorway, his eyes, from which the tears were streaming, fixed on +Enrica--the fatal letter in his hand. At length he tore himself away, +closed the door, and, crossing the sala, knocked at the door of the +marchesa's apartment. + + * * * * * + +In the gray of the early morning of the second day, just as the sun +rose and cast a few straggling gleams into the room, Enrica called +faintly to Pipa. She knew Pipa when she came. It seemed as if +Enrica had waked out of a long, deep sleep. She felt no pain, but an +excessive weakness. She touched her forehead and her hair. She handled +the sheets--then extended both her hands to Pipa, as if she had been +buried and asked to be raised up again. She tried to sit up, but--she +fell back upon her pillow. Pipa's arms were round her in an instant. +She put back the long hair that fell upon Enrica's face, and poured +into her mouth a few drops of a cordial Fra Pacifico had left for her. +Pipa dared not speak--Pipa dared not breathe--so great was her joy. At +length she ventured to take one of Enrica's hands in hers, pressed it +gently and said to her in a low voice: + +"You must be very quiet. We are all here." + +Enrica looked up at Pipa, surprised and frightened; then her eyes +wandered round in search of something. She was evidently dwelling +upon some idea she could not express. She raised her hand, opened it +slowly, and gazed at it. Her hand was empty. + +"Where is--?" Enrica asked, in a voice like a sigh--then she stopped, +and gazed up again distressfully into Pipa's face. Pipa knew that +Count Nobili's letter had been taken by Fra Pacifico. Now she bent +over Enrica in an agony of fear lest, when her reason came and she +missed that letter, she should sink back again and die. + +With the sound of her own voice all came back to Enrica in an instant. +She closed her eyes, and longed never to open them again! "Gone! gone! +forever!" sounded in her ears like a rushing of great waters. Then she +lay for a long time quite still. She could not bear to speak to Pipa. +His name--Nobili's name--was sacred. If Pipa knew what Nobili had +done, she might speak ill of him. That Enrica could not bear. Yet she +should like to know who had taken his letter. + +Her brain was very weak, yet it worked incessantly. She asked herself +all manner of questions in a helpless way; but as her fluttering +pulses settled, and the blood returned to its accustomed +channels, faintly coloring her cheek, the truth came to her. +Insulted!--abandoned!--forgotten! She thought it all over bit by bit. +Each thought as it rose in her mind seemed to freeze the returning +warmth within her. That letter--oh, if she could only find that +letter! She tried to recall every phrase and put a sense to it. How +had she deceived him? What could Nobili mean? What had she done to +be talked of in Lucca? Marescotti--who was he? At first she was +so stunned she forgot his name; then it came to her. Yes, the +poet--Marescotti--Trenta's friend--who had raved on the Guinigi Tower. +What was he to her? Marry Marescotti! Oh! who could have said it? + +Gradually, as Enrica's mind became clearer, lying there so still with +no sound but Pipa's measured breathing, she felt to its full extent +how Nobili had wronged her. Why had he not come himself and asked her +if all this were true? To leave her thus forever! Without even asking +her--oh, how cruel! She believed in him, why did he not believe in +her? No one had ever yet told her a lie; within herself she felt +no power of deceit. She could not understand it in others, nor the +falseness of the world. Now she must learn it! Then a great longing +and tenderness came over her. She loved Nobili still. Even though +he had smitten her so sorely, she loved him--she loved him, and she +forgave him! But stronger and stronger grew the thought, even while +these longings swept over her like great waves, that Nobili was +unworthy of her. Should she love him less for that? Oh, no! He was +unworthy of her--yet she yearned after him. He had left her--but in +her heart Nobili should forever sit enthroned--and she would worship +him! + +And they had been so happy, so more than happy--from the first moment +they had met--and he had shattered it! Oh, his love for her was dead +and buried out of sight! What was life to her without Nobili? Oh, +those forebodings that had clung about her from the very moment he +had left Corellia! Now she could understand them. Never to see him +again!--was it possible? A great pity came upon her for herself. No +one, she was sure, could ever have suffered like her--no one--no one. +This thought for some time pursued her closely. There was a terrible +comfort in it. Alas! all her life would be suffering now! + +As Enrica lay there, her face turned toward the wall, and her eyes +closed (Pipa watching her, thinking she had dozed), suddenly her bosom +heaved. She gave a wild cry. The pent-up tears came pouring down her +cheeks, and sob after sob shook her from head to foot. + +This burst of grief saved her--Fra Pacifico said so when he came down +later. "Death had passed very near her," he said, "but now she would +recover." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA. + + +On the evening of that day the marchesa was in her own room, opening +from the sala. The little furniture the room contained was collected +around the marchesa, forming a species of oasis on the broad desert +of the scagliola floor. A brass lamp, placed on a table, formed the +centre of this habitable spot. The marchesa sat in deep shadow, but +in the outline of her tall, slight figure, and in the carriage of +her head and neck, there was the same indomitable pride, courage, and +energy, as before. A paper lay on the ground near her; it was Nobili's +letter. Fra Pacifico sat opposite to her. He was speaking. His +deep-set luminous eyes were fixed on the marchesa. His straight, +coarse hair was pushed up erect upon his brow; there was at all times +something of a mane about it. His cassock sat loosely about his big, +well-made limbs; his priestly stock was loosed, showing the dark skin +of his throat and chin. In the turn of his eye, in the expression of +his countenance, there were anxiety, restlessness, and distrust. + +"Yes--Enrica has recovered for the present," he was saying, "but such +an attack saps and weakens the very issues of life. Count Nobili, if +not brought to reason, would break her heart." She was obstinately +silent. The balance of her mind was partially upset. "'I shall never +see Nobili again,' was all she would say to me. It is a pity, I think, +that you sent the cavaliere away to Lucca. Enrica might have opened +her mind to him." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico crossed one of his legs over the other, and +arranged the heavy folds of his cassock over his knees. + +"And who says Enrica shall not see Nobili again?" asked the marchesa, +defiantly. "Holy saints! That is my affair. I want no advice. My honor +is now as much concerned in the completion of this marriage as it was +before to prevent it. The contract has been signed in my presence. +The money agreed upon has been paid over to me. The marriage must take +place. I have sent Trenta to Lucca to make preliminary arrangements." + +"I rejoice to hear it," answered Fra Pacifico, his countenance +brightening. "There must be some extraordinary mistake. The cavaliere +will explain it. Some enemies of your family must have misled Count +Nobili, especially as there was a certain appearance of concealment +respecting Count Marescotti. It will all come right. I only feared +lest the language of that letter would have, in your opinion, rendered +the marriage impossible." + +"That letter does not move me in the least," answered the marchesa +haughtily, speaking out of the shadow. She gave the letter a kick, +sending it farther from her. "I care neither for praise nor insult +from such a fellow. He is but an instrument in my hand. He has, +however, justified my bad opinion of him. I am glad of that. Do you +imagine, my father," she added, leaning forward, and bringing her head +for an instant within the circle of the light--"do you imagine any +thing but absolute necessity would have induced me to allow Count +Nobili ever to enter my presence?" + +"I am bound to tell you that your pride is un-Christian, my daughter." +Fra Pacifico spoke with warmth. "I cannot permit such language in my +presence." + +The marchesa waved her hand contemptuously, then contemplated him, a +smile upon her face. + +"I have long known Count Nobili. He has the faults of his age. He +is impulsive--vain, perhaps--but at the same time he is loyal and +generous. He was not himself when he wrote that letter. There is a +passionate sorrow about it that convinces me of this. He has been +misled. The offer you sanctioned of Enrica's hand to Count Marescotti, +has been misrepresented to him. Undoubtedly Nobili ought to have +sought an explanation before he left Lucca; but, the more he loved +Enrica, the more he must have suffered before he could so address +her." + +"You justify Count Nobili, then, my father, not only for abandoning +my niece, but for endeavoring to blast her character? Is this your +Christianity?" The marchesa asked this question with bitter scorn; +her keen eyes shone mockingly out of the darkness. "I told you what he +was, remember. I have some knowledge of him and of his father." + +"My daughter, I do not defend him. If need be, I have sworn to punish +him with my own hand. But, until I know all the circumstances, I pity +him; I repeat, I pity him. Some powerful influence must have been +brought to bear upon Nobili. It may have been a woman." + +"Ha! ha!" laughed the marchesa, contemptuously. "You admit, then, +Nobili has a taste for women?" + +Fra Pacifico rose suddenly from his chair. An expression of deep +displeasure was on his face, which had grown crimson under the +marchesa's taunts. + +"I desire no altercation, marchesa, nor will I permit you to address +such unseemly words to me. What I deem fitting I shall say, now and +always. It is my duty. You have called me here. What do you want? How +can I help you? In all things lawful I am ready to do so. Nay, I will +take the whole matter on myself if you desire." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico stooped and raised Nobili's crumpled letter +from the floor. He spread it out open on the table. The marchesa +motioned to him to reseat himself. He did so. + +"What I want?" she said, taking up the priest's words. "I will tell +you. When I bring Count Nobili here"--the marchesa spoke very slowly, +and stretched out her long fingers, as though she held him already in +her grasp--"when I bring Count Nobili here, I want you to perform +the marriage ceremony. It must take place immediately. Under the +circumstances the marriage had better be private." + +"I shall not perform the ceremony," answered Fra Pacifico, his full, +deep voice ringing through the room, "at your bidding only. Enrica +must also consent. Enrica must consent in my presence." + +As the light of the lamp struck upon Fra Pacifico, the lines about his +mouth deepened, and that look of courage and of command the people of +Corellia knew so well was marked upon his countenance. A rock might +have been moved, but not Fra Pacifico. + +"Enrica shall obey me!" cried the marchesa. Her temper was rising +beyond control at the idea of any opposition at such a critical +moment. She had made her plan, settled it with Trenta; her plan must +be carried out. "Enrica shall obey me," she repeated. "Enrica will +obey me unless instigated by you, Fra Pacifico." + +"My daughter," replied the priest, "if you forget the respect due to +my office, I shall leave you." + +"Pardon me, my father," and the marchesa bowed stiffly; "but I appeal +to your justice. Can I allow that reprobate to break my niece's +heart?--to tarnish her good name? If there were a single Guinigi left, +he would stab Nobili like a dog! Such a fellow is unworthy the name +of gentleman. Marriage alone can remove the stain he has cast upon +Enrica. It is no question of sentiment. The marriage is essential +to the honor of my house. Enrica must be _called_ Countess Nobili, +whether Nobili pleases it or not. Else how can I keep his money? And +without his money--" She paused suddenly. In the warmth of speech the +marchesa had been actually led into the confession that Nobili was +necessary to her "I have the contract," she added. "Thank Heaven, I +have the contract! Nobili is legally bound by the contract." + +"Yes, that may be," answered Fra Pacifico, reflectively, "if you +choose to force him. But I warn you that I will put no violence on +Enrica's feelings. She must decide for herself." + +"But if Enrica still loves him," urged the marchesa, determined if +possible to avoid an appeal to her niece--"if Enrica still loves him, +as you assure me she does, may we not look upon her acquiescence as +obtained?" + +Fra Pacifico shook his head. He was perfectly unmoved by the +marchesa's violence. + +"Life, honor, position, reputation, all rest on this marriage. I have +accepted Count Nobili's money; Count Nobili must accept my niece." + +"Your niece must nevertheless consent. I can permit no other +arrangement. Then you have to find Count Nobili. He must voluntarily +appear at the altar." + +Fra Pacifico turned his resolute face full upon the marchesa. Her +whole attitude betrayed intense excitement. + +"Your niece must consent, Count Nobili must appear voluntarily before +the altar, else the Church cannot sanction the union. It would be +sacrilege. How do you propose to overcome Count Nobili's refusal?" + +"By the law!" exclaimed the marchesa, imperiously. + +Fra Pacifico turned aside his head to conceal a smile. The law had not +hitherto favored the marchesa. Her constant appeal to the law had been +the principal cause of her present troubles. + +"By the law," the marchesa repeated. Her sallow face glowed for a +moment. "Surely, Fra Pacifico--surely you will not oppose me? You +talk of the Church. The Church, indeed! Did not the wretch sign the +marriage-contract in your presence? The Church must enable him to +complete his contract. In your presence too, as priest and civil +delegate; and you talk of sacrilege, my father! Che! che! Dio buono!" +she exclaimed, losing all self-control in the conviction her own +argument brought to her--"Fra Pacifico, you must be mad!" + +"I only ask for Enrica's consent," answered the priest. "That given, +if Count Nobili comes, I will consent to marry them." + +"Count Nobili--he shall come--never fear," and the marchesa gave a +short, scornful laugh. "After I have been to Lucca he will come. I +shall have done my duty. It is all very well," added the marchesa, +loftily, "for low people to pair like animals, from inclination. Such +vulgar motives have no place in the world in which I live. Persons +of my rank form alliances among themselves from more elevated +considerations; from political and prudential motives; for the sake +of great wealth when wealth is required; to shed fresh lustre on +an historic name by adding to it the splendor of another equally +illustrious. My own marriage was arranged for this end. Again I remind +you, my father, that nothing but necessity would have forced me to +permit a usurer's son to dare to aspire to the hand of my niece. It is +a horrible degradation--the first blot on a spotless escutcheon." + +"Again I warn you, my daughter, such pride is unseemly. Summon Enrica +at once. Let us hear what she says." + +The marchesa drew back into the shadow, and was silent. As long as she +could bring her battery of arguments against Fra Pacifico, she felt +safe. What Enrica might say, who could tell? One word from Enrica +might overturn all her subtle combinations. That Fra Pacifico should +assist her was indispensable. Another priest, less interested in +Enrica, might, under the circumstances, refuse to unite them. Even if +that difficulty could be got over, the marchesa was fully alive to the +fact that a painful scene would probably occur--such a scene as ought +not to be witnessed by a stranger. Hence her hesitation in calling +Enrica. + +During this pause Fra Pacifico crossed his arms upon his breast and +waited in silence. + +"Let Enrica come," said the marchesa at last; "I have no objection." +She threw herself back on her seat, and doggedly awaited the result. + +Fra Pacifico rose and opened a door on the other side of the room, +communicating with the vaulted passage which had connected the villa +with the tower. + +"Who is there?" he called. (Bells were a luxury unknown at Corellia.) + +"I," answered Angelo, running forward, his eyes gleaming like two +stars. Angelo sometimes acted as acolyte to Fra Pacifico. Angelo was +proud to show his alacrity to his reverence, who had often cuffed +him for his mischievous pranks; specially on one occasion, when Fra +Pacifico had found him in the act of pushing Gigi stealthily into the +marble basin of the fountain, to see if, being small, Gigi would swim +like the gold-fish. + +"Go to the Signorina Enrica, Angelo, and tell her that the marchesa +wants her." + +As long as Enrica was ill, Fra Pacifico went freely in and out of her +room; now that she was recovered, and had risen from her bed, it was +not suitable for him to seek her there himself. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? + + +When Angelo knocked at Enrica's door, Pipa, who was with her, opened +it, and gave her Fra Pacifico's message. The summons was so sudden +Enrica had no time to think, but a wild, unmeaning delight possessed +her. It was so rare for her aunt to send for her she must be going to +tell her something about Nobili. With his name upon her lips, Enrica +started up from the chair on which she had been half lying, and ran +toward the door. + +"Softly, softly, my blessed angel!" cried Pipa, following her with +outstretched arms as if she were a baby taking its first steps. "You +were all but dead this morning, and now you run like little Gigi when +I call to him." + +"I can walk very well, Pipa." Enrica opened the door with feverish +haste. "I must not keep my aunt waiting." + +"Let me put a shawl round you," insisted kind Pipa. "The evening is +fresh." + +She wrapped a large white shawl about her, that made Enrica look paler +and more ghost-like than before. + +"Nobody loves me like you, Pipa--nobody--dear Pipa!" + +Enrica threw her soft arms around Pipa as she said this. She felt so +lonely the tears came into her eyes, already swollen with excessive +weeping. + +"Who knows?" was Pipa's grave reply. "It is a strange world. You must +not judge a man always by what he does." + +Enrica gave a deep sigh. She had hurried out of her room into the sala +with a headlong impulse to rush to her aunt. Now she dreaded what her +aunt might have to say to her. The little strength she had suddenly +left her. The warm blood that had mounted to her head chilled within +her veins. For a few moments she leaned against Pipa, who watched her +with anxious eyes. Then, disengaging herself from her, she trod feebly +across the floor. The sala was in darkness. Enrica stretched out +her hands before her to feel for the door. When she had found it she +stopped terrified. What was she about to hear? The deep voice of Fra +Pacifico was audible from within. Enrica placed her hand upon the +handle of the door--then she withdrew it. Without the autumn wind +moaned round the corners of the house. How it must roar in the abyss +under the cliffs! Enrica thought. How dark it must be down there in +the blackness of the night! Like letters written in fire, Nobili's +words rose up before her--"I am gone from you forever!" Oh! why was +she not dead?--Why was she not lying deep below, buried among the cold +rocks?--Enrica felt very faint. A groan escaped her. + +Fra Pacifico, accustomed to listen to the almost inaudible sounds of +the sick and the dying, heard it. + +The door opened. Enrica found herself within the room. + +"Enrica," said the marchesa, addressing her blandly (did not all now +depend upon her?)--"Enrica, you look very pale." + +She made no reply, but looked round vacantly. The light of the lamp, +coming suddenly out of the darkness, the finding herself face to face +with the marchesa, dazzled and alarmed her. + +Fra Pacifico took both Enrica's hands in his, drew an arm-chair +forward, and placed her in it. + +"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question," the marchesa +spoke. + +At the sound of her aunt's voice, Enrica shuddered visibly. Was it +not, after all, the marchesa's fault that Nobili had left her? Why had +the marchesa thrown her into Count Marescotti's company? Why had the +marchesa offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti without telling +her? At this moment Enrica loathed her. Something of all this passed +over her pallid face as she turned her eyes beseechingly toward Fra +Pacifico. The marchesa watched her with secret rage. + +Was this silly, love-sick child about to annihilate the labors of her +life? Was this daughter of her husband's cousin, Antonio--a collateral +branch--about to consign the Guinigi name to the tomb? She could have +lifted up her voice and cursed her where she stood. + +"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question." Spite of her +efforts to be calm, there was a strange ring in her voice that made +Enrica look up at her. "Enrica, do you still love Count Nobili?" + +"This is not a fair question," interrupted Fra Pacifico, coming to +the rescue of the distressed Enrica, who sat speechless before her +terrible aunt. "I know she still loves him. The love of a heart like +hers is not to be destroyed by such a letter as that, and the unjust +accusations it contains." + +Fra Pacifico pointed with his finger to Nobili's letter lying where he +had placed it on the table. Seeing the letter, Enrica started back and +shivered. + +"Is it not so, Enrica?" + +The little blond head and the sad blue eyes bowed themselves gently in +response. A faint smile flitted across Enrica's face. Fra Pacifico had +spoken all her mind, which she in her weakness could not have done, +especially with her aunt's dark eyes riveted upon her. + +"Then you still love Count Nobili?" The marchesa accentuated each word +with bitter emphasis. + +"I do," answered Enrica, faintly. + +"If Count Nobili returns here, will you marry him?" + +As the marchesa spoke, Enrica trembled like a leaf. "What was she +to answer?" The little composure she had been able to assume utterly +forsook her. She who had believed that nothing was left but to die, +was suddenly called upon to live! + +"O my aunt," Enrica cried, springing to her feet, "how can I look +Nobili in the face after that letter? He thinks I have deceived him." + +Enrica stopped; the words seemed to choke her. With an imploring look, +she turned toward Fra Pacifico. Without knowing what she did Enrica +flung herself on the floor at his feet; she clasped his knees--she +turned her beseeching eyes into his. + +"O my father, help me! Nobili is my very life. How can I refuse what +is my very life? When Nobili left me, my first thought was to die!" + +"Surely, my daughter, not by a violent death?" asked Fra Pacifico, +stooping over her. + +"Yes, yes," and Enrica wrung her hands, "yes, I would have done it--I +could not bear to live without him." + +A look of sorrow and reproach darkened Fra Pacifico's brow. He crossed +himself. "God be praised," he exclaimed, "you were saved from that +wickedness!" + +"My father"--Enrica extended her arms toward him--"I implore you, for +the love of Jesus, let me enter a convent!" + +In these few and simple words Enrica had tried all her powers of +persuasion. The words were addressed to the priest; but her blue eyes, +filled with tears, gathered themselves upon the marchesa imploringly. +Enrica awaited her fate in silence. The priest rose and gently +replaced her on her chair. All the benevolence of his manly nature +was called forth. He cast a searching glance at the marchesa. Nothing +betrayed her feelings. + +"Calm yourself, Enrica," Fra Pacifico said, soothingly. "No one seeks +to hurry or to force you. But I could not for a moment sanction your +entering a convent. In your present state of mind it would be an +unholy and an unnatural act." + +Although outwardly unmoved, never in her life had the marchesa felt +such exultation. Had Fra Pacifico seconded Enrica's proposal to enter +a convent, all would have been lost! Still nothing was absolutely +decided. It was possible Fra Pacifico might yet frustrate her plans. +She ventured another question. + +"If Count Nobili meets you at the altar, you will not then refuse to +marry him?" + +There was an imperceptible tremor in the marchesa's voice. The +suspense was becoming intolerable to her. + +"Refuse to marry him? Refuse Nobili? No, no, I can refuse Nobili +nothing," answered Enrica, dreamily. "But he will not come!--he is +gone forever!" + +"He will come," insisted the marchesa, pushing her advantage +skillfully. + +"But will he love me?" asked the tender young voice. "Will he believe +that I love him? Oh, tell me that!--Father Pacifico, help me! I cannot +think." Enrica pressed her hands to her forehead. She had suffered so +much, now that the crisis had come she was stunned, she had no power +to decide. "Dare I marry him?--Ought we to part forever?" A flush +gathered on her cheek, an ineffable longing shone from her eyes. +More than life was in the balance--not only to Enrica, but to +the marchesa--the marchesa, who, wrapped within the veil of her +impenetrable reserve, breathlessly awaited, an answer. + +Fra Pacifico showed unmistakable signs of agitation. He rose from his +chair, and for some minutes strode rapidly up and down the room, the +floor creaking under his heavy tread. The life of this fragile girl +lay in his hands. How could he resist that pleading look? Enrica had +done nothing wrong. Was Enrica to suffer--die, perhaps--because Nobili +had wrongfully accused her? Fra Pacifico passed his large, muscular +hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven chin, then stopped to gaze +upon her. Her lips were parted, her eyes dilated to their utmost +limit. + +"My child," he said at last, laying his hand upon her head with +fatherly tenderness--"my child, if Count Nobili returns here, you will +be justified in marrying him." + +Enrica sank back and closed her eyes. A great leap of joy overwhelmed +her. She dared not question her happiness. To behold Nobili once +more--only to behold him--filled her with rapture. + +"What is your answer, Enrica? I must hear your answer from yourself." + +The marchesa spoke out of the darkness. She shrank from allowing Fra +Pacifico to scrutinize the exultation marked on her every feature. + +"My aunt, if Nobili comes here to claim me, I will marry him," +answered Enrica, more firmly. "But stop"--her eye had meanwhile +traveled to the letter still lying on the table--a horrible doubt +crossed her mind. "Will Nobili know that I am not what he says +there--in that letter?" + +Enrica could bring herself to say no more. She longed to ask all that +had happened about Count Marescotti, and how her name had been mixed +up with his, but the words refused to come. + +"Leave that to me," answered the marchesa, imperiously. "If Count +Nobili comes to marry you, is not that proof enough that he is +satisfied?" + +Enrica felt that it must be so. A wild joy possessed her. This joy was +harder to bear than the pain. Enrica was actually sinking under the +hope that Nobili might return to her! + +Fra Pacifico noticed the gray shadow that was creeping over her face. + +"Enrica must go at once to her room," he said abruptly, "else I cannot +answer for the consequences. Her strength is overtaxed." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico hastily opened the door leading into the +sala. He took Enrica by the hand and raised her. She was perfectly +passive. The marchesa rose also; for the first time she came into +the full light of the lamp. Enrica stooped and kissed her hand +mechanically. + +"My niece, you may prepare for your approaching marriage. Count Nobili +will be here shortly--never fear." + +The marchesa's manner was strange, almost menacing. Fra Pacifico led +Enrica across the sala to her own door. When he returned, the marchesa +was again reading Count Nobili's letter. + +"A love-match in the Guinigi family!" She was laughing with derision. +"What are we coming to?" + +She tore the letter into innumerable fragments. + +"My father, I shall leave for Lucca early to-morrow. You must look +after Enrica. I am satisfied with what has passed." + +"God send we have done right!" answered the priest, gloomily. "Now at +least she has a chance of life." + +"Adieu, Fra Pacifico. When next we meet it will be at the marriage." + +Fra Pacifico withdrew. Had he done his duty?--Fra Pacifico dared not +ask himself the question. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. + + +Ten days after the departure of the marchesa, Fra Pacifico received +the following letter: + +REVEREND AND ESTEEMED FATHER: I have put the matter of Enrica's +marriage into the hands of the well-known advocate, Maestro Guglielmi, +of Lucca. He at once left for Rome. By extraordinary diligence he +procured a summons for Count Nobili to appear within fifteen +days before the tribunal, to answer in person for his breach of +marriage-contract--unless, before the expiration of that time, he +should make the contract good by marriage. The citation was left with +the secretary at Count Nobili's own house. Maestro Guglielmi also +informed the secretary, by my order, that, in default of his--Count +Nobili's--appearance, a detailed account of the whole transaction with +my niece, and of other transactions touching Count Nobili's father, +known to me--of which I have informed Maestro Guglielmi--would be +published--upon my authority--in every newspaper in all the cities +throughout Italy, with such explanations and particulars as I might +see fit to insert. Also that the name of Count Nobili, as a slanderer +and a perjurer, should be placarded on all the spare walls of +Lucca, at Florence, and throughout Tuscany. The secretary denies any +knowledge of his master's present address. He declared that he was +unable, therefore, to communicate with him. + +In the mean time a knowledge of the facts has spread through this +city. The public voice is with us to a man. Once more the citizens +have rallied round the great Guinigi name. Crowds assemble daily +before Count Nobili's palace. His name is loudly execrated by the +citizens. Stones have been thrown, and windows broken; indeed, +there are threats of burning the palace. The authorities have not +interfered. Count Nobili has now, I hear, returned privately to Lucca. +He dares not show himself, or he would be stabbed; but Count Nobili's +lawyer has had a conference with Maestro Guglielmi. Cavaliere Trenta +insisted upon being present. This was against my will. Cavaliere +Trenta always says too much. Maestro Guglielmi gave Count Nobili's +lawyer three days to decide. At the expiration of that time Signore +Guglielmi met him again. Count Nobili's lawyer declared that with the +utmost difficulty he had prevailed upon his client to make good +the contract by the religious ceremony of marriage. Let every thing +therefore be ready for the ceremony. This letter is private. You will +say nothing further to my niece than that Count Nobili will arrive +at Corellia at two o'clock the day after to-morrow to marry her. +Farewell. + +Your friend and well-wisher, + +"MARCHESA GUINIGI." + +The morning of the third day rose gray and chill at Corellia. Much +rain had fallen during the night, and a damp mist streamed up from the +valleys, shutting out the mighty range of mountains. In the plains of +Pisa and Florence the October sun still blazed glorious as ever on the +lush grass and flowery meadows--on the sluggish streams and the rich +blossoms. There, the trees still rustled in green luxuriance, to +soft breezes perfumed with orange-trees and roses. But in the +mountain-fastnesses of the Apennines autumn had come on apace. Such +faded leaves as clung to the shrubs about the villa were drooping +under the weight of the rain-drops, and a few autumnal flowers that +still lit up the broad borders lay prostrate on the earth. Each tiny +stream and brawling water-course--even mere little humble rills +that dried up in summer--now rushed downward over rocks and stones +blackened with moss, to pour themselves into the river Serchio. In the +forest the turf was carpeted with yellow leaves, carried hither and +thither by the winds. The stems and branches of the chestnuts ranged +themselves, tier above tier, like silver pillars, against the red +sandstone of the rocks. The year was dying out, and with the year all +Nature was dying out likewise. + +Within the villa a table was spread in the great sala, with wine and +such simple refreshments as the brief notice allowed. As the morning +advanced, clouds gathered more thickly over the heavens. The gloomy +daylight coming in at the doors, and through the many windows, caught +up no ray within. The vaguely-sailing ships painted upon the wall, +destined never to find a port in those unknown seas for which their +sails were set--and that exasperating company opposite, that +through all changes of weal or woe danced remorselessly under the +greenwood--were shrouded in misty shadows. + +Not a sound broke the silence--nothing save the striking of the clock +at Corellia, bringing with it visions of the dark old church--the +kneeling women--and the peace of God within. Even Argo and his +friends--Juno and Tuzzi, and the bull-dog--were mute. + +About twelve o'clock the marchesa arrived from Lucca. In her company +came the Cavaliere Trenta and Maestro Guglielmi. Fra Pacifico was in +waiting. He received them with grave courtesy. Adamo, arrayed by Pipa +in his Sunday clothes, with a flower behind his ear, and Silvestro, +stood uncovered at the entrance. Once, and once only, Silvestro +abstained from addressing his mistress with his usual question about +her health. + +Maestro Guglielmi was formally presented to Fra Pacifico by the +punctilious cavaliere, now restored to his usual health and spirits. +The cavaliere had arrayed himself in his official uniform--dark-purple +velvet embroidered with gold. Not having worn the uniform, however, +for more than twenty years, the coat was much too small for him. In +his hand he carried a white staff of office. This served him as a +stick. Coming up from Lucca, the cavaliere had reflected that on him +solely must rest the care of imparting some show of dignity to the +ceremony about to take place. He resolved that he would be equal to +the occasion, whatever might occur. + +There was a strange hush upon each one of the little group met in the +sala. Each was busy with his own thoughts. The marriage about to take +place was to the marchesa the resurrection of the Guinigi name. To +Fra Pacifico it was the possible rescue of Enrica from a life of +suffering, perhaps an early death. To Guglielmi it was the triumph of +the keen lawyer, who had tracked and pursued his prey until that prey +had yielded. To the cavaliere it was simply an act of justice which +Count Nobili owed to Enrica, after the explanations he (Trenta) had +given to him through his lawyer, respecting Count Marescotti--such an +act of justice as the paternal government of his master the Duke +of Lucca would have forced, upon the strength of his absolute +prerogative, irrespective of law. The only person not outwardly +affected was the marchesa. The marchesa had said nothing since her +arrival, but there was a haughty alacrity of step and movement, as she +walked down the sala toward the door of her own apartment, that spoke +more than words. + +No sooner had the sound of her closing door died away in the echoes of +the sala than Trenta, with forward bows both to Fra Pacifico and the +lawyer, requested permission to leave them, in order to visit Enrica. +Guglielmi and Fra Pacifico were now alone. Guglielmi gave a cautious +glance round, then walked up to the table, and poured out a tumbler +of wine, which he swallowed slowly. As he did so, he was engaged in +closely scrutinizing Fra Pacifico, who, full of anxiety as to what was +about to happen, stood lost in thought. + +Maestro Guglielmi, whose age might be about forty, was a man, once +seen, not easily forgotten--a tall, slight man of quick subtile +movements, that betrayed the devouring activity within. Maestro +Guglielmi had a perfectly colorless face, a prominent, eager nose, +thin lips, that perpetually unclosed to a ghostly smile in which the +other features took no part; a brow already knitted with those fine +wrinkles indicative of constant study, and overhanging eyebrows that +framed a pair of eyes that read you like a book. It would have been a +bold man who, with those eyes fixed on him, would have told a lie to +Maestro Guglielmi, advocate in the High Court of Lucca. If any man had +so lied, those eyes would have gathered up the light, and flashed it +forth again in lightnings that might consume him. That they were dark +and flaming, and greatly dreaded by all on whom Guglielmi fixed them +in opposition, was generally admitted by his legal compeers. + +"Reverend sir," began Maestro Guglielmi, blandly, stepping up to where +the priest stood a little apart, and speaking in a metallic voice +audible in any court of law, be it ever so closely packed--"it +gratifies me much that chance has so ordered it that we two are left +alone." Guglielmi took out his watch. "We have a good half-hour to +spare." + +Fra Pacifico turned, and for the first time contemplated the lawyer +attentively. As he did so, he noted with surprise the power of his +eyes. + +"I earnestly desire some conversation with you," continued Guglielmi, +the semblance of a smile flitting over his hard face. "Can we speak +here securely?" And the lawyer glanced round at the various doors, and +particularly to an open one, which led from the sala to the chapel, +at the farther end of the house. Fra Pacifico moved forward and closed +it. + +"You are quite safe--say what you please," he answered, bluntly. His +frank nature rose involuntarily against the cunning of Guglielmi's +look and manner. "We have no spies here." + +"Pardon me, I did not mean to insinuate that. But what I have to say +is strictly private." + +Fra Pacifico eyed Guglielmi with no friendly expression. + +"I know you well by repute, reverend sir"--with one comprehensive +glance Guglielmi seemed to take in Fra Pacifico mentally and +physically--"therefore it is that I address myself to you." + +The priest crossed his arms and bowed. + +"The marchesa has confided to me the charge of this most delicate +case. Hitherto I have conducted it with success. It is not my habit +to fail. I have succeeded in convincing Count Nobili's lawyer, and +through him Count Nobili himself, that it would be suicidal to his +interests should he not make good the marriage-contract with the +Marchesa Guinigi's niece. If Count Nobili refuses, he must leave +the country. He has established himself in Lucca, and desires, as I +understand, to remain there. My noble client has done me the honor +to inform me that she is acquainted with, and can prove, some act of +villainy committed by his father, who, though he ended his life as +an eminent banker at Florence, began it as a money-lender at Leghorn. +Count Nobili's father filled in a blank check which a client had +incautiously left in his hands, to an enormous amount, or something of +that kind, I believe. I refused to notice this circumstance legally, +feeling sure that we were strong enough without it. I was also sure +that giving publicity to such a fact would only prejudice the position +of the future husband of the marchesa's niece. To return. Fortunately, +Count Nobili's lawyer saw the case as I put it to him. Count-Nobili +will, undoubtedly, be here at two o'clock." Again the lawyer took out +his watch, looked at it, and replaced it with rapidity. "A good deal +of hard work is comprised in that sentence, 'Count Nobili will be +here!'" Again there was the ghost of a smile. "Lawyers must not +always be judged by the result. In this case, however, the result is +favorable, eminently favorable." + +Fra Pacifico's face deepened into a look of disgust, but he said +nothing. + +"Count Nobili once here and joined to the young lady by the Church, +_we must keep him_. The spouses must pass twenty-four hours under the +same roof to complete and legalize the marriage. I am here officially, +to see that Count Nobili attends at the time appointed for the +ceremony. In reality, I am here to see that Count Nobili remains. This +must be no formal union. They must be bound together irrevocably. You +must help me, reverend sir." + +Maestro Guglielmi turned quickly upon Fra Pacifico. His eyes ran all +over him. The priest drew back. + +"I have already stretched my conscience to the utmost for the sake of +the lady. I can do nothing more." + +"But, my father, it is surely to the lady's advantage that, if the +count marries her, they should live together, that heirs should be +born to them," pleaded Guglielmi in a most persuasive voice. "If the +count separates from his wife after the ceremony, how can this be? +We do not live in the days of miracles, though we have an infallible +pope. Eh, my father? Not in the days of miracles." Guglielmi gave an +ironical laugh, and his eyes twinkled. "Besides, there is the civil +ceremony." + +"The Sindaco of Corellia can be present, if you please, for the civil +marriage." + +"Unfortunately, there is no time to call the sindaco now," replied +Guglielmi. "If Count Nobili remains the night in company with his +bride, we shall have no difficulty about the civil marriage to-morrow. +Count Nobili will not object then. Not likely." + +The lawyer gave a harsh, cynical laugh that grated offensively upon +the priest's ear. Fra Pacifico began to think Maestro Guglielmi +intolerable. + +"That is your affair. I will undertake no further responsibility," +responded Fra Pacifico, doggedly. + +"You cannot mean, my father, that you will not help me?" And Guglielmi +contemplated Fra Pacifico fixedly with all the lightnings he could +bring to bear upon him. To his amazement, he produced no effect +whatever. Fra Pacifico remained silent. Altogether this was a priest +different from any he had ever met with--Guglielmi hated priests--he +began to be interested in Fra Pacifico. + +"Well, well," was Guglielmi's reply, with an aspect of intense +chagrin, "I had better hopes. Your position, Fra Pacifico, as a +peace-maker--as a friend of the family--however"--here the lawyer +shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes wandered restlessly up and down +the room--"however, at least permit me to tell you what I intend to +do." + +Fra Pacifico bowed coldly. + +"As you please," was his reply. + +Maestro Guglielmi advanced close to Fra Pacifico, and lowered his +voice almost to a whisper. + +"The circumstances attending this marriage are becoming very public. +My client, the Marchesa Guinigi, considers her position so exalted she +dares to court publicity. She forgets we are not in the middle ages. +Ha! ha!" and Guglielmi showed his teeth in a smile that was nothing +but a grin--"publicity will be fatal to the young lady. This the +marchesa fails to see; but I see it, and you see it, my father." + +Fra Pacifico shook himself all over as though silently rejecting any +possible participation in Maestro Guglielmi's arguments. Guglielmi +quite understood the gesture, but continued, perfectly at his ease: + +"The high rank of the young lady--the wealth of the count--a +marriage-contract broken--an illustrious name libeled--Count Nobili, +a well-known member of the Jockey Club, in concealment--the Lucchese +populace roused to fury--all these details have reached the capital. +A certain royal personage"--here Guglielmi drew himself up pompously, +and waved his hand, as was his wont in the fervor of a grand +peroration--"a certain royal personage, who has reasons of his own +for avoiding unnecessary scandal (possibly because the royal personage +causes so much himself, and considers scandal his own prerogative) +"--Guglielmi emphasized his joke with such scintillation as would +metaphorically have taken any other man than Fra Pacifico off his +legs--even Fra Pacifico stared at him with astonishment--"a certain +royal personage, I say--earnestly desires that this affair should +be amicably arranged--that the republican party should not have the +gratification of gloating over a sensational trial between two noble +families (the republicans would make terrible capital out of +it)--a certain personage desires, I say, that the affair should be +arranged--amicably arranged--not only by a formal marriage--the +formal marriage, of course, we positively insist on--but by a complete +reconciliation between the parties. If this should not be so, the +present ceremony will infallibly lead to a lawsuit respecting the +civil marriage--the domicile--and the cohabitation--which it is +distinctly understood that Count Nobili will refuse, and that +the Marchesa Guinigi, acting for her niece, will maintain. It is +essential, therefore, that more than the formal ceremony shall take +place. It is essential that the subsequent cohabitation--" + +"I see your drift," interrupted downright Fra Pacifico, in his blunt +way; "no need to go into further details." + +Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico had become interested in the narrative. +The cunning lawyer intended that Fra Pacifico should become so +interested. What was the strong-fisted, simple-hearted priest beside +such a sophist as Maestro Guglielmi! + +"The royal personage in question," continued Guglielmi, who read in +Fra Pacifico's frank countenance that he had conquered his repugnance, +"has done me the high honor of communicating to me his august +sentiments. I have pledged myself to do all I can to prevent the +catastrophe of law. My official capacity, however, ends with Count +Nobili's presence here at the appointed hour." + +At the word "hour" Guglielmi hastily pulled out his watch. + +"Only a few minutes more," he muttered. "But this is not all. Listen, +my father." + +He gave a hasty glance round, then put his lips close to the priest's +ear. + +"If I succeed--may I say _we_?" he added, insinuatingly--"if _we_ +succeed, a canonry will be offered to you, Fra Pacifico; and I" +(Guglielmi's speaking eyes became brilliantly emphatic now)--"I shall +be appointed judge of the tribunal at Lucca." + +"Pshaw!" cried Fra Pacifico, retreating from him with an expression +of blank disappointment. "I a canon at Lucca! If that is to be +the consequence of success, you must depend on yourself, Signore +Guglielmi. I decline to help you. I would not be a canon at Lucca if +the King of Italy asked me in person." + +Guglielmi, whose tactics were, if he failed, never to show it, smiled +his falsest smile. + +"Noble disinterestedness!" he exclaimed, drawing his delicate hand +across his brow. "Nothing could have raised your reverence higher in +my esteem than this refusal!" + +To conceal his real annoyance, Maestro Guglielmi turned away and +coughed. It was a diplomatic cough, ready on all emergencies. Again he +consulted his watch. + +"Five minutes more, then we must assemble at the altar. A fine will be +levied upon Count Nobili, if he is not punctual." + +"If it is so near the time, I must beg you to excuse me," said Fra +Pacifico, glad to escape. + +Fra Pacifico, walked rapidly toward the door opening into the corridor +leading to the chapel. His retreating figure was followed by +a succession of fireworks from Guglielmi's eyes, indicative of +indignation and contempt. + +"He who sleeps catches no fish," the lawyer muttered to himself, +biting his lips. "But the priest will help me--spite of himself, he +will help me. A health to Holy Mother Church! She would not do much if +all her ministers were like this country clod. He is without ambition. +He has quite fatigued me." + +Saying this, Maestro Guglielmi poured out another glass of wine. He +critically examined the wine in the light before putting it to his +lips; then he swallowed it with an expression of approbation. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE HOUR STRIKES. + + +The chapel was approached by a door communicating with the corridor. +(There was another entrance from the garden; at this entrance Adamo +was stationed.) It was narrow and lofty, more like a gallery than a +chapel, except that the double windows at either end were arched and +filled with stained glass. The altar was placed in a recess facing the +door opening from the corridor. It was of dark marble raised on +steps, and was backed by a painting too much blackened by smoke to +be distinguished. Within the rails stood Fra Pacifico, arrayed in +a vestment of white and gold. The grand outline of his tall figure +filled the front of the altar. No one would have recognized the parish +priest in the stately ecclesiastic who wore his robes with so much +dignity. Beside Fra Pacifico was Angelo transformed into an acolyte, +wearing a linen surplice--Angelo awed into perfect propriety--swinging +a silver censer, and only to be recognized by the twinkling of his +wicked eyes (not even Fra Pacifico could tame them). To the right of +the altar stood the marchesa. Maestro Guglielmi, tablets in hand, +was beside her. Behind, at a respectful distance, appeared Silvestro, +gathered up into the smallest possible compass. + +As the slow moments passed, all stood so motionless--all save Angelo, +swinging the silver censer--they might have passed for a sculptured +group upon a marble tomb. One--two--struck from the old clock in the +Lombard Tower at Corellia. At the last stroke the door from the garden +was thrown open. Count Nobili stood in the doorway. At the moment of +Count Nobili's appearance Maestro Guglielmi drew out his watch; +then he proceeded to note upon his tablets that Count Nobili, having +observed the appointed time, was not subject to a fine. + +Count Nobili paused on the threshold, then he advanced to the altar. +That he had come in haste was apparent. His dress was travel-stained +and dusty; the locks of his abundant chestnut hair matted and rough; +his whole appearance wild and disordered. All the outward polish of +the man was gone; the happy smile contagious in its brightness; the +pleasant curl of the upper lip raising the fair mustache; the kindling +eye so capable of tenderness. His expression was of a man undergoing a +terrible ordeal; defiance, shame, anger, contended on his face. + +There was something in the studied negligence of Count Nobili's +appearance that irritated the marchesa to the last degree of +endurance. She bridled with rage, and exchanged a significant glance +with Guglielmi. + +Footsteps were now heard coming from the sala. It was Enrica, led +by the cavaliere. Enrica was whiter than her bridal veil. She had +suffered Pipa to array her as she pleased, without a word. Her hair +was arranged in a coronet upon her head; a whole sheaf of golden curls +hung down from it behind. There were the exquisite symmetry of form, +the natural grace, the dreamy beauty--all the soft harmony of color +upon her oval face--but the freshness of girlhood was gone. Enrica had +made a desperate effort to be calm. Nobili was under the same roof--in +the same room--Nobili was beside her. Would he not show some sign +that he still loved her?--Else why had he come?--One glance at him was +enough. Oh! he was changed!--She could not bear it. Enrica would have +fled had not Trenta held her. The marchesa, too, advanced a step or +two, and cast upon her a look so menacing that it filled her with +terror. Trembling all over, Enrica clung to the cavaliere. He led her +gently forward, and placed her beside Count Nobili standing at the +altar. Thus unsupported, Enrica tottered--she seemed about to fall. No +hand was stretched out to help her. + +Nobili had turned visibly pale as Enrica entered. His face was +averted. The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, ranged themselves on +either side. The marchesa and Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the +altar. Angelo waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails. +Pipa peeped in at the open doorway. Her eyes were red with weeping. +Pipa looked round aghast. + +"What a marriage was this! More like a death than a marriage! She +would not have married so--not if it had cost her her life--no music, +no rose-leaves, no dance, no wine. None had even changed their clothes +but the cavaliere and the signorina. And a bridegroom like that!--a +statue--not a living man! And the signorina--poverina--hardly able to +stand upon her feet! The signorina would be sure to faint, she was so +weak." + +Pipa had to muffle her face in her handkerchief to drown her sobs. +Then Fra Pacifico's impressive voice broke the silence with the +opening words of exhortation. + +"Deus Israel sit vobiscum." + +"Gloria patri," was the response in Angelo's childish treble. + +Enrica and Nobili now knelt side by side. Two lighted tapers, typical +of chaste love, were placed on the floor beside them on either hand. +The image of the Virgin on the altar was uncovered. The tall candles +flickered, Enrica and Nobili knelt side by side--the man who had +ceased to love, and the woman who still loved, but who dared not +confess her love! + +As Fra Pacifico proceeded, Count Nobili's face hardened. Was not the +basilisk eye of the marchesa upon him? Her lawyer, too, taking notes +of every look and gesture? + +"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wife?" asked the +priest. Turning from the altar, Fra Pacifico faced Count Nobili as he +put this question. + +A hot flush overspread Nobili's face. He opened his lips to speak, but +no words were audible. Would the words not come, or would Nobili at +the last moment refuse to utter them? + +"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" +sternly repeated Fra Pacifico, fixing his dark eyes upon him. + +"I will," answered Nobili. Whatever his feelings were, Nobili had +mastered them. + +For an instant Nobili's eye met Enrica's. He turned hastily away. +Enrica sighed. Whatever hopes had buoyed her up were gone. Nobili had +turned away from her! + +Fra Pacifico placed Enrica's hand in that of Nobili. Poor little +hand--how it trembled! Ah! would Nobili not recall how fondly he had +clasped it? What kisses he had showered upon each rosy little finger! +So lately, too! No--Nobili is impassive; not a feature of his face +changes. But the contact of Nobili's beloved hand utterly overcame +Enrica. The limit of her endurance was reached. Again the shadow of +death was upon her--the shadow that had led her to the dark abyss. + +When Nobili dropped her hand; Enrica leaned forward upon the edge +of the marble rails. She hid her head upon her arms. Her long hair, +escaped from the fastening, shrouded her face. + +"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus!" spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico. + +He made the sign of the cross. The address followed. The priest's last +words died away in sonorous echoes. It was done. They were man and +wife! + +Fra Pacifico had by no outward sign betrayed what he felt during the +discharge of his office; but his conscience sorely smote him. He asked +himself with dismay if, in helping Enrica, he had not committed a +mortal sin? Hitherto he had defended Count Nobili; now his whole soul +rose against him. "Would Nobili say nothing in justification?" +Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico's fists clinched themselves under his +vestments. + +But Nobili was about to speak. He gave a hurried glance round the +circle--upon Enrica kneeling at the altar; with the air of a man who +forces himself to do a hateful penance, he broke silence. + +"In the presence of the blessed sacrament"--his voice was thick and +hoarse--"I declare that, after the explanations given, I withdraw my +accusations. I hold that lady, now Countess Nobili"--and he pointed to +the motionless mass of white drapery kneeling beside him--"I hold +that lady innocent in thought and life. But I include her in the just +indignation with which I regard this house and its mistress, whose +agent she has made herself to deceive me." + +Count Nobili's kindling eye rested on the marchesa. She, in her turn, +shot a furious glance at the cavaliere. + +"'Explanations given!' Then Trenta had dared to exonerate Enrica! It +was degrading!" + +"This reparation made," continued Count Nobili--"my name and hand +given to her by the Church--honor is satisfied: I will never live with +her!" + +Was there no mercy in the man as he pronounced these last words? No +appeal? No mercy? Or had the marchesa driven him to bay? + +The marchesa!--Nobili's last words had shattered the whole fabric of +her ambition! Never for a moment had the marchesa doubted that, the +marriage once over, Nobili would have seriously refused the splendid +position she offered him. Look at her!--She cannot conceal her +consternation. + +"I invite you, therefore, Maestro Guglielmi"--the studied calmness of +Nobili's manner belied the agitation of his voice and aspect--"you, +Maestro Guglielmi, who have been called here expressly to insult me--I +invite you to advise the Marchesa Guinigi to accept what I am willing +to offer." + +"To insult you, Count Nobili?" exclaimed Guglielmi, looking round. +(Guglielmi had turned aside to write a few hurried words upon his +tablets, torn out the leaf, and slipped it into the marchesa's hand. +So rapidly was this done, no one had perceived it.) "To insult you? +Surely not to insult you! Allow me to explain." + +"Silence!" thundered Fra Pacifico standing before the altar. "In the +name of God, silence! Let those who desire to wrangle choose a fitter +place. There can be no contentions in the presence of the sacrament. +The declaration of Count Nobili's belief in the virtue of his wife +I permitted. I listened to what followed, praying that, if human +aid failed, God, hearing his blasphemy against the holy sacrament of +marriage, might touch his heart. In the hands of God I leave him!" + +Having thus spoken, Fra Pacifico replaced the Host in the ciborium, +and, assisted by Angelo, proceeded to divest himself of his robes, +which he laid one by one upon the altar. + +At this instant the marchesa rose and left the chapel. Count Nobili's +eyes followed her with a look of absolute loathing. Without one glance +at Enrica, still immovable, her head buried on her arms, Nobili left +the altar. He walked slowly to the window at the farther end of the +chapel. Turning his back upon all present, he took from his pocket a +parchment, which he perused with deep attention. + +All this time Cavaliere Trenta, radiant in his official costume, his +white staff of office in his right hand, had remained standing behind +Enrica. Each instant he expected to see her rise, when it would +devolve on him to lead her away; but she had not stirred. Now the +cavaliere felt that the fitting moment had fully come for Enrica to +withdraw. Indeed, he wondered within himself why she had remained so +long. + +"Enrica, rise, my child," he said, softly. "There is nothing more to +be done. The ceremony is over." + +Still Enrica did not move. Fra Pacifico leaned over the altar-rails, +and gently raised her head. It dropped back upon his hand--Enrica had +fainted. + +This discovery caused the most terrible commotion. Pipa, who had +watched every thing from the door, screamed and ran forward. Fra +Pacifico was bending over the prostrate girl, supported in the arms of +the cavaliere. + +"I feared this," Fra Pacifico whispered. "Thank God, I believe it is +only momentary! We must carry her instantly to her room. I will take +care of her." + +"Poor, broken flower!" cried Trenta, "who will raise thee up?" His +voice came thick, struggling with sobs. "Can you see that unmoved, +Count Nobili?" Trenta pointed to the retreating figure of Fra Pacifico +bearing Enrica in his arms. + +At the sound of Trenta's voice, Count Nobili started and turned +around. Enrica had already disappeared. + +"You will soon give her another bridegroom--he will not leave her +as you have done--that bridegroom will be Death! To-day it is the +bridal-veil--to-morrow it will be the shroud. Not a month ago she +lay upon what might have been her death-bed. Your infamous letter +did that!" The remembrance of that letter roused the cavaliere out of +himself; he cared not what he said. "That letter almost killed her. +Would to God she had died! What has she done? She is an angel! We were +all here when you signed the contract. Why did you break it?" Trenta's +shrill voice had risen into a kind of wail. "Do you mean to doubt what +I told you at Lucca? I swear to you that Enrica never knew that she +was offered in marriage to Count Marescotti--I swear it!--I did it--it +was my fault. I persuaded the marchesa. It was I. Enrica and Count +Marescotti never met but in my presence. And you revenge yourself on +her? If you had the heart of a man, you could not do it!" + +"It is because I have the heart of a man, I will not suffer +degradation!" cried Nobili. "It is because I have the heart of a man, +I will not sink into an unworthy tool! This is why I refuse to live +with her. She is one of a vile conspiracy. She has joined with the +marchesa against me. I have been forced to marry her. I will not live +with her!" + +Count Nobili stopped suddenly. An agonized expression came into his +face. + +"I screened her in the first fury of my anger--I screened her when +I believed her guilty. Now it is too late--God help her!" He turned +abruptly away. + +Cavaliere Trenta, whose vehemence had died away as suddenly as it had +risen, crept to the door. He threw up his hands in despair. There was +no help for Enrica! + +All this time Maestro Guglielmi's keen eyes had noted every thing. He +was on the lookout for evidence. Persons under strong emotions, as a +rule, commit themselves. Count Nobili was young and hot-headed. Count +Nobili would probably commit himself. Up to this time Count Nobili had +said nothing, however, that could be made use of. Guglielmi's ready +brain worked incessantly. If he could carry out the plan he had +formed, he might yet be a judge within the year. Already Guglielmi +feels the touch of the soft fur upon his official robes! + +After the cavaliere's departure, Guglielmi advanced. He had been +standing so entirely concealed in the shadow thrown by the altar, that +Nobili had forgotten his presence. Nobili now stared at him in angry +surprise. + +"With your permission," said the lawyer, with a low bow, accosting +Nobili, "I hope to convince you how much you have wronged me by your +accusation." + +"What accusation?" demanded the count, drawing back toward the window. +"I do not understand you." + +Guglielmi was the marchesa's adviser; Count Nobili hated him. + +"Your accusation that 'I am here to insult you.' If you will do me the +honor, Count Nobili, to speak to me in private"--Guglielmi glanced at +Silvestro, Adamo, and Angelo, peering out half hid by the altar--"if +you will do me this honor, I will prove to you that I am here to serve +you." + +"That is impossible," answered Nobili. "Nor do I care. I leave this +house immediately." + +"But allow me to observe, Count Nobili," and Maestro Guglielmi drew +himself up with an air of offended dignity, "you are bound as a +gentleman to retract those words, or to hear my explanation." (Delay +at any price was Guglielmi's object.) "Surely, Count Nobili, you +cannot refuse me this satisfaction?" + +Count Nobili hesitated. What could this strange man have to say to +him? + +Guglielmi watched him. + +"You will spare me half an hour?" he urged. "That will suffice." + +Count Nobili looked greatly embarrassed. + +"A thousand thanks!" exclaimed Guglielmi, accepting his silence for +consent. "I will not trespass needlessly on your time. Permit me to +find some one to conduct you to a room." + +Guglielmi looked round--Angelo came forward. + +"Conduct Count Nobili to the room prepared for him," said the lawyer. +"There, Count Nobili, I will attend you in a few minutes." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME. + + +When the marchesa entered the sala after she had left the chapel, her +steps were slow and measured. Count Nobili's words rang in her ear: "I +will not live with her." She could not put these words from her. For +the first time in her life the marchesa was shaken in the belief of +her mission. + +If Count Nobili refused to live with Enrica as his wife, all the law +in the world could not force him. If no heir was born to the Guinigi, +she had lived in vain. + +As the marchesa stood in the dull light of the misty afternoon, +leaning against the solid carved table on which refreshments were +spread, the old palace at Lucca rose up before her dyed with the ruddy +tints of summer sunsets. She trod again in thought those mysterious +rooms, shrouded in perpetual twilight. She gazed upon the faces of the +dead, looking down upon her from the walls. How could she answer +to those dead; for what had she done? That heroic face too with the +stern, soft eyes--how could she meet it? What was Count Nobili or his +wealth to her without an heir? By threats she had forced Nobili to +make Enrica his wife, but no threats could compel him to complete the +marriage. + +As she lingered in the sala, stunned by the blow that had fallen +upon her, the marchesa suddenly recollected the penciled lines which +Guglielmi had torn from his tablet and slipped into her hand. She drew +the paper from the folds of her dress and read these words: + + "_We are beaten if Count Nobili leaves the house to-night. + Keep him at all hazards_." + +A sudden revulsion seized her. She raised her head with that +snake-like action natural to her. The blood rushed to her face and +neck. Guglielmi then still had hope?--All was not lost. In an instant +her energy returned to her. What could she do to keep him? Would +Enrica--Enrica was still within the chapel. The marchesa heard the +murmur of voices coming through the corridor. No, though she worshiped +him, Enrica would never lend herself to tempt Nobili with the bait of +her beauty--no, even though she was his wife. It would be useless to +ask her. "Keep him--how?" the marchesa asked herself with feverish +impatience. Every moment was precious. She heard footsteps. They must +be leaving the chapel. Nobili, perhaps, was going. No. The door to the +garden, by which Nobili had entered the chapel, was now locked. Adamo +had given her the key. She must therefore see them when they passed +out through the sala. At this moment the howling of the dogs was +audible. They were chained up in the cave under the tower. Poor +beasts, they had been forgotten in the hurry of the day. The dogs +were hungry; were yelping for their food. Through the open door the +marchesa saw Adamo pass--a sudden thought struck her. + +"Adamo!" + +"Padrona." And Adamo's bullet-head and broad shoulders fill up the +doorway. + +"Where is Count Nobili?" + +"Along with the lawyer from Lucca." + +"He is safe, then, for the present," the marchesa told herself. + +Adamo could not speak for staring at his mistress as she stood +opposite to him full in the light. He had never seen such a look upon +her face all the years he had served her. + +She almost smiled at him. + +"Adamo," the marchesa addresses him eagerly, "come here. How many +years have you lived with me?" + +Adamo grins and shows two rows of white teeth. + +"Thirty years, padrona--I came when I was a little lad." + +"Have I treated you well, Adamo?" + +As she asks this question, the marchesa moves close to him. + +"Have I ever complained," is Adamo's answer, "that the marchesa asks +me?" + +"You saved my life, Adamo, not long ago, from the fire." The eager +look is growing intenser. "I have never thanked you. Adamo--" + +"Padrona"--he is more and more amazed at her--"she must be going to +die! Gesù mio! I wish she would swear at me," Adamo thought. "Padrona, +don't thank me--Domine Dio did it." + +"Take these"--and the marchesa puts her hand into her pocket and draws +out some notes--"take these, these are better than thanks." + +Adamo drew back much affronted. "Padrona, I don't want money." + +"Yes, yes, take them--for Pipa and the boys"--and she thrusts the +notes into his big red hands. + +"After all," thought Adamo to himself, "if the padrona is going to +die, I may as well have these notes as another." + +"I would save your life any day, padrona," Adamo says aloud. "It is a +pleasure." + +"Would you?" the marchesa fell into a muse. + +Again the dogs howled. Adamo makes a motion to go to them. + +"Were you going to feed the dogs when I called to you?" she asks. + +"Padrona, yes. I was going to feed them." + +"Are they very hungry?" + +"Very--poverini! they have had nothing since this morning. Now it is +five o'clock." + +"Don't feed them, Adamo, don't feed them." The marchesa is strangely +excited. She holds out her hand to detain him. + +Adamo stares at her in mute consternation. "The padrona is certainly +going mad before she dies," he mutters, trying to get away. + +"Adamo, come here!" He approaches her, secretly making horns against +the evil-eye with his fingers. "You saved my life, now you must save +my honor." + +The words came hissing into his ear. Adamo drew back a step or two. +"Blessed mother, what ails her?" But he held his tongue. + +The marchesa stands before him drawn up to her full height, every +nerve and muscle strained to the utmost. + +"Adamo, do you hear?--My honor, the honor of my name. Quick, quick!" + +She lays her hand on his rough jacket and grasps it. + +Adamo, struck with superstitious awe, cannot speak. He nods. + +"The dogs are hungry, you say. Let them loose without feeding. No one +must leave the house to-night. Do you understand? You must prevent it. +Let the dogs loose." + +Again Adamo nods. He is utterly bewildered. He will obey her, of +course, but what can she mean? + +"Is your gun loaded?" she asks, anxiously. + +"Yes, padrona." + +"That is well." A vindictive smile lights up her features. "No one +must leave the house to-night. You understand? The dogs will be +loose--the guns loaded.--Where is Pipa? Say nothing to Pipa. Do you +understand? Don't tell Pipa--" + +"Understand? No, diavalo! I don't understand," bursts out Adamo. "If +you want any one shot, tell me who it is, padrona, and I will do it." + +"That would be murder, Adamo." The marchesa is standing very near +him. Adamo sees the savage gleam that comes into her eyes. "If any one +leaves the house to-night except Fra Pacifico, stop him, Adamo, stop +him. You, or the dogs, or the gun--no matter. Stop him, I command you. +I have my reasons. If a life is lost I cannot help it--nor can you, +Adamo, eh?" + +She smiles grimly. Adamo smiles too, a stolid smile, and nods. He is +greatly relieved. The padrona is not mad, nor will she die. + +"You may sleep in peace, padrona." With the utmost respect Adamo +raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. "Next time ask Adamo to do +something more, and he will do it. Trust me, no one shall leave the +house to-night alive." + +The marchesa listens to Adamo breathlessly. "Go--go," she says; "we +must not be seen together." + +"The signora shall be obeyed," answers Adamo. He vanishes behind the +trees. + +"Now I can meet Guglielmi!" The marchesa rapidly crosses the sala to +the door of her own room, which she leaves ajar. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. + + +The room to which Angelo conducts Count Nobili is on the ground-floor, +in the same wing as the chapel. It is reached by the same corridor, +which traverses all that side of the house. Into this corridor many +other doors open. Pipa had chosen it because it was the best room in +the house. From the high ceiling, painted in gay frescoes, hangs a +large chandelier; the bed is covered with red damask curtains. Such +furniture as was available had been carried thither by Pipa and Adamo. +One large window, reaching to the ground, looks westward over the low +wall. + +The sun is setting. The mighty range of mountains are laced with gold; +light, fleecy cloudlets float across the sky. Behind rise banks of +deepest saffron. These shift and move at first in chaos; then they +take the form as of a fiery city. There are domes and towers and +pinnacles as of living flame, that burn and glisten. Another moment, +and the sun has sunk to rest. The phantom city fades; the ruddy +background melts into the gray mountain-side. Dim ghost-like streaks +linger about the double summits of La Pagna. They vanish. Nothing then +remains but masses of leaden clouds soon to darken into night. + +On entering the room, Count Nobili takes a long breath, gazes for a +moment on the mountains that rise before him, then turns toward +the door, awaiting the arrival of Guglielmi. His restless eye, his +shifting color, betray his agitation. The ordeal is not yet over; he +must hear what this man has to say. + +Maestro Guglielmi enters with a quick, brisk step and easy, confident +bearing; indeed, he is in the highest spirits. He had trembled lest +Nobili should have insisted upon leaving Corellia immediately after +the ceremony when it was still broad daylight. Several unforeseen +circumstances had prevented this--Enrica's fainting-fit; the +discussion that ensued upon it between Nobili and the old +chamberlain--all this had created delay, and afforded him an +appropriate opportunity of requesting a private interview. Besides, +the cunning lawyer had noted that, during that discussion in the +chapel with Cavaliere Trenta, Nobili had evinced indications of other +passions besides anger--indications of a certain tenderness in the +midst of his vehement sense of the wrong done him by the marchesa. +But, what was of far more consequence to Guglielmi was, that all +this had the effect of stopping Nobili's immediate departure. That +Guglielmi had prevailed upon Nobili to enter the room prepared for +him--that he had in so doing domiciled himself voluntarily under the +same roof as his wife--was an immense point gained. + +All this filled Maestro Guglielmi with the prescience of success. With +Nobili in the house, what might not the chapter of accidents produce? +All this had occurred, too, without taking into account what the +marchesa herself might have planned, when she had read the note of +instructions he had written upon a page of his tablets. Guglielmi +thought he knew his friend and client the Marchesa Guinigi but little, +if her fertile brain had not already created some complication that +would have the effect of preventing Count Nobili's departure that +night. The instant--the immediate instant--now lay with himself. He +was about to make the most of it. + +When Guglielmi entered the room, Count Nobili received him with an +expression of undisguised disgust. Summoned by Nobili in a peremptory +tone to say why he had brought him hither, Guglielmi broke forth with +extraordinary volubility. He had used, he declared, his influence with +the marchesa throughout for his (Count Nobili's) advantage--solely for +his advantage. One word from him, and the Marchesa Guinigi would +have availed herself of her legal claims in the most vindictive +manner--exposed family secrets--made the whole transaction of the +marriage public--and so revenged herself upon him that Count Nobili +would have no choice but to leave Lucca and Italy forever. + +"All this I have prevented," Guglielmi insisted emphatically. "How +could I serve you better?--Could a brother have guarded your honor +more jealously? You will come to see and acknowledge the obligation +in time--yes, Count Nobili--in time. Time brings all things to light. +Time will exhibit my integrity, my disinterested devotion to your +interests in their true aspect. All little difficulties settled with +my illustrious client, the Marchesa Guinigi (a high-minded and most +courageous lady of the heroic type), established in Lucca in the full +enjoyment of your enormous wealth--with the lovely lady I have just +seen by your side--the enlightened benefactor of the city--the patron +of art--the consoler of distress--a leader of the young generation +of nobles--the political head of the new Italian party--bearing the +grandest name (of course you will adopt that of Guinigi), adorning +that name with the example of noble actions--a splendid career opens +before you. Yes, Count Nobili--yes--a career worthy of the loftiest +ambition!" + +"All this I have been the happy means of procuring for you. Another +advocate might have exasperated the marchesa's passions for his own +purposes; it would have been most easy. But I," continued Guglielmi, +bringing his flaming eyes to bear upon Count Nobili, then raising them +from him outward toward the darkening mountains as though he would +call on the great Apennines to bear witness to his truth--"I have +scorned such base considerations. With unexampled magnanimity I have +brought about this marriage--all this I have done, actuated by the +purest, the most single-hearted motives. In return, Count Nobili, I +make one request--I entreat you to believe that I am your friend--" + +(Before the lawyer had concluded his peroration, professional zeal had +so far transported him that he had convinced himself all he said was +true--was he not indeed pleading for his judgeship?) + +Guglielmi extended his arms as if about to _embrace_ Count Nobili! + +All this time Nobili had stood as far removed from him as possible. +Nobili had neither moved nor raised his head once. He had listened +to Guglielmi, as the rocks listen to the splash of the seething waves +beating against their side. As the lawyer proceeded, a deep flush +gradually overspread his face--when he saw the lawyer's outstretched +arms, he retreated to the utmost limits of the room. Guglielmi's arms +fell to his side. + +"Whatever may be my opinion of you, Signore Avvocato," spoke the count +at length, contemplating Guglielmi fixedly, and speaking slowly, as +if exercising a strong control over himself--"whether I accept your +friendship, or whether I believe any one word you say, is immaterial. +It cannot affect in any way what is past. The declaration I made +before the altar is the declaration to which I adhere--I am not bound +to state my reasons. To me they are overwhelming. I must therefore +decline all discussion with you. It is for you to make such +arrangements with your client as will insure me a separation. That +done, our paths lie far apart." + +Who would have recognized the gracious, facile Count Nobili in these +hard words? The haughty tone in which they were uttered added to their +sting. + +We are at best the creatures of circumstances--circumstances had +entirely altered him. At that moment, Nobili was at war with all +the world. He hated himself--he hated and he mistrusted every one. +Guglielmi was not certainly adapted to restore faith in mankind. + +Legal habits had taught Maestro Guglielmi to shape his countenance +into a mask, fashioned to whatever expression he might desire to +assume. Never had the trick been so difficult! The intense rage +that possessed him was uncontrollable. For the first moment he stood +stolidly mute. Then he struck the heel of his boot loudly upon the +stuccoed floor--would he could crush Count Nobili thus!--crush him +and trample upon him--Nobili--the only obstacle to the high honors +awaiting him! The next instant Guglielmi was reproaching himself for +his want of control--the next instant he was conscious how needful it +was to dissemble. Was he--Guglielmi--who had flashed his sword in +a thousand battles, to be worsted by a stubborn boy? Outwitted by a +capricious lover? Never! + +"Excuse me, Count Nobili," he said, overmastering himself by a violent +effort--"it is a bitter pang to me, your devoted friend, to be asked +to become a party to an act fatal to your prospects. If you adhere +to your resolution, you can never return to Lucca--never inhabit the +palace your wealth has so superbly decorated. Public opinion would not +permit it. You, a stranger in the city, are held to have ill-used and +abandoned the niece of the Marchesa Guinigi." Nobili looked up; he +was about to reply. "Pardon me, count, I neither affirm nor deny this +accusation," continued Guglielmi, observing his movement; "I am giving +no opinion on the merits of the case. You have now espoused the lady. +If for a second time you abandon her, you will incur the increased +indignation of the public. Reconsider, I implore you, this last +resolve." + +The lawyer's metallic voice grew positively pathetic. + +"I will not reconsider it!" cried Count Nobili, indignantly. "I deny +your right to advise me. You have brought me into this room for no +purpose that I can comprehend. What have I in common with the advocate +of my enemy? I desire to leave Corellia. You are detaining me. Here +is the deed of separation "--Nobili drew from his breast-pocket the +parchment he had perused so attentively in the chapel--"it only needs +the lady's signature. Mine is already affixed. Let me tell you, and +through you the Marchesa Guinigi, without that deed--and my own free +will," he added in a lower tone, "neither you nor she would have +forced me here to this marriage; I came because I considered some +reparation was due to a young lady whose name has been cruelly +outraged. Else I would have died first! If the lady I have made my +wife desires, to make any amends to me for the insults that have +been heaped upon me through her, let her set me free from an odious +thralldom. I will not so much as look upon one who has permitted +herself to be made the tool of others to deceive me. She has been +treacherous to me in business--she has been treacherous to me in +love--no, I will never look upon her again! Live with her?--by God! +never!" + +The pent-up wrath within him, the maddening sense of wrong, blaze out. +Count Nobili is now striding up and down the room insensible to +any thing for the moment but the consciousness of his own outraged +feelings. + +As Count Nobili waxed furious, Maestro Guglielmi grew calm. His busy +brain was concocting all sorts of expedients. He leaned his chin +upon his hands. His false smile gave place to a sardonic grin, as +he watched Nobili--marked his well-set, muscular figure, his easy +movements, the graceful curve of his head and neck, his delicate, +regular features, his sunny complexion. But Nobili's face without a +smile was shorn of its chief charm: that smile, so bright in itself, +brought brightness to others. + +"A fine, generous fellow, a proper husband for any lady in Italy, +whoever she may be," was Guglielmi's reflection, as he watched him. +"The young countess has taste. He is not such a fool either, but +desperately provoking--like all boys with large fortunes, desperately +provoking--and dogged as a mule. But for all that he is a fine, +generous-hearted fellow. I like him--I like him for refusing to +be forced against his will. I would not live with an angel on such +terms." At this point Guglielmi's eyes exhibited a succession of +fireworks; his long teeth gleamed, and he smiled a stealthy smile. +"But he must be tamed, this youth--he must be tamed. Let me see, I +must take him on another tack--on the flank this time, and hit him +hard!" + +Nobili has now ceased striding up and down the room. He stands facing +the window. His ear has caught the barking of several dogs. A minute +after, one rushes past the window--raised only by a few stone steps +from the ground--formidable beast with long white hair, tail on end, +ears erect, open-mouthed, fiery-eyed--this is Argo--Argo let loose, +famished--maddened by Adamo's devices--Argo rushing at full speed and +tearing up a shower of gravel with his huge paws. Barking horribly, he +disappears into the shrubs. Argo's bark is taken up by the other dogs +from all round the house in various keys. Juno the lurcher gives a +short low yelp; the rat-terrier Tuzzi, a shrill, grating whine like +a rusty saw; the bull-terrier, a deep growl. In the solemn silence of +the untrodden Apennines that rise around, the loud voices of the dogs +echo from cliff to cliff boom down into the abyss, and rattle there +like thunder. The night-birds catch up the sound and screech; the +frightened bats circle round wildly. + +At this moment heavy footsteps creak upon the gravel under the shadow +of the wall. A low whistle passes through the air, and the dogs +disappear. + +"A savage pack, like their mistress," was Count Nobili's thought as +his eyes tried to pierce into the growing darkness. + +Night is coming on. Heavy vapors creep up from the earth and obscure +the air. Darker and denser clouds cover the heavens. Black shadows +gather within the room. The bed looms out from the lighter walls like +a funeral catafalque. + +A few pale gleams of light still linger on the horizon. These fall +upon Nobili's figure as he stands framed in the window. As the waning +light strikes upon his eyes, a presentiment of danger comes over him. +These dogs, these footsteps--what do they mean? + +Again a wild desire seizes him to be riding full speed on the +mountain-road to Lucca, to feel the fresh night air upon his heated +brow; the elastic spring of his good horse under him, each stride +bearing him farther from his enemies. He is about to leap out and +fly, when the warning hand of the lawyer is laid upon his arm. +Nobili shakes him off, but Guglielmi permits himself no indication +of offense. Dejection and grief are depicted on his countenance. He +shakes his head despondingly; his manner is dangerously fawning. He, +too, has heard the dogs, the footsteps, and the whistle. He has drawn +his own conclusions. + +"I perceive, Count Nobili," he says, "you are impatient." + +This was in response to a muttered curse from Nobili. + +"Let me go! A thousand devils! Let me go!" cried the count, putting +the lawyer back. "Impatient! I am maddened!" + +"But not before we have settled the matter in question. That is +impossible! Hear me, then. Count Nobili. With the deepest sorrow I +accept the separation you demand on the part of the marchesa; you +give me no choice. I venture no further remark," continues Guglielmi +meekly, drilling his eyes to a subdued expression. + +(His eyes are a continual curse to him; sometimes they will tell the +truth.) + +"But there is one point, my dear count, upon which we must understand +each other." + +In order to detain Nobili, Guglielmi is about to commit himself to a +deliberate lie. Lying is not his practice; not on principle, for +he has none. Expediency is his faith, pliancy his creed; lying is +inartistic, also dangerous. A lie may grow into a spectre, and haunt +you to your grave, perhaps beyond it. + +Guglielmi felt he must do something decisive, or that exalted +personage who desired to avoid all scandal not connected with himself +would be irretrievably offended, and he, Guglielmi, would never sit +on the judicial bench. Yet, unscrupulous as he was, the trickster +shuddered at the thought of what that lie might cost him. + +"It is my duty to inform you, Count Nobili"--Guglielmi is speaking +with pompous earnestness--he anxiously notes the effect his words +produce upon Count Nobili--"that, unless you remain under the same +roof with your wife to-night, the marriage will not be completed; +therefore no separation between you will be legal." + +Nobili turned pale. He struck his fist violently on the table. + +"What! a new difficulty? When will this torture end?" + +"It will end to-morrow morning, Count Nobili. To-morrow morning I +shall have the honor of waiting upon you, in company with the Mayor +of Corellia, for the civil marriage. Every requisition of the law will +then have been complied with." + +Maestro Guglielmi bows and moves toward the door. If by this means the +civil marriage can be brought about, Guglielmi will have clinched a +doubtful act into a legal certainty. + +"A moment, Signore Avvocato "--and Nobili is following Guglielmi to +the door, consternation and amazement depicted upon his countenance, +"Is this indeed so?" + +Nobili's manner indicates suspicion. + +"Absolutely so," answers the mendacious one. "To-morrow morning, +after the civil marriage, we shall be in readiness to sign the deed of +separation. Allow me in the mean time to peruse it." + +He holds out his hand. If all fails, he determines to destroy that +deed, and protest that he has lost it. + +"Dio Santo!" ejaculates Nobili, giving the deed to him--"twenty-four +hours at Corellia!" + +"Not twenty-four," suggests Guglielmi, blandly, putting the deed into +his pocket and taking out his watch with extraordinary rapidity, then +replacing it as rapidly; "it is now seven o'clock. At nine o'clock +to-morrow morning the deed of separation shall be signed, and you, +Count Nobili, will be free." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE LAWYER BAFFLED. + + +At that moment Fra Pacifico's tall figure barred the doorway. He +seemed to have risen suddenly out of the darkness. Nobili started back +and changed color. Of all living men, he most dreaded the priest at +that particular moment. The priest was now before him, stern, grave, +authoritative; searching him with those earnest eyes--the priest--a +living protest against all he had done, against all he was about to +do! + +The agile lawyer darted forward. He was about to speak. Fra Pacifico +waved him into silence. + +"Maestro Guglielmi," he said, with that sonorous voice which lent +importance to his slightest utterances, "I am glad to find you here. +You represent the marchesa.--My son," he continued, addressing Count +Nobili (as he did so, his face darkened into a look of mingled pain +and displeasure), "I come from your wife." + +At that word Fra Pacifico paused. Count Nobili reddened. His eyes fell +upon the floor; he dared not meet the reproving glance he felt was +upon him. + +"My son, I come from your wife," repeated Fra Pacifico. + +There was a dead silence. + +"You saw your wife borne from the altar fainting. She was mercifully +spared, therefore, hearing from your own lips that you repudiated her. +She has since been informed by Cavaliere Trenta that you did so. I am +here as her messenger. Your wife accepts the separation you desire." + +As each sentence fell from the priest's lips his countenance grew +sterner. + +"Accepts the separation! Gives me up!" exclaimed Nobili, quite taken +aback. "So much the better. We are both of the same mind." + +But, spite his words, there were irritation and surprise in Nobili's +manner. That Enrica herself should have consented to part from him was +altogether an astonishment! + +"If Countess Nobili accepts the separation"--and he turned sharply +upon Guglielmi--"nothing need detain you here, Signore Avvocato. You +hear what Fra Pacifico says. You have only, therefore, to inform the +Marchesa Guinigi. Probably her niece has already done so. We know that +they act in concert." Count Nobili laughed bitterly. + +"The marchesa is not even aware that I am here," interposed Fra +Pacifico. "Enrica is now married--she acts for herself. Her first act, +Count Nobili, is one of obedience--she sacrifices herself to you." + +Again the priest's deep-set eyes turned reprovingly upon Count Nobili. +Dare the headstrong boy affect to misunderstand that he had driven +Enrica to renounce him? Guglielmi remained standing near the +door--self-possessed, indeed, as usual, but utterly crestfallen. His +very soul sank within him as he listened to Fra Pacifico. Every thing +was going wrong, the judgeship in imminent peril, and this devil of a +priest, who ought to know better, doing every thing to divide them! + +"Signore Guglielmi," said Nobili, with a significant glance at the +open door, "allow me to repeat--we need not detain you. We shall now +act for ourselves. Without reference to the difficulties you have +raised--" + +"The difficulties I have raised have been for your own good, Count +Nobili," was Guglielmi's indignant reply. "Had I been supported +by"--and he glanced at Fra Pacifico--"by those whose duty teaches +them obedience to the ordinances of the Church, you would have saved +yourself and others the spectacle of a matrimonial scandal that will +degrade you before the eyes of all Italy." + +Count Nobili was rushing forward, with some undefined purpose of +chastising Guglielmi, when Fra Pacifico interposed. A quiet smile +parted his well-formed mouth; he shrugged his shoulders as he eyed the +enraged lawyer. + +"Allow me to judge of my duty as a priest. Look to your own as a +lawyer, or it may be the worse for you. What says the motto?--'Those +who seek gold may find sand.'" + +Guglielmi, greatly alarmed at what Fra Pacifico might reveal of their +previous conversation, waited to hear no more; he hastily disappeared. +Fra Pacifico watched the manner of his exit with silence, the quiet +smile of conscious power still on his lips. When he turned and +addressed Count Nobili, the smile had died out. + +Before Fra Pacifico can speak, the whole pack of dogs, attracted by +the loud voices, gather round the steps before the open window. They +are barking furiously. The smooth-skinned, treacherous bull-dog is +silent, but he stands foremost. True to his breed, the bull-dog is +silent. He creeps in noiselessly--his teeth gleam within an inch of +Nobili. Fra Pacifico spies him. With a furious kick he flings him out +far over the heads of the others. The bull-dog's howl of anguish rouses +the rest to frenzy. A moment more, and Fra Pacifico and Count Nobili +would have been attacked within the very room, but again footsteps are +heard passing in the shadow. A shot is fired close at hand. The dogs +rush off, the bull-dog whining and limping in the rear. + +Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico exchange glances. There is a knock at +the door. Pipa enters carrying a lighted lamp which she places on the +table. Pipa does not even salute Fra Pacifico, but fixes her eyes, +swollen with crying, upon Count Nobili. + +"What is the matter?" asks the priest. + +"Riverenza, I do not know. Adamo and Angelo are out watching." + +"But, Pipa, it is very strange. A shot was fired. The dogs, too, are +wilder than ever." + +"Riverenza, I know nothing. Perhaps there are some deserters about. +We are used to the dogs. I never hear them. I am come from the +signorina." + +At that name Count Nobili looks up and meets Pipa's gaze. If Pipa +could have stabbed him then and there with the silver dagger in her +black hair she would have done it, and counted it a righteous act. But +she must deliver her message. + +"Signore Conte"--Pipa flings her words at Nobili as if each word +were a stone, with which she would have hit him--"Signore Conte, the +marchesa has sent me. The marchesa bids me salute you. She desired +me to bring in this light. I was to say supper is served in the great +sala. She eats in her own room with the cavaliere, and hopes you will +excuse her." + +Before the count could answer, Pipa was gone. + +"My son," said Fra Pacifico, standing beside him in the dimly-lighted +room, "you have now had time to reflect. Do you accept the separation +offered to you by your wife?" + +"I do, my father." + +"Then she will enter a convent." Nobili sighed heavily. "You have +broken her heart." + +There was a depth of unexpressed reproach in the priest's look. Tears +gathered in his eyes, his deep voice shook. + +"But why if she ever loved me"--whispered Nobili into Fra Pacifico's +ear as though he shrank from letting the very walls hear what he was +about to say-- + +"If she loved you!" burst out Fra Pacifico with rising passion--"if +she loved you! You have my word that she loved you--nay, God help her, +that she loves you still!" + +Fra Pacifico drew back from Nobili as he said this. Again Nobili +approached him, speaking into his ear. + +"Why, then, if she loved me, could she join with the marchesa against +me? Was I not induced by my love for her to pay her aunt's debts? +Answer me that, my father. Why did she insist upon this ill-omened +marriage?--a proceeding as indelicate as it is--" + +"Silence!" thundered Fra Pacifico--"silence, I command you! What you +say of that pure and lovely girl whose soul is as crystal before me, +is absolute sacrilege. I will not listen to it!" + +Fra Pacifico's eyes flashed fire. He looked as if he would strike +Count Nobili where he stood. He checked himself, however; then he +continued with more calmness: "To become your wife was needful for the +honor of Enrica's name, which you had slandered. The child put herself +in my hands. I am responsible for this marriage--I only. As to the +marchesa, do you think she consults Enrica? The hawk and the dove +share not the same nest! No, no. Did the marchesa so much as tell +Enrica, when she offered her as wife to Count Marescotti?" + +At the sound of Marescotti's name Nobili's assumed composure utterly +gave way. His whole frame stiffened with rage. + +"Yes--Marescotti--curse him! And I am the husband of the woman he +refused!" + +"For shame, Count Nobili!--you have yourself exonerated her." + +"Enrica must have been an accomplice!" cried Nobili, transported +out of himself. Count Marescotti's name had exasperated him beyond +control. + +"Fool!" exclaimed Fra Pacifico. "Will you not listen to reason? Has +not Enrica by her own act renounced all claim to you as a wife? Is not +that enough?" + +Nobili was silent. Hitherto he had been driven on, goaded by the +promptings of passion, and the firm belief that Enrica was the mere +tool of her aunt. Now the same facts detailed by the priest placed +themselves in a new light. For the first time Nobili doubted whether +he was entirely justified in all that he had done--in all that he was +about to do. + +Meanwhile Fra Pacifico was losing all patience. His manly nature +rose within him at what he considered Nobili's deliberate cruelty. +Inflexible in right, Fra Pacifico was violent in face of wrong. + +"Why did you not let her die?" he exclaimed, bitterly. "It would +have saved her a world of suffering. I thought I knew you, Mario +Nobili--knew you from a boy," he added, contemplating him with a dark +scowl. "You have deceived me. Every word you utter only sinks you +lower in my esteem." + +"It would indeed have been better had we both perished in the flames!" +cried Nobili in a voice full of anguish--"perished--locked in each +other's arms! Poor Enrica!" He turned away, and a low sob burst from +his heart of hearts. "The marchesa has destroyed my love!--She has +blighted my life!" Nobili's voice sounded hollow in the dimly-lighted +room. At last Nobili was speaking out--speaking, as it were, from the +grave of his love! "Yes, I loved her," he continued dreamily--"I loved +her! How much I did not know!" + +He had forgotten he was not alone. The priest was but dimly visible. +He was leaning against the wall, his massive chin resting on his hand, +listening to Nobili. Now, hearing what he said, Fra Pacifico's anger +had vanished. After all, he had not been mistaken in his old pupil! +Nobili was neither cruel nor heartless; but he had been driven to bay! +Now he pitied him, profoundly. What could he say to him? He could urge +Nobili no more. He must work out his own fate! + +Again Nobili spoke. + +"When I saw her sweet face turned toward me as she entered the chapel, +I dared not look again! It was too late. My pride as a man, all that +is sacred to me as a gentleman, has been too deeply wounded. The +marchesa has done it. She alone is responsible. _She_ has left me +no alternative. I will never accept a wife forced upon me by +_her_--never, by Heaven! My father, these are my last words. Carry +them to Enrica." + +Count Nobili's head dropped upon his breast. He covered his face with +his hands. + +"My son, I leave you in the hands of God. May He lead you and comfort +you! But remember, the life of your wife is bound up in _your_ life. +Hitherto Enrica has lived upon hope. Deprived of hope, _she will +die_." + +When Nobili looked up, Fra Pacifico was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +FACE TO FACE. + + +The time had now come when Count Nobili must finally make up his mind. +He had told Fra Pacifico that his determination was unaltered. He had +told him that his dignity as a man, his honor as a gentleman, demanded +that he should free himself from the net-work of intrigues in which +the marchesa had entangled him. Of all earthly things, compliancy with +her desires most revolted him. Rather than live any longer the victim +either of her malice or her ambition, he had brought himself to +believe that it was his duty to renounce Enrica. Until Fra Pacifico +had entered that room within which he was again pacing up and down +with hasty strides, no doubt whatever had arisen in his mind as to +what it was incumbent upon him to do: to give Enrica the protection +of his name by marriage, then to separate. Whether to separate in +the manner pointed out by Guglielmi he had not decided. An innate +repulsion, now increased by suspicion, made him distrust any act +pressed upon him by that man, especially when urged in concert with +the marchesa. + +Every hour passed at Corellia was torture to him. Should he go at +once, or should he remain until the morning?--sign the deed?--complete +the sacrifice? Already what he had so loudly insisted on presented +itself now to him in the light of a sacrifice. Enrica loved him +still--he believed Fra Pacifico. The throbbing of his heart as he +thought of her told him that he returned that love. She was there near +him under the same roof. Could he leave her? Yes, he must leave her! +He would trust himself no longer in the hands of the marchesa or of +her agent. Instinct told him some subtle scheme lay under the urgings +of Guglielmi--the dangerous civilities of the marchesa. He would +go. The legal separation might be completed elsewhere. Why only at +Corellia? Why must those formalities insisted on by Guglielmi be +respected? What did they mean? Of the real drift of the delay Nobili +was utterly ignorant. Had he asked Fra Pacifico, he would have told +him the truth, but he had not done so. + +To meet Enrica in the morning; to meet her again in the presence of +her detested aunt; to meet her only to sign a deed separating them +forever under the mockery of mutual consent, was agony. Why should he +endure it? + +Nobili, wrought up to a pitch of excitement that almost robbed him of +reason, dares not trust himself to think. He seizes his hat, which lay +upon the table, and rushes out into the night. The murmur of voices +comes dimly to him in the freshness of the air out of a window next +his own. A circle of light shines on the glistening gravel before him. +There must be people within--people watching him, doubtless. As the +thought crosses his mind he is suddenly pinned to the earth. Argo is +watching for him--stealthy Argo--Argo springs upon him silently from +behind; he holds him tightly in his grip. The dog made no sound, nor +does he now, but he has laid Nobili flat on the ground. He stands over +him, his heavy paws planted upon his chest, his open jaws and dripping +tongue close upon his face, so close, that Nobili feels the dog's hot +breath upon his skin. Nobili cannot move; he looks up fixedly into +Argo's glaring, bloodshot eyes. His steady gaze daunts the dog. In the +very act of digging his big fangs into Nobili's throat Argo pauses; +he shrinks before those human eyes before which the brutish nature +quails. In an instant Nobili's strong hands close round his throat; +he presses it until the powerful paws slacken in their grip--until the +fiery eyes are starting from their sockets. + +Silent as is the struggle the other dogs are alarmed--they give tongue +from different sides. Footsteps are rapidly approaching--the barrel of +a gun gleams out of the darkness--a shot is fired--the report wanders +off in endless reverberation among the rocks--another shot, and +another, in instant succession, answer each other from behind the +villa. + +With a grasp of iron Nobili holds back gallant Argo--Argo foaming at +the mouth; his white-coated chest heaving, as if in his last agony! +Yet Argo is still immovable--his heavy paws upon Nobili's chest +pressing with all his weight upon him! + +Now the footsteps have turned the corner! Dim forms already shape +themselves in the night mist. The other dogs, barking savagely, are +behind--they are coming--they are at hand! Ah! Nobili, what can you do +now?--Nobili understands his danger. Quick as thought Nobili has +dealt Argo a tremendous blow under the left ear. He seizes him by his +milk-white hair so long and beautiful, he flings him against the low +wall almost insensible. Argo falls a shapeless mass. He is stunned and +motionless. Before the shadow of Adamo is upon him--before the dogs +noses touch him--Nobili is on his feet. With one bound he has leaped +through the window--the same from which the voices had come (it has +been opened in the scuffle)--in an instant he closes the sash! He is +safe! + +Coming suddenly out of the darkness, after the great force he had put +forth, Nobili feels giddy and bewildered. At first he sees nothing +but that there is a light in the centre of the room. As his eyes fix +themselves upon it the light almost blinds him. He puts his hand to +his forehead, where the veins had swollen out like cords upon his +fair skin. He puts up his hands to shade his dazzled eyes before +which clouds of stars dance desperately. He steadies himself and looks +round. + +Before him stands Enrica! + +By Pipa's care the bridegroom's chamber had been chosen next +the bride's when she prepared Count Nobili's room. Pipa was +straightforward and simple in her notions of matrimony, but, like a +wise woman, she had held her tongue. + +Nobili and Enrica are alone. A furtive glance passes between them. +Neither of them moves. Neither of them speaks. The first movement +comes from Enrica. She sinks backward upon a chair. The tangle of her +yellow hair closes round her face upon which a deep blush had risen +at sight of Nobili. When that blush had died out she looked resigned, +almost passionless. She knew that the moment had come which must +decide her fate. Before they two parted she would hear from the lips +of the man she loved if they were ever to meet again! Her eyes fell +to the ground. She dared not raise them. If she looked at Nobili, she +must fling herself into his arms. + +Nobili, standing on the same spot beyond the circle of the light, +gazes at Enrica in silence. He is overwhelmed by the most conflicting +emotions. But the spell of her beauty is upon him. His pulses beat +madly. For an instant he forgets where he is. He forgets all but +that Enrica is before him. For a moment! Then his brain clears. He +remembers every thing--remembers--oh, how bitterly!--that, after all +that has passed, his very presence in that room is an insult to her! +He feels he ought to go--yet an irresistible longing chains him to +the spot. He moves toward the door. To reach it he must pass close to +Enrica. When he is near the door he stops. The light shows that his +clothes are torn--that there is blood upon his face and hands. In +scarcely articulate words Nobili addresses her. + +"Enrica--countess, I mean"--Nobili hesitates--"pardon this +intrusion.--You saw the accident.--I did not know that this was _your_ +room." + +Again Nobili pauses, waiting for an answer. None comes. Would she not +speak to him? Alas! had he deserved that she should? Nobili takes a +step or two toward the door. With one hand upon the lock he pauses +once more, gazing at Enrica with lingering eyes. Then he turns to +leave the room. It is all over!--he had only to depart! A low cry from +Enrica stops him. + +"Nobili," Enrica says, "tell me--oh! tell me, are you hurt?" + +Enrica has risen from the chair. One hand rests on the table for +support. Her voice falters as she asks the question. Nobili, every +drop of whose blood runs fevered in his veins, turns toward her. + +"I am not hurt--a scratch or two--nothing." + +"Thank God!" Enrica utters, in a low voice. + +Nobili endeavors to approach her. She draws back. + +"As I am here"--he speaks with the utmost embarrassment--"here, as you +see, by accident"--his voice rests on the words--"I cannot go--" + +As Nobili speaks he perceives that Enrica gradually retreats farther +from him. The tender delight that had come into her eyes when he first +addressed her fades out into a scared look--a look like a defenseless +animal expecting to receive a death-wound. Nobili sees and understands +the expression. + +His heart smites him sorely. Great God!--has he become an object of +terror to her? + +"Enrica!"--she starts back as Nobili pronounces her name, yet he +speaks so softly the sound comes to her almost like a sigh--"Enrica, +do not fear me. I will say no word to offend you. I cannot go without +asking your pardon. As one who loved you once--as one who loves--" +He stops. What is he saying?--"I humbly beseech you to forgive me. +Enrica, let me hear you say that you forgive me." + +Still Enrica retreats from him, that suffering, saint-like look upon +her face he knows so well. Nobili follows her. He kneels at her feet. +He kneels at the feet of the woman from whom, not an hour before, he +had demanded a separation! + +"Say--can you forgive me before I go?" + +As Nobili speaks, his strong heart goes out to her in speechless +longings. If Enrica had looked into his eyes they would have told her +that he never had loved her as now! And they were parted! + +Enrica puts out her hand timidly. Her lips move as if to speak, but no +sound comes. Nobili rises; he takes her hand within both his own. He +kisses it reverently. + +"Dear hand--" he murmurs, "and it was mine!" + +Released from his, the dainty little hand falls to her side. She +sighs deeply. There is the old charm in Nobili's voice--so sweet, so +subtile. The tones fall upon her ear like strains of passionate music. +A storm of emotion sweeps across her face. She has forgotten all in +the rapture of his presence. Yes!--that voice! Had it not been raised +but a few hours before at the altar to repudiate her? How can she +believe in him? How surrender herself to the glamour of his words? +Remembering all this, despair comes over her. Again Enrica shrinks +from him. She bursts into tears and hides her face with her hands. + +Enrica's distrust of him, her silence, her tears, cut Nobili to the +soul. He knows he deserves it. Ah!--with her there before him, how +he curses himself for ever having doubted her! Every justification +suddenly leaves him. He is utterly confounded. The gossip of the +club--Count Marescotti and his miserable verses--the marchesa +herself--what are they all beside the purity of those saint-like eyes? +Nera, too--false, fickle, sensual Nera--a mere thing of flesh and +blood--he had left her for Nera! Was he mad? + +At that moment, of all living men, Count Nobili seemed to himself the +most unworthy! He must go--he did not deserve to stay! + +"Enrica--before I leave you, speak to me one word of forgiveness--I +implore you!" + +As he speaks their eyes meet. Yes, she is his own Enrica--unchanged, +unsullied!--the idol is intact within its shrine--the sanctuary is as +he had left it! No rude touch had soiled that atmosphere of purity and +freshness that floated like an aureole around her! + +How could he leave her?--if they must part, he would hear his fate +from her own lips. Enrica is leaning against the wall speechless, her +face shaded by her hand. Big tears are trickling through her fingers. +Unable to support herself she clings to a chair, then seats herself. +And Nobili, pale with passion stands by, and dares not so much as to +touch her--dares not touch her, although she is his wife! + +In the fury of his self-reproach, he digs his hands into the masses of +thick chestnut curls that lie disordered about his head. + +Fool, idiot!--had he lost her? A terrible misgiving overcomes him? It +fills him with horror. Was it too late? Would she never forgive him? +Nobili's troubled eyes, that wander all over her, ask the question. + +"Speak to me--speak to me!" he cries. "Curse me--but speak to me!" + +At this appeal Enrica turns her tear-bedewed face toward him. + +"Nobili," she says at last, very low, "would you have gone without +seeing me?" + +Nobili dares not lie to her. He makes no reply. + +"Oh, do not deceive me, Nobili!" and Enrica wrings her hands and looks +piteously into his face. "Tell me--would you have come to me?" + +It is only by a strong effort that Nobili can restrain himself +from folding Enrica in his arms and in one burning kiss burying the +remembrance of the miserable past. But he trembles lest by offending +her the tender flower before him may never again expand to the ardor +of his love. If Fra Pacifico has not by his arguments already shaken +Nobili's conviction of the righteousness of his own conduct, the sight +of Enrica utterly overcomes him. + +"Deceive you!" he exclaims, approaching her and seizing her hands +which she did not withdraw--"deceive you! How little you read my +heart!" + +He holds her soft hands firmly in his--he covers them with kisses. +Enrica feels the tender pressure of his lips pass through her whole +frame. But, can she trust him? + +"Did I not love you enough?" she asks, looking into his face. She +gently disengages her hands from his grasp. There is no reproach in +her look, but infinite sorrow. "Can I believe you?" And the soft blue +eyes rest upon him full of pathetic pleading. + +An expression of despair comes into Nobili's bright face. How can +he answer her? How can he satisfy her when he himself has shaken her +trust? Alas! would the golden past never come again? The past, tinted +with the passion of ardent summer? + +"Believe me?" he cries, in a tone of wildest passion. "Can you ask +me?" + +As he speaks he leans over her. Love is in his voice--his eyes--his +whole attitude. Would she not understand him? Would she reject him? + +Enrica draws back--she raises her hand in protest. + +"Let me again"--Nobili is following her closely--"let me implore your +forgiveness of my unmanly conduct." + +She presses her hands to her bosom as if in pain, but not a sound +comes to her lips. + +"Believe me," he urges, "I have been driven mad by the marchesa! It is +my only excuse." + +"Am I?" Enrica answers. "Have I not suffered enough from my aunt? +What had she to do between you and me? Did I love you less because +she hated you? Listen, Nobili"--Enrica with difficulty commands her +voice--"from the first time we met in the cathedral I gave myself to +you--you--you only." + +"But, Enrica--love--you consented to leave me. You sent Fra Pacifico +to say so." + +The thought that Enrica had so easily resigned him still rankled in +Nobili's heart. Spite of himself, there is bitterness in his tone. + +Enrica is standing aloof from him. The light of the lamp strikes upon +her golden hair, her downcast eyes, her cheeks mantling with blushes. + +"I leave you!"--a soft dew came into Enrica's eyes as she fixed them +upon Nobili--a dew that rapidly formed itself into two tears that +rolled silently down her cheek--"never--never!" + +Spite of the horrors of the past, these words, that look, tell him +she is his! Nobili's heart leaps within him. For a moment he is +breathless--speechless in the tumult of his great joy. + +"Oh! my beloved!" he cries, in a voice that penetrates her very soul. +"Come to me--here--to a heart all your own!" He springs forward and +clasps her in his arms. "Thus--thus let the past perish!" Nobili +whispers as his lips touch hers. Enrica's head nestles upon his +breast. She has once more found her home. + +A subdued knock is heard at the door. + +"Sangue di Dio!" mutters Nobili, disengaging himself from +Enrica--"what new torment is this? Is there no peace in this house? +Who is there?" + +"It is I, Count Nobili." Maestro Guglielmi puts in his hatchet face +and glaring teeth. In an instant his piercing eyes have traveled round +the room. He has taken in the whole situation--Count Nobili in the +middle of the floor--flushed--agitated--furious at this interruption; +Enrica--revived--conscious--blushing at his side. The investigation +is so perfectly satisfactory that Maestro Guglielmi cannot suppress a +grin of delight. + +"Believe me, Signore Conte," he says, advancing cautiously a step or +two forward into the room, a deprecating look on his face--"believe +me--this intrusion"--Guglielmi turns to Enrica, grins again palpably, +then bows--"is not of my seeking." + +"Tell me instantly what brings you here?" demands Nobili, advancing. +(Nobili would have liked beyond measure to relieve his feelings by +kicking him.) + +"It is just that"--Guglielmi cannot refrain from another glance round +before he proceeds--(yes, they are reconciled, no doubt of it. +The judgeship is his own! Evviva! The illustrious personage--so +notoriously careful of his subject's morals--who had deigned to +interest himself in the marriage, might possibly, at the birth of +a son and heir to the Guinigi, add a pension--who knows? At this +reflection the lawyer's eyes become altogether unmanageable)--"it is +just that," repeats Guglielmi, making a desperate effort to collect +himself. "Personally I should have declined it, personally; but the +marchesa's commands were absolute: 'You must go yourself, I will +permit no deputy.'" + +"Damn the marchesa! Shall I never be rid of the marchesa?" + +Nobili's aspect is becoming menacing. Maestro Guglielmi is not a man +easily daunted; yet once within the room, and the desired evidence +obtained, he cannot but feel all the awkwardness of his position. +Greatly as Guglielmi had been tickled at the notion of becoming +himself a witness in his own case, to do him justice he would not have +volunteered it. + +"The marchesa sent me," he stammers, conscious of Count Nobili's +indignation (with his arms crossed, Count Nobili is eying Guglielmi +from head to foot). "The marchesa sent me to know--" + +Nobili unfolds his arms, walks straight up to where Guglielmi is +standing, and shakes his fist in his face. + +"Do you know, Signore Avvocato, that you are committing an intolerable +impertinence? If you do not instantly quit this room, or give me +some excellent reason for remaining, you shall very speedily have my +opinion of your conduct in a very decided manner." + +Count Nobili is decidedly dangerous. He glares at Guglielmi like a +very devil. Guglielmi falls back. The false smile is upon his lips, +but his treacherous eyes express his terror. Guglielmi's combats are +only with words, his weapon the pen; otherwise he is powerless. + +"Excuse me, Count Nobili, excuse me," he stammers. He rubs his hands +nervously together and watches Nobili, who is following him step by +step. "It is not my fault--I give you my word--not my fault. Don't +look so, count; you really alarm me. I am here as a man of peace--I +entreated the marchesa to retire to rest. I represented to her the +peculiar delicacy of the position, but I grieve to say she insisted." + +Nobili is now close to him; his eyes are gathered upon him more +threateningly than ever. + +"Remember, sir, you are addressing me in the presence of my wife--be +careful." + +What a withering look Nobili gives Guglielmi as he says this! He can +with difficulty keep his hands off him! + +"Yes--yes--just so--just so--I applaud your sentiments, Count +Nobili--most appropriate. Now I will go." + +Alarmed as he is, Guglielmi cannot resist one parting glance at +Enrica. She is crimson. Then with an expression of infinite relief +he retreats to the door walking backward. Guglielmi has a strong +conviction that if he turns round Count Nobili may kick him, so, +keeping his eyes well balanced upon him, he fumbles with his hands +behind his back to find the handle of the door. In his confusion he +misses it. + +"Not for worlds, Signore Conte," says Guglielmi, nervously passing +his hand up and down the panel in search of the door-handle--"not for +worlds would I offend you! Believe me--(maledictions on the door--it +is bewitched!)" + +Now Guglielmi has it! Safely clutching the handle with both his hands, +Guglielmi's courage returns. His mocking eyes look up without blinking +into Nobili's, fierce and flashing as they are. + +"Before I go"--he bows with affected humility--"will you favor me, +count, and you, madame" (Guglielmi is clutching the door-handle +tightly, so as to be able to escape at any moment), "by informing me +whether you still desire the deed of separation to be prepared for +your signature in the morning?" + +"Leave the room!" roars Count Nobili, stamping furiously on the +floor--"leave the room, or, Domine Dio!--" + +Maestro Guglielmi had jumped out backward, before Count Nobili could +finish the sentence. + +"Enrica!" cries Nobili, turning toward her--he had banged-to the door +and locked it--"Enrica, if you love me, let us leave this accursed +villa to-night! This is more than I can bear!" + +What Enrica replied, or if Enrica ever replied at all, is, and ever +will remain, a mystery! + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +OH BELLO! + + +An hour or two has passed. A slow and cautious step, accompanied with +the tapping of a stick upon the stone flags of the floor, is audible +along the narrow passage leading from the sala to Pipa's room. It +is as dark as pitch. Whoever it is, is afraid of falling, and creeps +along cautiously, feeling by the wall. + +Pipa, expecting to be summoned to her mistress--Pipa, wondering +greatly indeed what Enrica can be about, and why she does not go +to bed, when she, the blessed dear, was so faint and tired, and +crying--oh, so pitifully!--when she left her--Pipa, leaning against +the door-post near the half-open door, dozing like a dog with one eye +open in case she should be called--listened and looked out into the +passage. A figure is standing within the light that streams out from +the door, a very well-remembered figure, stout and short--a little +bent forward on a stick--with a round, rosy face framed in snowy +curls, a world of pleasant wickedness in two twinkling eyes, on which +the light strikes, and a mouth puckered up for any mischief. + +"Madonna!" cries Pipa, rubbing her eyes--"the cavaliere! How you did +frighten me! I cannot bear to hear footsteps about when Adamo is +out;" and Pipa gazes up and down into the darkness with an unpleasant +consciousness that something ghostly might be watching her. + +"Pipa," says the cavaliere, putting his finger to his nose and +winking palpably, "hold your tongue, and don't scream when I tell you +something. Promise me." + +"O Gesù!" cries Pipa in a loud voice, starting back, forgetting his +injunction--"is it not about the signorina?" + +"Hold your tongue, Pipa, or I will tell you nothing." + +Pipa's head is instantly close to the cavaliere's, her face all +eagerness. + +"Yes, it is about the signorina--the countess. She is gone!" + +"Gone!" and Pipa, spite of warning, fairly shouts now "gone!" at which +the cavaliere shakes his stick at her, smiling, however, benignly all +the time. "Holy mother! gone! O cavaliere! tell me--she is not dead?" + +(Ever since Pipa had tended Enrica lying on her bed, so still and +cold, it seemed reasonable to her that she might die at any instant, +without warning given.) + +"Yes, Pipa," answers the cavaliere solemnly, his voice shaking +slightly, but he still smiles, though the dew of rising tears is in +his merry eyes--"yes, dead--dead to us, my Pipa--I fear dead to us." + +Pipa sinks back in speechless horror against the wall, and groans. + +"But only to us--(don't be a fool, Pipa)"--this in a parenthesis--"she +is gone with her husband." + +Pipa rises to her feet and stares at Trenta, at first wildly, then, as +little by little the hidden sense comes to her, her rosy lips slowly +part and lengthen out until every snowy tooth is visible. Then Pipa +covers her face with her apron, and shakes from head to foot in such +a fit of laughter, that she has to lean against the wall not to fall +down. "Oh hello!" is all she can say. This Pipa repeats at intervals +in gasps. + +"Come, Pipa, that will do," says the cavaliere, poking at her with his +stick--"I must get back before I am missed--no one must know it till +morning--least of all the marchesa and Guglielmi. They are shut up +together. The marchesa says she will sit up all night. But Count +Nobili and his wife are gone--really gone. Fra Pacifico managed it. He +got hold of Adamo, who was running round the house with a loaded +gun, all the dogs after him. Take care of Adamo when he comes back +to-night, Pipa. He is fastening up the dogs, and feeding them, and +taking care of poor Argo, who is badly hurt. He is quite mad, Adamo. +I never saw a man so wild. He would not come in. He said the marchesa +had told him to shoot some one. He swore he would do it yet. He nearly +fought with Fra Pacifico when he forced him in. Adamo is quite mad. +Tell him nothing to-night; he is not safe." + +Pipa has now let down her apron. Her bright olive-complexioned face +beams in one broad smile, like the full moon at harvest. She is still +shaking, and at intervals gives little spasmodic giggles. + +"Leave Adamo to me" (another giggle); "I will manage him" (another). +"Why, he might have shot the signorina's husband--the fool!" + +This thought steadies Pipa for an instant, but she bursts out again. +"Oh hello!"--Pipa gurgles like a stream that cannot stop running; then +she breaks off all at once, and listens. "Hush! hush! There is +Adamo coming, cavaliere--hush! hush! Make haste and go away. He is +coming--Adamo; I hear him on the gravel." + +"Say nothing until the morning," whispers the cavaliere. "Give them a +fair start. Ha! ha!" + +Pipa nods. Her face twitches all over. As Cavaliere Trenta turns to +go, Pipa catches him smartly by the shoulder, draws him to her, and +speaks into his ear: + +"To think the signorina has run away with her own husband! Oh bello!" + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ITALIANS*** + + +******* This file should be named 12385-8.txt or 12385-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/8/12385 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +https://gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/12385-8.zip b/old/12385-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..019fbb2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12385-8.zip diff --git a/old/12385.txt b/old/12385.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..18d0acc --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12385.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14015 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Italians, by Frances Elliot + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Italians + +Author: Frances Elliot + +Release Date: May 19, 2004 [eBook #12385] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ITALIANS*** + + +E-text prepared by Curtis Weyant, Bill Hershey, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +THE ITALIANS: + +A Novel + +BY FRANCES ELLIOT + +AUTHOR OF "ROMANCE OF OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE," "THE DIARY OF AN IDLE +WOMAN IN ITALY," ETC., ETC. + +1875 + + + + + + +TO + +THE REAL ENRICA, + +WITH + +THE AUTHOR'S LOVE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I. + + I. LUCCA + II. THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA + III. THE THREE WITCHES + IV. THE MARCHESA GUINIGI + V. ENRICA + VI. MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME + VII. COUNT MARESCOTTI + VIII. THE CABINET COUNCIL + IX. THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL + + +PART II. + + I. CALUMNY + II. CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO + III. THE GUINIGI TOWER + IV. COUNT NOBILI + V. NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL + VI. A NEW PHILOSOPHY + VII. THE MARCHESA'S PASSION + VIII. ENRICA'S TRIAL + IX. WHAT CAME OF IT + + +PART III. + + + I. A LONELY TOWN + II. WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS + III. WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCHESA'S PAPERS + IV. WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE + V. "SAY NOT TOO MUCH" + VI. THE CONTRACT + VII. THE CLUB AT LUCCA + VIII. COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS + IX. NERA + + +PART IV. + + + I. WAITING AND LONGING + II. A STORM AT THE VILLA + III. BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH + IV. FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA + V. TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? + VI. THE CHURCH AND THE LAW + VII. THE HOUR STRIKES + VIII. FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME + IX. HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE + X. THE LAWYER BAFFLED + XI. FACE TO FACE + XII. OH BELLO! + + + + + + + +PART I. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +LUCCA. + + +We are at Lucca. It is the 13th of September, 1870--the anniversary of +the festival of the Volto Santo--a notable day, both in city, suburb, +and province. Lucca dearly loves its festivals--no city more; and of +all the festivals of the year that of the Volto Santo best. Now the +Volto Santo (_Anglice_, Holy Countenance) is a miraculous crucifix, +which hangs, as may be seen, all by itself in a gorgeous chapel--more +like a pagoda than a chapel, and more like a glorified bird-cage than +either--built expressly for it among the stout Lombard pillars in the +nave of the cathedral. The crucifix is of cedar-wood, very black, and +very ugly, and it was carved by Nicodemus; of this fact no orthodox +Catholic entertains a doubt. But on what authority I cannot tell, nor +why, nor how, the Holy Countenance reached the snug little city of +Lucca, except by flying through the air like the Loretto house, or +springing out of the earth like the Madonna of Feltri. But here it is, +and here it has been for many a long year; and here it will remain +as a miraculous relic, bringing with it blessings and immunities +innumerable to the grateful city. + +What a glorious morning it is! The sun rose without a cloud. Now there +is a golden haze hanging over the plain, and glints as of living flame +on the flanks of the mountains. From all sides crowds are pressing +toward Lucca. Before six o'clock every high-road is alive. Down from +the highest mountain-top of Pizzorna, overlooking Florence and its +vine-garlanded campagna, comes the hermit, brown-draped, in hood and +mantle; staff in hand, he trudges along the dusty road. And down, +too, from his native lair among the pigs and the poultry, comes the +black-eyed, black-skinned, matted-haired urchin, who makes mud pies +under the tufted ilex-trees at Ponte a Moriano, and swears at the +hermit. + +They come! they come! From mountain-sides bordering the broad road +along the Serchio--mountains dotted with bright homesteads, each +gleaming out of its own cypress-grove, olive-patch, canebrake, and +vine-arbor, under which the children play--they come from solitary +hovels, hung up, as it were, in mid-air, over gloomy ravines, scored +and furrowed with red earth, down which dark torrents dash and spray. + +They come! they come! these Tuscan peasants, a trifle too fond of +holiday-keeping, like their betters--but what would you have? The land +is fertile, and corn and wine and oil and rosy flowering almonds grow +almost as of themselves. They come--tens and tens of miles away, from +out the deep shadows of primeval chestnut-woods, clothing the flanks +of rugged Apennines with emerald draperies. They come--through parting +rocks, bordering nameless streams--cool, delicious waters, over which +bend fig, peach, and plum, delicate ferns and unknown flowers. They +come--from hamlets and little burghs, gathered beside lush pastures, +where tiny rivulets trickle over fresh turf and fragrant herbs, +lulling the ear with softest echoes. + +They come--dark-eyed mothers and smiling daughters, decked with +gold pins, flapping Leghorn hats, lace veils or snowy handkerchiefs +gathered about their heads, coral beads, and golden crosses as big as +shields, upon their necks--escorted by lover, husband, or father--a +flower behind his ear, a slouch hat on his head, a jacket thrown over +one arm, every man shouldering a red umbrella, although to doubt the +weather to-day is absolute sacrilege! + +Carts clatter by every moment, drawn by swift Maremma nags, gay with +brass harness, tinkling bells, and tassels of crimson on reins and +frontlet. + +The carts are laden with peasants (nine, perhaps, ranged three +abreast)--treason to the gallant animal that, tossing its little head, +bravely struggles with the cruel load. A priest is stuck in bodkin +among his flock--a priest who leers and jests between pinches of +snuff, and who, save for his seedy black coat, knee-breeches, worsted +stockings, shoe-buckles, clerical hat, and smoothly-shaven chin, is +rougher than a peasant himself. + +Riders on Elba ponies, with heavy cloaks (for the early morning, spite +of its glories, is chill), spur by, adding to the dust raised by the +carts. + +Genteel flies and hired carriages with two horses, and hood and +foot-board--pass, repass, and out-race each other. These flies and +carriages are crammed with bailiffs from the neighboring villas, +shopkeepers, farmers, and small proprietors. Donkeys, too, there are +in plenty, carrying men bigger than themselves (under protest, be it +observed, for here, as in all countries, your donkey, though marked +for persecution, suffers neither willingly nor in silence). Begging +friars, tanned like red Indians, glide by, hot and grimy (thank +Heaven! not many now, for "New Italy" has sacked most of the convent +rookeries and dispersed the rooks), with wallets on their shoulders, +to carry back such plunder as can be secured, to far-off convents and +lonely churches, folded up tightly in forest fastnesses. + +All are hurrying onward with what haste they may, to reach the city +of Lucca, while broad shadows from the tall mountains on either hand +still fall athwart the roads, and cool morning air breathes up from +the rushing Serchio. + +The Serchio--a noble river, yet willful as a mountain-torrent--flows +round the embattled walls of Lucca, and falls into the Mediterranean +below Pisa. It is calm now, on this day of the great festival, +sweeping serenely by rocky capes, and rounding into fragrant bays, +where overarching boughs droop and feather. But there is a sullen +look about its current, that tells how wicked it can be, this Serchio, +lashed into madness by winter storms, and the overflowing of the +water-gates above, among the high Apennines--at the Abbetone at San +Marcello, or at windy, ice-bound Pracchia. + +How fair are thy banks, O mountain-bordered Serchio! How verdant +with near wood and neighboring forest! How gay with cottage +groups--open-galleried and garlanded with bunches of golden maize and +vine-branches--all laughing in the sun! The wine-shops, too, along the +road, how tempting, with snowy table-cloths spread upon dressers under +shady arbors of lemon--trees; pleasant odors from the fry cooking in +the stove, mixing with the perfume of the waxy flowers! Dear to +the nostrils of the passers-by are these odors. They snuff them +up--onions, fat, and macaroni, with delight. They can scarcely resist +stopping once for all here, instead of waiting for their journey's end +to eat at Lucca. + +But the butterflies--and they are many--are wiser in their generation. +The butterflies have a festival of their own to-day. They do not wait +for any city. They are fixed to no spot. They can hold their festival +anywhere under the blue sky, in the broad sunshine. + +See how they dance among the flowers! Be it spikes of wild-lavender, +or yellow down within the Canterbury bell, or horn of purple +cyclamens, or calyx of snowy myrtle, the soft bosom of tall lilies or +glowing petals of red cloves--nothing comes amiss to the butterflies. +They are citizens of the world, and can feast wherever fancy leads +them. + +Meanwhile, on comes the crowd, nearer and nearer to the city of their +pilgrimage, laughing, singing, talking, smoking. Your Italian peasant +must sleep or smoke, excepting when he plays at _morra_ (one, two, +three, and away!). Then he puts his pipe into his pocket. The +women are conversing in deep voices, in the _patois_ of the various +villages. The men, more silent, search out who is fairest--to lead +her on the way, to kneel beside her at the shrine, and, most prized of +all, to conduct her home. Each village has its belle, each belle her +circle of admirers. Belles and beaux all have their own particular +plan of diversion for the day. For is it not a great day? And is it +not stipulated in many of the marriage contracts among the mountain +tribes that the husband must, under a money penalty, conduct his wife +to the festival of the Holy Countenance once at least in four years? +The programme is this: First, they enter the cathedral, kneel at the +glistening shrine of the black crucifix, kiss its golden slipper, and +hear mass. Then they will grasp such goods as the gods provide them, +in street, _cafe_, eating-house, or day theatre; make purchases in the +shops and booths, and stroll upon the ramparts. Later, when the sun +sinks westward over the mountains, and the deep canopy of twilight +falls, they will return by the way that they have come, until the +coming year. + + * * * * * + +Within the city, from before daybreak, church-bells--and Lucca abounds +in belfries fretted tier upon tier, with galleries of delicate marble +colonnettes, all ablaze in the sunshine--have pealed out merrily. + +Every church-door, draped with gold tissue and silken stuffs, more +or less splendid, is thrown wide open. Every shop is closed, save +_cafes_, hotels, and tobacco-shops (where, by command of the King of +New Italy, infamous cigars are sold). Eating-tables are spread at the +corners of the streets and under the trees in the piazza, benches are +ranged everywhere where benches can stand. The streets are filling +every moment as fresh multitudes press through the city gates--those +grand old gates, where the marble lions of Lucca keep guard, looking +toward the mountains. + +For a carriage to pass anywhere in the streets would be impossible, so +tightly are flapping Leghorn hats, and veils, snowy handkerchiefs, and +red caps and brigand hats, packed together. Bells ring, and there are +waftings of military music borne through the air. Trumpet-calls at the +different barracks answer to each other. Cannons are fired. Each +man, woman, and child shouts, screams, and laughs. All down the dark, +cavernous streets, in the great piazza, at the sindaco's, at college, +at club, public offices, and hotels, at the grand old palaces, +untouched since the middle ages--the glory of the city--at every +house, great and small--flutter gaudy draperies; crimson, amber, +violet, and gold, according to purse and condition, either of richest +brocade, or of Eastern stuffs wrought in gold and needle-work, or--the +family carpet or bed-furniture hung out for show. Banners wave from +every house-top and tower, the Italian tricolor and the Savoy cross, +white, on a red ground; flowers and garlands are wreathed on the +fronts of the stern old walls. If peasants, and shopkeepers, and +monks, priests, beggars, and _hoi polloi_ generally, possess the +pavement, overhead every balcony, gallery, terrace, and casement, +is filled with company, representatives of the historic families of +Lucca, the Manfredi, Possenti, Navascoes, Bernardini, dal Portico, +Bocella, Manzi, da Gia, Orsetti, Ruspoli--feudal names dear to native +ears. The noble marquis, or his excellency the count, lord of broad +acres on the plains, or principalities in the mountains, or of hoarded +wealth at the National Bank--is he not Lucchese also to the backbone? +And does he not delight in the festival as keenly as that half-naked +beggar, who rattles his box for alms, with a broad grin on his dirty +face? + +Resplendent are the ladies in the balconies, dressed in their +best--like bands of fluttering ribbon stretched across the +sombre-fronted palaces; aristocratic daughters, and dainty consorts. +They are not chary of their charms. They laugh, fan themselves, lean +over sculptured balustrades, and eye the crowded streets, talking with +lip and fan, eye and gesture. + +In the long, narrow street of San Simone, behind the cathedral of San +Martino, stand the two Guinigi Palaces. They are face to face. One is +ditto of the other. Each is in the florid style of Venetian-Gothic, +dating from the beginning of the fourteenth century. Both were built +by Paolo Guinigi, head of the illustrious house of that name, for +forty years general and tyrant of the Republic of Lucca. Both palaces +bear his arms, graven on marble tablets beside the entrance. Both +are of brick, now dulled and mellowed into a reddish white. Both +have walls of enormous thickness. The windows of the upper +stories--quadruple casements divided, Venetian-like, by twisted +pillarettes richly carved--are faced and mullioned with marble. + +The lower windows (mere square apertures) are barred with iron. The +arched portals opening to the streets are low, dark, and narrow. The +inner courts gloomy, damp, and prison-like. Brass ornaments, sockets, +rings, and torch-holders of iron, sculptured emblems, crests, and +cognizances in colored marble, are let into the outer walls. In all +else, ornamentation is made subservient to defense. These are city +fortresses rather than ancestral palaces. They were constructed to +resist either attack or siege. + +Rising out of the overhanging roof (supported on wooden rafters) of +the largest and most stately of the two palaces, where twenty-three +groups of clustered casements, linked by slender pillars, extend in a +line along a single story--rises a mediaeval tower of defense of +many stories. Each story is pierced by loop-holes for firing into the +street below. On the machicolated summit is a square platform, where +in the course of many peaceful ages a bay-tree has come to grow of a +goodly size. About this bay-tree tangled weeds and tufted grasses +wave in the wind. Below, here and there, patches of blackened moss +or yellow lichen, a branch of mistletoe or a bunch of fern, break +the lines of the mediaeval brickwork. Sprays of wild-ivy cling to the +empty loop-holes, through which the blue sky peeps. + +The lesser of the two palaces--the one on the right hand as you ascend +the street of San Simone coming from the cathedral--is more decorated +to-day than any other in Lucca. A heavy sea of Leghorn hats and black +veils, with male accompaniments, is crowded beneath. They stare upward +and murmur with delight. Gold and silver stuffs, satin and taffeta, +striped brocades, and rich embroideries, flutter from the clustered +casement up to the overhanging roof. There are many flags (one with +a coat-of-arms, amber and purple on a gold ground) blazing in +the sunshine. The grim brick facade is festooned with wreaths of +freshly-plucked roses. Before the low-arched entrance on the pavement +there is a carpet of flower-petals fashioned into a monogram, bearing +the letters "M.N." Just within the entrance stands a porter, leaning +on a gold staff, as immovable in aspect as are the mediaeval walls +that close in behind him. A badge or baldric is passed across his +chest; he is otherwise so enveloped with gold-lace, embroidery, +buttons, trencher, and cocked-hat, that the whole inner man is +absorbed, not to say invisible. Beside him, in the livery of the +house, tall valets grin, lounge, and ogle the passers-by (wearers +of Leghorn hats, and veils, and white head-gear generally). This +particular Guinigi Palace belongs to Count Mario Nobili. He bought +it of the Marchesa Guinigi, who lives opposite. Nobili is the richest +young man in Lucca. No one calls upon him for help in vain; but, let +it be added, no one offends him with impunity. When Nobili first came +to Lucca, the old families looked coldly at him, his nobility being +of very recent date. It was bestowed on his father, a successful +banker--some said usurer, some said worse--by the Grand-duke Leopold, +for substantial assistance toward his pet hobby--the magnificent road +that zigzags up the mountain-side to Fiesole from Florence. + +But young Nobili soon conquered Lucchese prejudice. Now he is well +received by all--_all_ save the Marchesa Guinigi. She was, and is at +this time, still irreconcilable. Nobili stands in the central window +of his palace. He leans out over the street, a cigar in his mouth. +A servant beside him flings down from time to time some silver +coin among Leghorn hats and the beggars, who scramble for it on the +pavement. Nobili's eyes beam as the populace look up and cheer him: +"Long live Count Nobili! Evviva!" He takes off his hat and bows; more +silver coin comes clattering down on the pavement; there are fresh +evvivas, fresh bows, and more scramblers cover the street. "No one +like Nobili," the people say; "so affable, so open-handed--yes, and so +clever, too, for has he not traveled, and does he not know the world?" + +Beside Count Nobili some _jeunesse doree_ of his own age (sons of the +best houses in Lucca) also lean over the Venetian casements. Like +the liveried giants at the entrance, these laugh, ogle, chaff, +and criticise the wearers of Leghorn hats, black veils, and white +head-gear, freely. They smoke, and drink _liqueurs_ and sherbet, and +crack sugar-plums out of crystal cup on silver plates, set on embossed +trays placed beside them. + +The profession of these young men is idleness. They excel in it. Let +us pause for a moment and ask what they do--this _jeunesse doree_, to +whom the sacred mission is committed of regenerating an heroic people? +They could teach Ovid "the art of love." It comes to them in the air +they breathe. They do not love their neighbor as themselves, but they +love their neighbor's wives. Nothing is holy to them. "All for love, +and the world well lost," is their motto. They can smile in their best +friend's face, weep with him, rejoice with him, eat with him, drink +with him, and--betray him; they do this every day, and do it well. +They can also lie artistically, dressing up imaginary details with +great skill, gamble and sing, swear, and talk scandal. They can lead +a graceful, dissolute, _far niente_ life, loll in carriages, and be +whirled round for hours, say the Florence Cascine, the Roman Pincio, +and the park at Milan--smoking the while, and raising their hats to +the ladies. They can trot a well-broken horse--not too fresh, on a +hard road, and are wonderful in ruining his legs. A very few can +drive what they call a _stage_ (_Anglice_, drag) with grave and +well-educated wheelers, on a very straight road--such as do this +are looked upon as heroes--shoot a hare sitting, also tom-tits and +sparrows. But they can neither hunt, nor fish, nor row. They are ready +of tongue and easy of offense. They can fight duels (with swords), +generally a harmless exercise. They can dance. They can hold strong +opinions on subjects on which they are crassly ignorant, and yield +neither to fact nor argument where their mediaeval usages are +concerned. All this the golden youths of Young Italy can do, and do it +well. + +Yet from such stuff as this are to come the future ministers, +prefects, deputies, financiers, diplomatists, and senators, who are to +regenerate the world's old mistress! Alas, poor Italy! + +The Guinigi Palace opposite forms a striking contrast to Count +Nobili's abode. It is as silent as the grave. Every shutter is closed. +The great wooden door to the street is locked; a heavy chain is drawn +across it. The Marchesa Guinigi has strictly commanded that it should +be so. She will have nothing to do with the festival of the Holy +Countenance. She will take no part in it whatever. Indeed, she has +come to Lucca on purpose to see that her orders are obeyed to the very +letter, else that rascal of a secretary might have hung out something +in spite of her. The marchesa, who has been for many years a widow, +and is absolute possessor of the palace and lands, calls herself a +liberal. But she is in practice the most thorough-going aristocrat +alive. In one respect she is a liberal. She despises priests, laughs +at miracles, and detests festivals. "A loss of time, and, if of time, +of money," she says. If the peasants and the people complain of the +taxes, and won't work six days in the week, "Let them starve," says +the marchesa--"let them starve; so much the better!" + +In her opinion, the legend of the Holy Countenance is a lie, got up by +priests for money; so she comes into the city from Corellia, and +shuts up her palace, publicly to show her opinion. As far as she is +concerned, she believes neither in St. Nicodemus nor in idleness. + +A good deal of this, be it said, _en passant_, is sheer obstinacy. The +marchesa is obstinate to folly, and full of contradictions. Besides, +there is another powerful motive that influences her--she hates Count +Nobili. Not that he has ever done any thing personally to offend her; +of this he is incapable--indeed, he has his own reasons for desiring +passionately to be on good terms with her--but he has, in her opinion, +injured her by purchasing the second Guinigi Palace. That she should +have been obliged to sell one of her ancestral palaces at all is to +her a bitter misfortune; but that any one connected with trade should +possess what had been inherited generation after generation by the +Guinigi, is intolerable. + +That a _parvenu_, the son of a banker, should live opposite to her, +that he should abound in money, which he flings about recklessly, +while she can with difficulty eke out the slender rents from the +greatly-reduced patrimony of the Guinigi, is more than she can bear. +His popularity and his liberality (and she cannot come to Lucca +without hearing of both), even that comely young face of his, which +she sees when she passes the club on the way to her afternoon drive +on the ramparts, are dire offenses in her eyes. Whatever Count Nobili +does, she (the Marchesa Guinigi) will do the reverse. He has opened +his house for the festival. Hers shall be closed. She is thoroughly +exceptional, however, in such conduct. Every one in Lucca save +herself, rich and poor, noble and villain, join heart and soul in +the national festival. Every one lays aside on this auspicious day +differences of politics, family feuds, and social animosities. Even +enemies join hands and kneel side by side at the same altar. It is the +mediaeval "God's truce" celebrated in the nineteenth century. + + * * * * * + +It is now eleven o'clock. A great deal of sausage and garlic, washed +down by new wine and light beer, has been by this time consumed in +eating-shops and on street tables; much coffee, _liqueurs_, cake, and +bonbons, inside the palaces. + +Suddenly all the church-bells, which have rung out since daybreak like +mad, stop; only the deep-toned cathedral-bell booms out from its snowy +campanile in half-minute strokes. There is an instant lull, the din +and clatter of the streets cease, the crowd surges, separates, and +disappears, the palace windows and balconies empty themselves, +the street forms are vacant. The procession in honor of the Holy +Countenance is forming; every one has rushed off to the cathedral. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA. + + +Martino, the cathedral of Lucca, stands on one side of a small piazza +behind the principal square. At the first glance, its venerable +aspect, vast proportions, and dignity of outline, do not sufficiently +seize upon the imagination; but, as the eye travels over the elaborate +facade, formed by successive galleries supported by truncated pillars, +these galleries in their turn resting on clustered columns of richest +sculpture forming the triple portals--the fine inlaid work, statues, +bass-relief, arabesques of fruit, foliage, and quaint animals--the +dome, and, above all, the campanile--light and airy as a dream, +springing upward on open arches where the sun burns hotly--the eye +comes to understand what a glorious Gothic monument it is. + +The three portals are now open. From the lofty atrium raised on broad +marble steps, with painted ceiling and sculptured walls--at one end a +bubbling fountain falling into a marble basin, at the other an arched +gate-way leading into grass-grown cloisters--the vast nave is visible +from end to end. This nave is absolutely empty. Every thing tells of +expectation, of anticipation. The mighty Lombard pillars on either +side--supporting a triforium gallery of circular arches and slender +pillars of marble fretwork, delicate as lace--are wreathed and +twined with red taffetas bound with golden bands. The gallery of the +triforium itself is draped with arras and rich draperies. Each dainty +column is decked with flags and pennons. The aisles and transepts +blaze with gorgeous hangings. Overhead saints, prophets, and martyrs, +standing immovable in the tinted glories of the stained windows, +fling broad patches of purple, emerald, and yellow, upon the intaglio +pavement. + +Along the nave (a hedge, as it were, on either side) are hung curtains +of cloth of gold. + +The high altar, inclosed by a balustrade of colored marble raised +on steps richly carpeted, glitters with gemmed chalices and crosses. +Behind, countless wax-lights illuminate the rich frescoes of the +tribune. The Chapel of the Holy Countenance (midway up the nave), +inclosed by a gilded net-work, is a dazzling mountain of light flung +from a thousand golden sconces. A black figure as large as life rests +upon the altar. It is stretched upon a cross. The eyes are white +and glassy; the thorn-crowned head leans on one side. The body +is enveloped in a damascened robe spangled with jewels. This robe +descends to the feet, which are cased in shoes of solid gold. The +right foot rests on a sacramental cup glittering with gems. On either +side are angels, with arms extended. One holds a massive sceptre, the +other the silver keys of the city of Lucca. + +All waits. The bride, glorious in her garment of needle-work, waits. +The bridegroom waits. The sacramental banquet is spread; the guests +are bidden. All waits the moment when the multitude, already buzzing +without at the western entrance, shall spread themselves over +the mosaic floor, and throng each chapel, altar, gallery, and +transept--when anthems of praise shall peal from the double doors of +the painted organ, and holy rites give a mystic language to the sacred +symbols around. + +Meanwhile the procession flashes from street to street. Banners +flutter in the hot mid-day air, tall crucifixes and golden crosses +reach to the upper stories. In the pauses the low hum of the chanted +canticles is caught up here and there along the line--now the +monks--then the canons with a nasal twang--then the laity. + +There are the judges, twelve in number, robed in black, scarlet, +and ermine, their broad crimson sashes sweeping the pavement. The +_gonfaloniere_--that ancient title of republican freedom still +remaining--walks behind, attired in antique robes. Next appear the +municipality--wealthy, oily-faced citizens, at this moment much +overcome by the heat. Following these are the Lucchese nobles, walking +two-and-two, in a precedence not prescribed by length of pedigree, but +of age. Next comes the prefect of the city; at his side the general in +command of the garrison of Lucca, escorted by a brilliant staff. Each +bears a tall lighted torch. + +The law and the army are closely followed by the church. All are +there, two-and-two--from the youngest deacon to the oldest canon--in +his robe of purple silk edged with gold--wearing a white mitre. The +church is generally corpulent; these dignitaries are no exception. + +Amid a cloud of incense walks the archbishop--a tall, stately man, +in the prime of life--under a canopy of crimson silk resting on gold +staves, borne over him by four canons habited in purple. He moves +along, a perfect mass of brocade, lace, and gold--literally aflame +in the sunshine. His mitred head is bent downward; his eyes are half +closed; his lips move. In his hands--which are raised almost level +with his face, and reverently covered by his vestments--he bears a +gemmed vessel containing the Host, to be laid by-and-by on the +altar of the Holy Countenance. All the church-bells are now ringing +furiously. Cannons fire, and military bands drown the low hum of +the chanting. Every head is uncovered--many, specially women, are +prostrate on the stones. + +Arrived at the basilica of San Frediano, the procession halts under +the Byzantine mosaic on a gold ground, over the entrance. The entire +chapter is assembled before the open doors. They kneel before the +archbishop carrying the Host. Again there is a halt before the snowy +facade of the church of San Michele, pillared to the summit with +slender columns of Carrara marble--on the topmost pinnacle a colossal +statue of the archangel, in golden bronze, the outstretched wings +glistening against the turquoise sky. Here the same ceremonies are +repeated as at the church of San Frediano. The archbishop halts, the +chanting ceases, the Host is elevated, the assembled priests adore it, +kneeling without the portal. + +It is one o'clock before the archbishop is enthroned within the +cathedral. The chapter, robed in red and purple, are ranged behind him +in the tribune at the back of the high altar, the grand old frescoes +hovering over them. The secular dignitaries are seated on benches +below the altar-steps. _Palchi_ (boxes), on either side of the +nave, are filled with Lucchese ladies, dark-haired, dark-eyed, +olive-skinned, backed by the crimson draperies with which the nave is +dressed. + +A soft fluttering of fans agitates feathers, lace, and ribbons. Fumes +of incense mix with the scent of strong perfumes. Not the smallest +attention is paid by the ladies to the mass which is celebrating at +the high altar and the altar of the Holy Countenance. Their jeweled +hands hold no missal, their knees are unbent, their lips utter no +prayer. Instead, there are bright glances from lustrous eyes, and +whispered words to favored golden youths (without religion, of +course--what has a golden youth to do with religion?) who have +insinuated themselves within the ladies seats, or lean over, gazing at +them with upturned faces. + +Peal after peal of musical thunder rolls from the double organs. It +is caught up by the two orchestras placed in gilt galleries on either +side of the nave. A vocal chorus on this side responds to exquisite +voices on that. Now a flute warbles a luscious solo, then a flageolet. +A grand barytone bursts forth, followed by a tenor soft as the notes +of a nightingale, accompanied by a boy on the violin. Then there is +the crash of many hundred voices, with the muffled roar of two organs. +It is the _Gloria in Excelsis_. As the music rolls down the pillared +nave out into the crowded piazza, where it dies away in harmonious +murmurs, an iron cresset, suspended from the vaulted ceiling of the +nave, filled with a bundle of flax, is fired. The flax blazes for a +moment, then passes away in a shower of glittering sparks that glitter +upon the inlaid floor. _Sic transit gloria mundi_ is the motto. (Now +the lighting of this flax is a special privilege accorded to the +Archbishop of Lucca by the pope, and jealously guarded by him.) + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE THREE WITCHES. + + +Many carriages wait outside the cathedral, in the shade near the +fountain. The fountain--gushing upward joyously in the beaming +sunshine out of a red-marble basin--is just beyond the atrium, +and visible through the arches on that side. Beyond the fountain, +terminating the piazza, there is a high wall. This wall supports a +broad marble terrace, with heavy balustrades, extending from the +back of a mediaeval palace. Over the wall green vine-branches trail, +sweeping the pavement, like ringlets that have fallen out of curl. +This wall and terrace communicate with the church of San Giovanni, an +ancient Lombard basilica on that side. Under the shadow of the heavy +roof some girls are trying to waltz to the sacred music from the +cathedral. After a few turns they find it difficult, and leave off. +The men in livery, waiting along with the carriages, laugh at them +lazily. The girls retreat, and group themselves on the steps of a +deeply-arched doorway with a bass-relief of the Virgin and angels, +leading into the church, and talk in low voices. + +A ragged boy from the Garfagnana, with a tray of plaster heads of +Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi, has put down his wares, and is turning +wheels upon the pavement, before the servants, for a penny. An old man +pulls out from under his cloak a dancing dog, with crimson collar and +bells, and collects a little crowd under the atrium of the cathedral. +A soldier, touched with compassion, takes a crust from his pocket to +reward the dancing dog, which, overcome by the temptation, drops on +his four legs, runs to him, and devours it, for which delinquency the +old man beats him severely. His yells echo loudly among the pillars, +and drown the rich tide of harmony that ebbs and flows through the +open portals. The beggars have betaken themselves to their accustomed +seats on the marble steps of the cathedral, San Martin of +Tours, parting his cloak--carved in alt-relief, over the central +entrance--looking down upon them encouragingly. These beggars clink +their metal boxes languidly, or sleep, lying flat on the stones. +A group of women have jammed themselves into a corner between the +cathedral and the hospital adjoining it on that side. They are waiting +to see the company pass out. Two of them standing close together are +talking eagerly. + +"My gracious! who would have thought that old witch, the Guinigi," +whispers Carlotta--Carlotta owned a little mercery-shop in a +side-street running by the palace, right under the tower--to her +gossip Brigitta, an occasional customer for cotton and buttons, "who +would have thought that she--gracious! who would have thought she +dared to shut up her palace the day of the festival? Did you see?" + +"Yes, I did," answers Brigitta. + +"Curses on her!" hisses out Carlotta, showing her black teeth. "Listen +to me, she will have a great misfortune--mark my words--a great +misfortune soon--the stingy old devil!" + +Hearing the organ at that instant, Brigitta kneels on the stones, and +crosses herself; then rises and looks at Carlotta. "St. Nicodemus will +have his revenge, never fear." + +Carlotta is still speaking. Brigitta shakes her head prophetically, +again looking at Carlotta, whose deep-sunk eyes are fixed upon her. + +"Checco says--Checco is a shoemaker, and he knows the daughter of the +man who helps the butler in Casa Guinigi--Checco says she laughs at +the Holy Countenance. Domine Dio! what an infamy!" cries Carlotta, in +a cracked voice, raising her skinny hands and shaking them in the air. +"I hate the Guinigi! I hate her! I spit on her, I curse her!" + +There is such venom in Carlotta's looks and in Carlotta's words that +Brigitta suddenly takes her eyes off a man with a red waistcoat whom +she is ogling, but who by no means reciprocates her attention, and +asks Carlotta sharply, "Why she hates the marchesa?" + +"Listen," answers Carlotta, holding up her finger. "One day, as I came +out of my little shop, _she_"--and Carlotta points with her thumb +over her shoulder toward the street of San Simone and the Guinigi +Palace--"_she_ was driving along the street in her old Noah's Ark of +a carriage. Alas! I am old and feeble, and the horses came along +quickly. I had no time to get into the little square of San Barnabo, +out of the way; the wheel struck me on the shoulder, I fell down. Yes, +I fell down on the hard pavement, Brigitta." And Carlotta sways her +grizzly head from side to side, and grasps the other's arm so tightly +that Brigitta screams. "Brigitta, the marchesa saw me. She saw me +lying there, but she never stopped nor turned her head. I lay on the +stones, sick and very sore, till a neighbor, Antonio the carpenter, +who works in the little square, a good lad, picked me up and carried +me home." + +As she speaks, Carlotta's eyes glitter like a serpent's. She shakes +all over. + +"Lord have mercy!" exclaims Brigitta, looking hard at her; "that was +bad!" Carlotta was over eighty; her face was like tanned leather, her +skin loose and shriveled; a handful of gray hair grew on the top of +her head, and was twisted up with a silver pin. Brigitta was also of a +goodly age, but younger than Carlotta, fat and portly, and round as +a barrel. She was pitted by the small-pox, and had but one eye; but, +being a widow, and well-to-do in the world, is not without certain +pretensions. She wears a yellow petticoat and a jacket trimmed with +black lace. In her hair, black and frizzly as a negro's, a rose +is stuck on one side.--The hair had been dressed that morning by a +barber, to whom she paid five francs a month for this adornment.--Some +rows of dirty seed-pearl are fastened round her fat throat; long gold +ear-rings bob in her ears, and in her hand is a bright paper fan, with +which she never ceases fanning herself. + +"She's never spent so much as a penny at my shop," Carlotta goes on to +say. "Not a penny. She'd not spare a flask of wine to a beggar +dying at her door. Stuck-up old devil! But she's ruined, ruined with +lawsuits. Ruined, I say. Ha! ha! Her time will come." + +Finding Carlotta wearisome, Brigitta's one eye has again wandered off +to the man with the red waistcoat. Carlotta sees this, watching her +out of her deep-set, glassy eyes. Speak Carlotta will, and Brigitta +shall listen, she was determined. + +"I could tell you things"--she lowers her voice and speaks into the +other's ear--"things--horrors--about Casa Guinigi!" + +Brigitta starts. "Gracious! You frighten me! What things?" + +"Ah, things that would make your hair stand on end. It is I who say +it," and Carlotta snaps her fingers and nods. + +"_You_ know things, Carlotta? You pretend to know what happens in Casa +Guinigi? Nonsense! You are mad!" + +"Am I?" retorts the other. "We shall see. Who wins boasts. I'm not so +mad, anyhow, as the marchesa, who shuts up her palace on the festival, +and offends St. Nicodemus and all the saints and martyrs," and +Carlotta's eyes flash, and her white eyebrows twitch. + +"However"--and again she lays her bony hand heavily on Brigitta's fat +arm--"if you don't want to hear what I know about Casa Guinigi, I will +not tell you." Carlotta shuts up her mouth and nods defiantly. + +This was not at all what Brigitta desired. If there was any thing to +be told, she would like to hear it. + +"Come, come, Carlotta, don't be angry. You may know much more than +I do; you are always in your shop, except on festivals. The door is +open, and you can see into the street of San Simone, up and down. But +speak low; for there are Lisa and Cassandra close behind, and they +will hear. Tell me, Carlotta, what is it?" + +Brigitta speaks very coaxingly. + +"Yes," replies the old woman, "I can see both the Guinigi palaces from +my door--both the palaces. If the marchesa knew--" + +"Go on, go on!" says Brigitta, nudging her. She leans forward to +listen. "Go on. People are coming out of the cathedral." + +Carlotta raises her head and grins, showing the few black teeth left +in her mouth. "Are they? Well, answer me. Who lives in the street +there--the street of San Simone--as well as the marchesa? Who has +a fine palace that the marchesa sold him, a palace on which he has +spent--ah! so much, so much? Who keeps open house, and has a French +cook, and fine furniture, and new clothes, and horses in his stable, +and six carriages? Who?--who?" As old Carlotta puts these questions +she sways her body to and fro, and raises her finger to her nose. + +"Who is strong, and square, and fair, and smooth?" "Who goes in and +out with a smile on his face? Who?--who?" + +"Why, Nobili, of course--Count Nobili. We all know that," answered +Brigitta, impatiently. "That's no news. But what has Nobili to do with +the marchesa?" + +"What has he to do with the marchesa? Listen, Madama Brigitta. I will +tell you. Do you know that, of all gentlemen in Lucca, the marchesa +hates Nobili?" + +"Well, and what then?" + +"She hates him because he is rich and spends his money freely, and +because she--the Guinigi--lives in the same street and sees it. It +turns sour upon her stomach, like milk in a thunder-storm. She hates +him." + +"Well, is that all?" interrupts Brigitta. + +Carlotta puts up her chin close to Brigitta's face, and clasps her +tightly by the shoulder with both her skinny hands. "That is not all. +The marchesa has her own niece, who lives with her--a doll of a girl, +with a white face--puff! not worth a feather to look at; only a cousin +of the marchesa's husband; but, she's the only one left, all the same. +They are so thin-blooded, the Guinigi, they have come to an end. The +old woman never had a child; she would have starved it." + +Carlotta lowers her voice, and speaks into Brigitta's ear. "Nobili +loves the niece. The marchesa would have the carbineers out if she +knew it." + +"Oh!" breaks from Brigitta, under her breath. "This is fine! splendid! +Are you sure of this, Carlotta? quite sure?" + +"As sure as that I like meat, and only get it on Sundays.--Sure?--I +have seen it with my own eyes. Checco knows the granddaughter of the +man who helps the cook--Nobili pays like a lord, as he is!--He spends +his money, he does!--Nobili writes to the niece, and she answers. +Listen. To-day, the marchesa shut up her palace and put a chain on +the door. But chains can be unloosed, locks broken. Enrica (that's the +niece) at daybreak comes out to the arched gate-way that opens +from the street into the Moorish garden at the farther side of the +palace--she comes out and talks to Nobili for half an hour, under +cover of the ivy that hangs over the wall on that side. Teresa, the +maid, was there too, but she stood behind. Nobili wore a long cloak +that covered him all over; Enrica had a thick veil fastened round +her head and face. They didn't see me, but I watched them from behind +Pietro's house, at the corner of the street opposite. First of all, +Enrica puts her head out of the gate-way. Teresa puts hers out next. +Then Enrica waves her hand toward the palace opposite, a side-door +opens piano, Nobili appears, and watches all round to see that no one +is near--ha! ha! his young eyes didn't spy out my old ones though, for +all that--Nobili appears, I say, then he puts his hand to his heart, +and gives such a look across the street!--Ahi! it makes my old blood +boil to see it. I was pretty once, and liked such looks.--You may +think my eyes are dim, but I can see as far as another." + +And the old hag chuckles spitefully, and winks at Brigitta, enjoying +her surprise. + +"Madre di Dio!" exclaims this one. "There will be fine work." + +"Yes, truly, very fine work. The marchesa shall know it; all Lucca +shall know it too--mark my words, all Lucca! Curses on the Guinigi +root and branch! I will humble them! Curses on them!" mumbles +Carlotta. + +"And what did Nobili do?" asks Brigitta. + +"Do?--Why, seeing no one, he came across and kissed Enrica's hand; I +saw it. He made as if he would have knelt upon the stones, only she +would not let him. Then they whispered for, as near as I can guess, +half an hour--Teresa standing apart. There was the sound of a cart +then coming along the street, and presto!--Enrica was within the +garden in an instant, the gate was closed, and Nobili disappeared." + +Any further talk is now cut short by the approach of Cassandra, +a friend of Brigitta's. Cassandra is a servant in a neighboring +eating-house, a tall, large-boned woman, a colored handkerchief tied +over her head, and much tawdry jewelry about her hands and neck. + +"What are you two chattering about?" asks Cassandra sharply. "It seems +entertaining. What's the news? I get paid for news at my shop. Tell me +directly." + +"Lotta here was only relating to me all about her grandchild," answers +Brigitta, with a whine.--Brigitta was rather in dread of Cassandra, +whose temper was fierce, and who, being strong, knocked people down +occasionally if they offended her. + +"Lotta was telling me, too, that she wants fresh stores for her shop, +but all her money is gone to the grandchild in the hospital, who is +ill, very ill!" and Brigitta sighs and turns up the whites of her +eyes. + +"Yes, yes," joins in Carlotta, a dismal look upon her shriveled old +face. "Yes--it is just that. All the money gone to the grandchild, +the son of my Beppo--that's the soldier who is with the king's +army.--Alas! all gone; my money, my son, and all." + +Here Carlotta affects to groan and wring her hands despairingly. + +The mass was now nearly over; many people were already leaving the +cathedral; but the swell of the organs and the sweet tones of voices +still burst forth from time to time. Festive masses are always +long. It might not seem so to the pretty ladies in the boxes, still +perseveringly fanning themselves, nor to the golden youths who +were diverting them; but the prospect of dinner and a siesta was a +temptation stronger than the older portion of the congregation could +resist. By twos and threes they slipped out. + +This is the moment for the three women to use their eyes and their +tongues--very softly indeed--for they were now elbowed by some of the +best people in Lucca--but to use them. + +"There's Baldassare, the chemist's son," whispers Brigitta, who was +using her one eye diligently. + +"Mercy! That new coat was never cut in Lucca. They need sell many +drugs at papa-chemist's to pay for Baldassare's clothes. Why, he's +combed and scented like a spice-tree. He's a good-looking fellow; +the great ladies like him." This was said with a knock-me-down air by +Cassandra. "He dines at our place every day. It's a pleasure to see +his black curls and smell his scented handkerchief." + +A cluster of listeners had now gathered round Cassandra, who, +conscious of an audience, thought it worth her while to hold forth. +Shaking out the folds of her gown, she leaned her back against the +wall, and pointed with a finger on which were some trumpery rings. +Cassandra knew everybody, and was determined to make those about her +aware of it. "That's young Count Orsetti and his mamma; they give a +grand ball to-night." (Cassandra is standing on tiptoe now, the better +to observe those who pass.) "There she goes to her carriage. Ahi! how +grand! The coachman and the valet with gold-lace and silk stockings. +I would fast for a week to ride once in such a carriage. Oh! I would +give any thing to splash the mud in people's faces. She's a fine +woman--the Orsetti. Observe her light hair. Madonna mia! What a +train of silk! Twelve shillings a yard--not a penny less. She's got a +cavaliere still.--He! he! a cavaliere!" + +Carlotta grins, and winks her wicked old eyes. "She wants to marry +her son to Teresa Ottolini. He's a poor silly little fellow; but +rich--very rich." + +"Who's that fat man in a brown coat?" asks Brigitta. "He's like a +maggot in a fresh nut!" + +"That's my master--a fine-made man," answers Cassandra, frowning and +pinching in her lips, with an affronted air, "Take care what you say +about my master, Brigitta; I shall allow no observations." + +Brigitta turns aside, puts her tongue in her cheek, and glances +maliciously at Carlotta, who nods. + +"How do you know how your master is made, Cassandra mia?" asks +Brigitta, looking round, with a short laugh. + +"Because I have eyes in my head," replies Cassandra, defiantly. "My +master, the padrone of the Pelican Hotel, is not a man one sees every +day in the week!" + +A tall priest now appears from within the church, coming down the +nave, in company with a rosy-faced old gentleman, who, although using +a stick, walks briskly and firmly. He has a calm and pleasant face, +and his hair, which lies in neat little curls upon his forehead, is +as white as snow. One moment the rosy old gentleman talks eagerly +with the priest; the next he sinks upon his knees on the pavement, +and murmurs prayers at a side altar. He does this so abruptly that +the tall priest stumbles over him. There are many apologies, and many +bows. Then the old gentleman rises, dusts his clothes carefully with +a white handkerchief, and walks on, talking eagerly as before. Both +he and the priest bend low to the high altar, dip their fingers in the +holy-water, cross themselves, bend again to the altar, turning right +and left--before leaving the cathedral. + +"That's Fra Pacifico," cries Carlotta, greatly excited--"Fra Pacifico, +the Marchesa Guinigi's chaplain. He's come down from Corellia for the +festival."--Carlotta is proud to show that she knows somebody, as well +as Cassandra. "When he is in Lucca, Fra Pacifico passes my shop every +morning to say mass in the marchesa's private chapel. He knows all her +sins." + +"And the old gentleman with him," puts in Cassandra, twitching her +hook nose, "is old Trenta--Cesare Trenta, the cavaliere. Bless his +dear old face! The duke loved him well. He was chamberlain at the +palace. He's a gentleman all over, is Cavaliere Trenta. There--there. +Look!"--and she points eagerly--"that's the Red count, Count +Marescotti, the republican." + +Cassandra lowers her voice, afraid to be overheard, and fixes her eyes +on a man whose every feature and gesture proclaimed him an aristocrat. + +Excited by the grandeur of the service, Marescotti's usually pale face +is suffused with color; his large black eyes shine with inner lights. +Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he walks through the +atrium, straight down the marble steps, into the piazza. As he passes +the three women they draw back against the wall. There is a dignity +about Marescotti that involuntarily awes them. + +"That's the man for the people!"--Cassandra still speaks under her +breath.--"He'll give us a republic yet." + +Following close on Count Marescotti comes Count Nobili. There are ease +and conscious strength and freedom in his every movement. He pauses +for a moment on the uppermost step under the central arch of the +atrium and gazes round. The sun strikes upon his fresh-complexioned +face and lights up his fair hair and restless eyes.--It is clear +to see no care has yet troubled that curly head of his.--Nobili +is closely followed by a lady of mature age, dark, thin, and +sharp-featured. She has a glass in her eye, with which she peers at +every thing and everybody. This is the Marchesa Boccarini. She is +followed by her three daughters; two of them of no special attraction, +but the youngest, Nera, dark and strikingly handsome. These three +young ladies, all matrimonially inclined, but Nera specially, had +carefully watched the instant when Nobili left his seat. Then they had +followed him closely. It was intended that he should escort them home. +Nera has already decided what she will say to him touching the Orsetti +ball that evening and the cotillon, which she means to dance with +him if she can. But Nobili, with whom they come up under the portico, +merely responds to their salutation with a low bow, raises his hat, +and stands aside to make way for them. He does not even offer to hand +them to their carriage. They pass, and are gone. + +As Count Nobili descends the three steps into the piazza, he is +conscious that all eyes are fixed upon him; that every head is +uncovered. He pauses, casts his eyes round at the upturned faces, +raises his hat and smiles, then puts his hand into his pocket, and +takes out a gold-piece, which he gives to the nearest beggar. The +beggar, seizing the gold-piece, blesses him, and hopes that "Heaven +will render to him according to his merits." Other beggars, from every +corner, are about to rush upon him; but Nobili deftly escapes from +these as he had escaped from the Marchesa Boccarini and her daughters, +and is gone. + +"A lucky face," mumbles old Carlotta, working her under lip, as she +fixes her bleared eyes on him--"a lucky face! He will choose the +winning number in the lottery, and the evil eye will never harm him." + +The music had now ceased. The mass was over. The vast congregation +poured through the triple doors into the piazza, and mingled with +the outer crowd. For a while both waved to and fro, like billows on +a rolling sea, then settled down into one compact current, which, +flowing onward, divided and dispersed itself through the openings into +the various streets abutting on the piazza. + +Last of all, Carlotta, Brigitta, and Cassandra, leave their corner. +They are speedily engulfed in the shadows of a neighboring alley, and +are seen no more. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MARCHESA GUINIGI. + + +The stern and repulsive aspect of the exterior of the Marchesa +Guinigi's palace belied the antique magnificence within. + +Turning to the right under an archway from the damp, moss-grown court +over which the tower throws a perpetual shadow, a broad staircase, +closed by a door of open ironwork, leads to the first story (the +_piano nobile_). Here an anteroom, with Etruscan urns and fragments +of mediaeval sculpture let into the walls, gives access to a great +_sala_, or hall, where Paolo Guinigi entertained the citizens and +magnates of Lucca with sumptuous hospitality. + +The vaulted ceiling, divided into compartments by heavy panels, is +profusely gilt, and painted in fresco by Venetian masters; but the +gold is dulled by age, and the frescoes are but dingy patches of what +once was color. The walls, ornamented with Flemish tapestry, represent +the Seven Labors of Hercules--the bright colors all faded out +and blurred like the frescoes. Above, on the surface of polished +walnut-wood, between the tapestry and the ceiling, are hung suits of +mail, helmets, shields, swords, lances, and tattered banners. + +Every separate piece has its history. Each lance, in the hand of some +mediaeval hero of the name, has transfixed a foe, every sword has been +dyed in the life-blood of a Ghibelline. + +At the four corners of the hall are four doorways corresponding +to each other. Before each doorway hang curtains of Genoa velvet, +embroidered in gold with the Guinigi arms surmounted by a princely +coronet. Time has mellowed these once crimson curtains to dingy red. +From the hall, entered by these four doors, open out endless suites +of rooms, enriched with the spoils of war and the splendor of feudal +times. Not a chair, not a table, has been renewed, or even shifted +from its place, since the fourteenth century, when Paolo Guinigi +reigned absolute in Lucca. + +On first entering, it is difficult to distinguish any thing in the +half-light. The narrow Gothic casements of the whole floor are closed, +both those toward the street and those facing inward upon the inner +court. The outer wooden shutters are also closely fastened. The +marchesa would consider it a sacrilege to allow light or even outer +air to penetrate in these rooms, sacred to the memory of her great +ancestors. + +First in order after the great hall is a long gallery paneled with +dark marble. It has a painted ceiling, and a mosaic floor. Statues and +antique busts, presented by the emperor to Paolo Guinigi, are ranged +on either side. This gallery leads through various antechambers to +the retiring-room, where, in feudal times, the consort of the reigning +lord presided when the noble dames of Lucca visited her on state +occasions--a victory gained over the Pisans or Florentines--the +conquest of a rebellious city, Pistoia perhaps--the birth of a son; +or--the anniversary of national festivals. Pale-blue satin stuffs and +delicate brocades, crossed with what was once glittering threads of +gold, cover the walls. Rows of Venetian-glass chandeliers, tinted +in every shade of loveliest color, fashioned into colored knots, +pendants, and flowers, hang from the painted rafters. Mirrors, set +in ponderous frames of old Florentine gilding, dimly reflect every +object; narrow, high-backed chairs and carved wooden benches, +sculptured mosaic tables and ponderous sideboards covered with choice +pottery from Gubbio and Savona, and Lucca della Robbia ware. Sunk +in recesses there are dark cupboards filled with mediaeval salvers, +goblets, and flagons, gold dishes, and plates, and vessels of filigree +and silver. Ivory carvings hang on the walls beside dingy pictures, +or are ranged on tables of Sicilian agate and Oriental jasper. Against +the walls are also placed cabinets and caskets of carved walnut-wood +and ebony inlaid with lapis-lazuli, jasper, and precious stones; also +long, narrow coffers, richly carved, within which the _corredo_, or +_trousseau_, of rich brides who had matched with a Guinigi, was laid. + +Beyond the retiring-room is the presence-chamber. On a dais, raised +on three broad steps, stands a chair of state, surmounted by a +dark-velvet canopy. Above appear the Guinigi arms, worked in gold and +black, tarnished now, as is the glory of the illustrious house they +represent. Overhead are suspended two cardinal's hats, dropping to +pieces with moth and mildew. On the wall opposite the dais, between +two ranges of narrow Venetian windows, looking into the court-yard, +hangs the historic portrait of Castruccio Castracani degli Antimelli, +the Napoleon of the middle ages, whose rapid conquests raised Lucca to +a sovereign state. + +The name of the great Castruccio (whose mother was a Guinigi) is +the glory of the house, his portrait more precious than any other +possession. + +A gleam of ruddy light strikes through a crevice in a red curtain +opposite; it falls full upon the chair of state. That chair is +not empty; a tall, dark figure is seated there. It is the Marchesa +Guinigi. She is so thin and pale and motionless, she might pass for a +ghost herself, haunting the ghosts of her ancestors! + +It is her custom twice a year, on the anniversary of the birth and +death of Castruccio Castracani--to-day is the anniversary of +his death--to unlock the door leading from the hall into these +state-apartments, and to remain here alone for many hours. The key is +always about her person, attached to her girdle. No other foot but her +own is ever permitted to tread these floors. + +She sits in the half-light, lost in thought as in a dream. Her head is +raised, her arms are extended over the sides of the antique chair; her +long, white hands hang down listlessly. Her eyes wander vaguely along +the floor; gradually they raise themselves to the portrait of her +great ancestor opposite. How well she knows every line and feature of +that stern but heroic countenance, every dark curl upon that classic +head, wreathed with ivy-leaves; that full, expressive eye, +aquiline nose, open nostril, and chiseled lip; every fold in that +ermine-bordered mantle--a present from the emperor, after the victory +of Altopasso, and the triumph of the Ghibellines! Looking into the +calmness of that impressive face, in the mystery of the darkened +presence-chamber, she can forget that the greatness of her house is +fallen, the broad lands sold or mortgaged, the treasures granted +by the state lavished, one even of the ancestral palaces sold; nay, +worse, not only sold, but desecrated by commerce in the person of +Count Nobili. + +Seated there, on the seigneurial chair, under the regal canopy, she +can forget all this. For a few short hours she can live again in the +splendor of the past--the past, when a Guinigi was the equal of kings, +his word more absolute than law, his frown more terrible than death! + +Before the marchesa is a square table of dark marble, on which in old +time was laid the sword of state (a special insignia of office), +borne before the Lord of Lucca in public processions, embassies, and +tournaments. This table is now covered with small piled-up heaps of +gold and silver coin (the gold much less in quantity than the silver). +There are a few jewels, and some diamond pendants in antique settings, +a diamond necklace, crosses, medals, and orders, and a few uncut gems +and antique intaglios. + +The marchesa takes up each object and examines it. She counts the +gold-pieces, putting them back again one by one in rows, by tens and +twenties. She handles the crisp bank-notes. She does this over and +over again so slowly and so carefully, it would seem, as if she +expected the money to grow under her fingers. She has placed all in +order before her--the jewels on one side, the money and the notes on +the other. As she moves them to and fro on the smooth marble with the +points of her long fingers, she shakes her head and sighs. Then she +touches a secret spring, and a drawer opens from under the table. Into +this drawer she deposits all that lies before her, her fingers still +clinging to the gold. + +After a while she rises, and casting a parting glance at the portrait +of Castruccio--among all her ancestors Castruccio was the object of +her special reverence--she moves leisurely onward through the various +apartments lying beyond the presence-chamber. + +The doors, draped with heavy tapestry curtains, are all open. It is a +long, gloomy suite of rooms, where the sun never shines, looking into +the inner court. + +The marchesa's steps are noiseless, her countenance grave and pale. +Here and there she pauses to gaze into the face of a picture, or to +brush off the dust from some object specially dear to her. She pauses, +minutely observing every thing around her. + +There is a dark closet, with a carved wooden cornice and open raftered +roof, the walls covered with stamped leather. Here the family councils +assembled. Next comes a long, narrow, low-roofed gallery, where row +after row of portraits and pictures illustrate the defunct Guinigi. In +that centre panel hangs Francesco dei Guinigi, who, for courtesy and +riches, surpassed all others in Lucca. (Francesco was the first to +note the valor of his young cousin Castruccio, to whom he taught the +art of war.) Near him hangs the portrait of Ridolfo, who triumphantly +defeated Uguccione della Faggiola, the tyrant of Pisa, under the +very walls of that city. Farther on, at the top of the room, is the +likeness of the great Paolo himself--a dark, olive-skinned man, with +a hard-lipped mouth, and resolute eyes, clad in a complete suit of +gold-embossed armor. By Paolo's side appears Battista, who followed +the Crusades, and entered Jerusalem with Godfrey de Bouillon; also +Gianni, grand-master of the Knights Hospitallers of St. John--the +golden rose presented to him by the pope in the corner of the picture. + +After the gallery come the armory and the chapel. Beyond at the end +of the vaulted passage, lighted from above, there is a closed door of +dark walnut-wood. + +When the marchesa enters this vaulted passage, her firm, quick step +falters. As she approaches the door, she is visibly agitated. Her hand +trembles as she places it on the heavy outside lock. The lock yields; +the door opens with a creak. She draws aside a heavy curtain, then +stands motionless. + +There is such a mist of dust, such a blackness of shadow, that +at first nothing is visible. Gradually, as the daylight faintly +penetrates by the open door, the shadows form themselves into definite +shapes. + +Within a deep alcove, inclosed by a balustrade, stands a bed--its +gilt cornice reaching to the ceiling, heavily curtained. This is the +nuptial-chamber of the Guinigi. Within that alcove, and in that bed, +generation after generation have seen the light. Not to be born in the +nuptial-chamber, and in that bed within the ancestral palace, is not +to be a true Guinigi. + +The marchesa has taken a step or two forward into the room. There, +wrapped in the shadows, she stands still and trembles. A terrible look +has come into her face--sorrow, and longing, and remorse. The history +of her whole life rises up before her. + +"Is the end, then, come?" she asks herself--"and with me?" + +From pale she had turned ashy. The long shadows from the dark curtains +stretch out and engulf her. She feels their dark touch, like a visible +presence of evil, she shivers all over. The cold damp air of the chill +room comes to her like wafts of deadly poison. She cannot breathe; a +convulsive tremor passes over her. + +She totters to the door, and leans for support against the side. Yet +she will not go; she forces herself to remain. To stand here, in this +room, before that bed, is her penance. To stand here like a criminal! +Ah, God! is she not childless? Why has she (and her hands are +clinched, and her breath comes thick), why has she been stricken with +barrenness? + +"Why, why?" she asks herself now, as she has asked herself year after +year, each year with a fresh agony. Until she came, a son had never +failed under that roof. Why was she condemned to be alone? She had +done nothing to deserve it. Had she not been a blameless wife? Why, +why was she so punished? Her haughty spirit stirs within her. + +"God is unjust," she mutters, half aloud. "God is my enemy." + +As the impious words fall from her lips they ring round the dark bed, +and die away among the black draperies. The echo of her own voice +fills her with dread. She rushes out. The door closes heavily after +her. + +Once removed from that fatal chamber, with its death-like shadows, she +gradually collects herself. She has so long fortified herself against +all sign of outward emotion, she has so hardened herself in an inner +life of secret remorse, this is easy--at least to outward appearance. +The calm, frigid look natural to her face returns. Her eyes have again +their dark sparkle. Not a trace remains to tell what her self-imposed +penance has cost her. + +Again she is the proud marchesa, the mistress of the feudal palace and +all its glorious memories.--Yes; and she casts her eyes round where +she stands, back again in the retiring-room. Yes--all is yet her own. +True, she is impoverished--worse, she is laden with debt, harassed by +creditors. The lands that are left are heavily mortgaged; the money +received from Count Nobili, as the price of the palace, already spent +in law. The hoard she has just counted--her savings--destined to dower +her niece Enrica, in whose marriage lies the sole remaining hope of +the preservation of the name (and that depending on the will of a +husband, who may, or may not, add the name of Guinigi to his own) is +most slender. She has been able to add nothing to it during these last +years--not a farthing. But there is one consolation. While she lives, +all is safe from spoliation. While she lives, no creditor lives bold +enough to pass that threshold. While she lives--and then? + +Further she forbids her thoughts to wander. She will not admit, even +to herself, that there is danger--that even, during her own life, she +may be forced to sell what is dearer to her than life--the palace and +the heirlooms! + +Meanwhile the consciousness of wealth is pleasant to her. She opens +the cupboards in the wall, and handles the precious vessels of +Venetian glass, the silver plates and golden flagons, the jeweled +cups; she examines the ancient bronzes and ivory carvings; unlocks the +caskets and the inlaid cabinets, and turns over the gold guipure lace, +the rich mediaeval embroideries, the christening-robes--these she +flings quickly by--and the silver ornaments. She uncloses the carved +coffers, and passes through her long fingers the wedding garments of +brides turned to dust centuries ago--the silver veils, bridal crowns, +and quaintly-cut robes of taffetas and brocade, once white, now turned +to dingy yellow. She assures herself that all is in its place. + +As she moves to and fro she catches sight of herself reflected in one +of the many mirrors encased in what were once gorgeous frames hanging +on the wall. She stops and fixes her keen black eyes upon her own worn +face. "I am not old," she says aloud, "only fifty-five this year. I +may live many years yet. Much may happen before I die! Cesare Trenta +says I am ruined"--as she speaks, she turns her face toward the +streaks of light that penetrate the shutters.--"Not yet, not ruined +yet. Who knows? I may live to redeem all. Cesare said I was ruined +after that last suit with the chapter. He is a fool! The money was +well spent. I would do it again. While I live the name of Guinigi +shall be honored." She pauses, as if listening to the sound of her own +voice. Then her thoughts glance off to the future. "Who knows? Enrica +shall marry; that may set all right. She shall have all--all!" And she +turns and gazes earnestly through the open doors of the stately rooms +on either hand. "Enrica shall marry; marry as I please. She must have +no will in the matter." + +She stops suddenly, remembering certain indications of quiet self-well +which she thinks she has already detected in her niece. + +"If not"--(the mere supposition that her plans should be +thwarted--thwarted by her niece, Enrica--a child, a tool--brought up +almost upon her charity--rouses in her a tempest of passion; her face +darkens, her eyes flash; she clinches her fist with sudden vehemence, +she shakes it in the air)--"if not--let her die!" Her shrill voice +wakes the echoes. "Let her die!" resounds faintly through the gilded +rooms. + +At this moment the cathedral-clock strikes four. This is the first +sound that has reached the marchesa from the outer world since she has +entered these rooms. It rouses her from the thralldom of her thoughts. +It recalls her to the outer world. Four o'clock! Then she has been +shut up for five hours! She must go at once, or she may be missed by +her household. If she is missed, she may be followed--watched. Casting +a searching look round, to assure herself that all is in its place, +she takes from her girdle the key she always wears, and lets herself +out into the great hall. She relocks the door, drawing the velvet +curtains carefully over it. With greater caution she unfastens the +other door (the entrance) on the staircase. Peeping through the +curtains, she assures herself that no one is on the stairs. Then +she softly recloses it, and rapidly ascends the stairs to the second +story. + +That day six months, on the anniversary of Castruccio's birth, which +falls in the month of March, she will return again to the state-rooms. +No one has ever accompanied her on these strange vigils. Only her +friend, the Cavaliere Trenta, knows that she goes there. Even to him +she rarely alludes to it. It is her own secret. Her inner life is with +the past. Her thoughts rest with the dead. It is the living who are +but shadows. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +ENRICA. + + +The marchesa was in a very bad humor. Not only did she stay at home +all the day of the festival of the Holy Countenance by reason of the +solemn anniversary which occurred at that time, but she shut herself +up the following day also. When the old servant (old inside and out) +in his shabby livery, who acted as butler, crept into her room, +and asked at what time "the eccellenza would take her airing on the +ramparts"--the usual drive of the Lucchese ladies--when they not only +drive, but draw up under the plane-trees, gossip, and eat sweetmeats +and ices--she had answered, in a tone she would have used to a +decrepit dog who troubled her, "Shut the door and begone!" + +She had been snappish to Enrica. She had twitted her with wanting to +go to the Orsetti ball, although Enrica had never been to any ball or +any assembly whatever in her life, and no word had been spoken about +it. Enrica never did speak; she had been disciplined into silence. + +Enrica, as has been said, was the marchesa's niece, and lived with +her. She was the only child of her sister, who died when she was +born. This sister (herself, as well as the marchesa, _born_ Guinigi +Ruscellai) had also married a Guinigi, a distant cousin of the +marchesa's husband, belonging to a third branch of the family, settled +at Mantua. Of this collateral branch, all had died out. Antonio +Guinigi, of Mantua, Enrica's father, in the prime of life, was killed +in a duel, resulting from one of those small social affronts that +so frequently do provoke duels in Italy. (I knew a certain T---- who +called out a certain G---- because G---- had said T----'s rooms were +not properly carpeted.) Generally these encounters with swords are +as trifling in their results as in their origin. But the duel in +question, fought by Antonio Guinigi, was unfortunately not so. He died +on the spot. Enrica, when two years old, was an orphan. Thus it came +that she had known no home but the home of her aunt. The marchesa had +never shown her any particular kindness. She had ordered her servants +to take care of her. That was all. Scarcely ever had she kissed her; +never passed her hand among the sunny curls that fell upon the quiet +child's face and neck. The marchesa, in fact, had not so much as +noticed her childish beauty and enticing ways. + +Enrica had grown up accustomed to bear with her aunt's haughty, +ungracious manners and capricious temper. She scarcely knew that there +was any thing to bear. She had been left to herself as long as she +could remember any thing. A peasant--Teresa, her foster-mother--had +come with her from Mantua, and from Teresa alone she received such +affection as she had ever known. A mere animal affection, however, +which lost its value as she grew into womanhood. + +Thus it was that Enrica came to accept the marchesa's rough tongue, +her arrogance, and her caprices, as a normal state of existence. She +never complained. If she suffered, it was in silence. To reason with +the marchesa, much more dispute with her, was worse than useless. She +was not accustomed to be talked to, certainly not by her niece. It +only exasperated her and fixed her more doggedly in whatever purpose +she might have in hand. But there was a certain stern sense of justice +about her when left to herself--if only the demon of her family pride +were not aroused, then she was inexorable--that would sometimes come +to the rescue. Yet, under all the tyranny of this neutral life which +circumstances had imposed on her, Enrica, unknown to herself--for +how should she, who knew so little, know herself?--grew up to have a +strong will. She might be bent, but she would never break. In this she +resembled the marchesa. Gentle, loving, and outwardly submissive, +she was yet passively determined. Even the marchesa came to be dimly +conscious of this, although she considered it as utterly unimportant, +otherwise than to punish and to repress. + +Shut up within the dreary palace at Lucca, or in the mountain solitude +of Corellia, Enrica yearned for freedom. She was like a young bird, +full-fledged and strong, that longs to leave the parent-nest--to +stretch its stout wings on the warm air--to soar upward into the +light! + +Now the light had come to Enrica. It came when she first saw Count +Nobili. It shone in her eyes, it dazzled her, it intoxicated her. On +that day a new world opened before her--a fair and pleasant world, +light with the dawn of love--a world as different as golden summer +to the winter of her home. How she gloried in Nobili! How she loved +him!--his comely looks, his kindling smile (like sunshine everywhere), +his lordly ways, his triumphant prosperity! He had come to her, she +knew not how. She had never sought him. He had come--come like fate. +She never asked herself if it was wrong or right to love him. How +could she help it? Was he not born to be loved? Was he not her own--a +thousand times her own--as he told her--"forever?" She believed in +him as she believed in God. She neither knew nor cared whither she was +drifting, so that it was with him! She was as one sailing with a fair +wind on an endless sea--a sea full of sunlight--sailing she knew +not where! Think no evil of her, I pray you. She was not wicked nor +deceitful--only ignorant, with such ignorance as made the angels fall. + +As yet Nobili and Enrica had only met in such manner as has been told +by old Carlotta to her gossip Brigitta. Letters, glances, sighs, +had passed across the street, from palace to palace at the Venetian +casements--under the darkly-ivied archway of the Moorish garden--at +the cathedral in the gray evening light, or in the earliest glow of +summer mornings--and this, so seldom! Every time they had met Nobili +implored Enrica, passionately, to escape from the thralldom of her +life, implored her to become his wife. With his pleading eyes fixed +upon her, he asked her "why she should sacrifice him to the senseless +pride of her aunt? He whose whole life was hers?" + +But Enrica shrank from compliance, with a secret sense that she had +no right to do what he asked; no right to marry without her aunt's +consent. Her love was her own to give. She had thought it all out +for herself, pacing up and down under the cool marble arcades of the +Moorish garden, the splash of the fountain in her ears--Teresa had +told her the same--her love was her own to give. What had her aunt +done for her, her sister's child, but feed and clothe her? Indeed, +as Teresa said, the marchesa had done but little else. Enrica was +as unconscious as Teresa of those marriage schemes of her aunt which +centred in herself. Had she known what was reserved for her, she would +better have understood the marchesa's nature; then she might have +acted differently. But heretofore there had been no question of her +marriage. Although she was seventeen, she had always been treated as a +mere child. She scarcely dared to speak in her aunt's presence, or to +address a question to her. Her love, then, she thought, was her own to +bestow; but more?--No, no even to Nobili. He urged, he entreated, he +reproached her, but in vain. He implored her to inform the marchesa +of their engagement. (Nobili could not offer to do this himself; the +marchesa would have refused to admit him within her door.) But Enrica +would not consent to do even this. She knew her aunt too well to trust +her with her secret. She knew that she was both subtle, and, where her +own plans were concerned, or her will thwarted, treacherous also. + +Enrica had been taught not only to obey the marchesa implicitly, but +never to dispute her will. Hitherto she had had no will but hers. +How, then, could she all at once shake off the feeling of awe, almost +terror, with which her aunt inspired her? Besides, was not the very +sound of Nobili's name abhorrent to her? Why the marchesa should +abhor him or his name, Enrica could not tell. It was a mystery to her +altogether beyond her small experience of life. But it was so. No, she +would say nothing; that was safest. The marchesa, if displeased, was +quite capable of carrying her away from Lucca to Corellia--perhaps +leaving her there alone in the mountains. She might even shut her up +in a convent for life!--Then she should die! + +No, she would say nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME. + + +The marchesa was, as I have said, in a very bad humor. She had by no +means recovered from what she conceived to be the affront put upon her +by the brilliant display made by Count Nobili, at the festival of the +Holy Countenance, nor, indeed, from the festival itself. + +She had had the satisfaction of shutting up her palace, it is true; +but she was not quite sure if this had impressed the public mind of +Lucca as she had intended. She felt painful doubts as to whether the +splendors opposite had not so entirely engrossed public attention that +no eye was left to observe any thing else--at least, in that street. +It was possible, she thought, that another year it might be wiser not +to shut up her palace at all, but so far to overcome her feelings as +to exhibit the superb hangings, the banners, the damask, and cloth of +gold, used in the mediaeval festivals and processions, and thus outdo +the modern tinsel of Count Nobili. + +Besides the festival, and Count Nobili's audacity, the marchesa had a +further cause for ill-humor. No one had come on that evening to play +her usual game of whist. Even Trenta had deserted her. She had said +to herself that when she--the Marchesa Guinigi--"received," no other +company, no other engagement whatever, ought to interfere with the +honor that her company conferred. These were valid causes of ill-humor +to any lady of the marchesa's humor. + +She was seated now in the sitting-room of her own particular suite, +one of three small and rather stuffy rooms, on the second floor. These +rooms consisted of an anteroom, covered with a cretonne paper of blue +and brown, a carpetless floor, a table, and some common, straw chairs +placed against the wall. From the anteroom two doors led into two +bedrooms, one on either side. Another door, opposite the entrance, +opened into the sitting-room. + +All the windows this way faced toward the garden, the wall of which +ran parallel to the palace and to the street. The marchesa's room +had flaunting green walls with a red border; the ceiling was gaudily +painted with angels, flowers, and festoons. Some colored prints hung +on the walls--a portrait of the Empress Eugenie on horseback, in a +Spanish dress, and four glaring views of Vesuvius in full eruption. A +divan, covered with well-worn chintz, ran round two sides of the +room. Between the ranges of the graceful casements stood a marble +console-table, with a mirror in a black frame. An open card-table +was placed near the marchesa. On the table there was a pack of not +over-clean cards, some markers, and a pair of candles (the candles +still unlighted, for the days are long, and it is only six o'clock). +There was not a single ornament in the whole room, nor any object +whatever on which the eye could rest with pleasure. White-cotton +curtains concealed the delicate tracery and the interlacing columns of +the Venetian windows. Beneath lay the Moorish garden, entered from +the street by an arched gate-way, over which long trails of ivy hung. +Beautiful in itself, the Moorish garden was an incongruous appendage +to a Gothic palace. One of the Guinigi, commanding for the Emperor +Charles V. in Spain, saw Granada and the Alhambra. On his return to +Lucca, he built this architectural plaisance on a bare plot of ground, +used for jousts and tilting. That is its history. There it has been +since. It is small--a city garden--belted inside by a pointed arcade +of black-and-white marble. + +In the centre is a fountain. The glistening waters shoot upward +refreshingly in the warm evening air, to fall back on the heads of +four marble lions, supporting a marble basin. Fine white gravel covers +the ground, broken by statues and vases, and tufts of flowering shrubs +growing luxuriantly under the shelter of the arcade--many-colored +altheas, flaming pomegranates, graceful pepper-trees with bright, +beady seeds, and magnolias, as stalwart as oaks, hanging over the +fountain. + +The strong perfume of the magnolia-blossoms, still white upon +the boughs, is wafted upward to the open window of the marchesa's +sitting-room; the sun is low, and the shadows of the pointed arches +double themselves upon the ground. Shadows, too, high up the horizon, +penetrate into the room, and strike across the variegated scagliola +floor, and upon a table in the centre, on which a silver tray is +placed, with glasses of lemonade. Round the table are ranged chairs of +tarnished gilding, and a small settee with spindle-legs. + +In her present phase of life, the squalor of these rooms is congenial +to the marchesa. Hitherto reckless of expense, especially in law, she +has all at once grown parsimonious to excess. As to the effect this +change may produce on others, and whether this mode of life is in +keeping with the stately palace she inhabits, the marchesa does not +care in the least; it pleases her, that is enough. All her life she +has been quite clear on two points--her belief in herself, and her +belief in the name she bears. + +The marchesa leans back on a high-backed chair and frowns. To frown is +so habitual to her that the wrinkles on her forehead and between her +eyebrows are prematurely deepened. She has a long, sallow face, a +straight nose, keen black eyes, a high forehead, and a thin-lipped +mouth. She is upright, and well made; and the folds of her plain black +dress hang about her tall figure with a certain dignity. Her dark +hair, now sprinkled with white, is fully dressed, the bands combed low +on her forehead. She wears no ornament, except the golden cross of a +_chanoinesse._ + +As she leans back on her high-backed chair she silently observes her +niece, seated near the open window, knitting. + +"If she had been my child!" was the marchesa's thought. "Why was I +denied a child?" And she sighed. + +The rays of the setting sun dance among the ripples of Enrica's blond +hair, and light up the dazzling whiteness of her skin. Seen thus in +profile, although her features are regular, and her expression full +of sweetness, it is rather the promise than the perfection of actual +beauty--the rose-bud--by-and-by to expand into the perfect flower. + +There was a knock at the door, and a ruddy old face looked in. It +is the Cavaliere Trenta, in his official blue coat and gold buttons, +nankeen inexpressibles, a broad-brimmed white hat and a gold-headed +cane in his hand. Whatever speck of dust might have had the audacity +to venture to settle itself upon any part of the cavaliere's official +blue coat, must at once have hidden its diminished head after peeping +at the cavaliere's beaming countenance, so scrubbed and shiny, the +white hair so symmetrically arranged upon his forehead in little +curls--his whole appearance so neat and trim. + +"Is it permitted to enter?" he asked, smiling blandly at the marchesa, +as, leaning upon his stick, he made her a ceremonious bow. + +"Yes, Cesarino, yes, you may enter," she replied, stiffly. "I cannot +very well send you away now--but you deserve it." + +"Why, most distinguished lady?" again asked Trenta, submissively, +closing the door, and advancing to where she sat. He bent down his +head and kissed her hand, then smiled at Enrica. "What have I done?" + +"Done? You know you never came last night at all. I missed my game of +whist. I do not sleep well without it." + +"But, marchesa," pleaded Trenta, in the gentlest voice, "I am +desolated, as you can conceive--desolated; but what could I do? +Yesterday was the festival of the Holy Countenance, that solemn +anniversary that brings prosperity to our dear city!" And the +cavaliere cast up his mild blue eyes, and crossed himself upon the +breast. "I was most of the day in the cathedral. Such a service! +Better music than last year. In the evening I had promised to arrange +the cotillon at Countess Orsetti's ball. As chamberlain to his late +highness the Duke of Lucca, it is expected of me to organize every +thing. One can leave nothing to that animal Baldassare--he has no +head, no system; he dances well, but like a machine. The ball was +magnificent--a great success," he continued, speaking rapidly, for +he saw that a storm was gathering on the marchesa's brow, by the +deepening of the wrinkles between her eyes. "A great success. I took a +few turns myself with Teresa Ottolini--tra la la la la," and he swayed +his head and shoulders to and fro as he hummed a waltz-tune. + +"_You_!" exclaimed the marchesa, staring at him with a look of +contempt--"_you_!" + +"Yes. Why not? I am as young as ever, dear marchesa--eighty, the prime +of life!" + +"The festival of the Holy Countenance and the cotillon!" cried the +marchesa, with great indignation. "Tell me nothing about the Orsetti +ball. I won't listen to it. Good Heavens!" she continued, reddening, +"I am thirty years younger than you are, but I left off dancing +fifteen years ago. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cesarino!" + +Cesarino only smiled at her benignantly in reply. She had called him +a fool so often! He seated himself beside her without speaking. He had +come prepared to entertain her with an account of every detail of the +ball; but seeing the temper she was in, he deemed it more prudent to +be silent--to be silent specially about Count Nobili. The mention of +his name would, he knew, put her in a fury, so, being a prudent man, +and a courtier, he entirely dropped the subject of the ball. Yet +Trenta was a privileged person. He never voluntarily contradicted the +marchesa, but when occasion arose he always spoke his mind, fearless +of consequences. As he and the marchesa disagreed on almost every +possible subject, disputes often arose between them; but, thanks to +Trenta's pliant temper and perfect good-breeding, they were always +amicably settled. + +"Count Marescotti and Baldassare are outside," continued Trenta, +looking at her inquiringly, as the marchesa had not spoken. "They are +waiting to know if the illustrious lady receives this evening, and if +she will permit them to join her usual whist-party." + +"Marescotti!--where may he come from?--the clouds, perhaps--or the +last balloon?" asked the marchesa, looking up. + +"From Rome; he arrived two days ago. He is no longer so erratic. Will +you allow him to join us?" + +"I shall certainly play my rubber if I am permitted," answered the +marchesa, drawing herself up. + +This was intended as a sarcastic reminder of the disregard shown to +her by the cavaliere the evening before; but the sarcasm was quite +thrown away upon Trenta; he was very simple and straightforward. + +"The marchesa has only to command me," was his polite reply. "I wonder +Marescotti and Baldassare are not here already," he added, looking +toward the door. "I left them both in the street; they were to follow +me up-stairs immediately." + +"Ah!" said the marchesa, smiling sarcastically, "Count Marescotti is +not to be trusted. He is a genius--he may be back on his way to Rome +by this time." + +"No, no," answered Trenta, rising and walking toward the door, which +he opened and held in his hand, while he kept his eyes fixed on the +staircase; "Marescotti is disgusted with Rome--with the Parliament, +with the Government--with every thing. He abuses the municipality +because a secret republican committee which he headed, in +correspondence with Paris, has been discovered by the police and +denounced. He had to escape in disguise." + +"Well, well, I rejoice to hear it!" broke in the marchesa. "It is a +good Government; let him find a better. Why has he come to Lucca? We +want no _sans-culottes_ here." + +"Marescotti declares," continued the cavaliere, "that even now Rome is +still in bondage, and sunk in superstition. He calls it superstition. +He would like to shut up all the churches. He believes in nothing +but poetry and Red republicans. Any kind of Christian belief he calls +superstition." + +"Marescotti is quite right," said the marchesa, angrily; she was +determined to contradict the cavaliere. "You are a bigot, Trenta--an +old bigot. You believe every thing a priest tells you. A fine +exhibition we had yesterday of what that comes to! The Holy +Countenance! Do you think any educated person in Lucca believes in +the Holy Countenance? I do not. It is only an excuse for idleness--for +idleness, I say. Priests love idleness; they go into the Church +because they are too idle to work." She raised her voice, and +looked defiantly at Trenta, who stood before her the picture of meek +endurance--holding the door-handle. "I hope I shall live to see all +festivals abolished. Why didn't the Government do it altogether when +they were about it?--no convents, no monks, no holidays, except on +Sunday! Make the people work--work for their bread! We should have +fewer taxes, and no beggars." + +Trenta's benignant face had gradually assumed as severe an aspect as +it was capable of bearing. He pointed to Enrica, of whom he had up to +this time taken no notice beyond a friendly smile--the marchesa did +not like Enrica to be noticed--now he pointed to her, and shook his +head deprecatingly. Could he have read Enrica's thoughts, he need have +feared no contamination to her from the marchesa; her thoughts were +far away--she had not listened to a single word. + +"Dio Santo!" he exclaimed at last, clasping his hands together and +speaking low, so as not to be overheard by Enrica--"that I should live +to hear a Guinigi talk so! Do you forget, marchesa, that it was under +the banner of the blessed Holy Countenance (_Vulturum di Lucca_), +miraculously cast on the shores of the Ligurian Sea, that your +great ancestor Castruccio Castracani degli Antimelli overcame the +Florentines at Alto Passo?" + +"The banner didn't help him, nor St. Nicodemus either--I affirm +that," answered she, angrily. Her temper was rising. "I will not be +contradicted, cavaliere--don't attempt it. I never allow it. Even my +husband never contradicted me--and he was a Guinigi. Is the city to +go mad, eat, drink, and hang out old curtains because the priests +bid them? Did _you_ see Nobili's house?" She asked this question +so eagerly, she suddenly forgot her anger in the desire she felt to +relate her injuries. "A Guinigi palace dressed out like a booth at a +fair!--What a scandal! This comes of usury and banking. He will be a +deputy soon. Will no one tell him he is a presumptuous young idiot?" +she cried, with a burst of sudden rage, remembering the crowds that +filled the streets, and the admiration and display excited. Then, +turning round and looking Trenta full in the face, she added +spitefully, "You may worship painted dolls, and kiss black crucifixes, +if you like: I would not give them house-room." + +"Mercy!" cried poor Trenta, putting his hands to his ears. "For pity's +sake--the palace _will_ fall about your ears! Remember your niece is +present." + +And again he pointed to Enrica, whose head was bent down over her +work. + +"Ha! ha!" was all the reply vouchsafed by the marchesa, followed by +a scornful laugh. "I shall say what I please in my own house. Poor +Cesarino! You are very ignorant. I pity you!" + +But Trenta was not there--he had rushed down-stairs as quickly as his +old legs and his stick would carry him, and was out of hearing. At the +mention of Nobili's name Enrica looked stealthily from under her long +eyelashes, and turned very white. The sharp eyes of her aunt might +have detected it had she been less engrossed by her passage of arms +with the cavaliere. + +"Ha! ha!" she repeated, grimly laughing to herself. "He is gone! Poor +old soul! But I am going to have my rubber for all that.--Ring the +bell, Enrica. He must come back. Trenta takes too much upon himself; +he is always interfering." + +As Enrica rose to obey her aunt, the sound of feet was heard in the +anteroom. The marchesa made a sign to her to reseat herself, which she +did in the same place as before, behind the thick cotton curtains of +the Venetian casement. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +COUNT MARESCOTTI. + + +Count Marescotti, the Red count (the marchesa had said _sans-culotte_; +Trenta had spoken of him as an atheist), was, unhappily, something +of all this, but he was much more. He was a poet, an orator, and a +patriot. Nature had gifted him with qualities for each vocation. He +had a rich, melodious voice, with soft inflections; large dark eyes, +that kindled with the impress of every emotion; finely-cut features, +and a pale, bloodless face, that tells of a passionate nature. His +manners were gracious, and he had a commanding presence. He was born +to be a leader among men. Not only did he converse with ease and +readiness on every conceivable topic--not only did strophe after +strophe of musical verse flow from his lips with the facility of +an _improvisatore_, but he possessed the supreme art of moving the +multitude by an eloquence born of his own impassioned soul. While that +suave voice rung in men's ears, it was impossible not to be convinced +by his arguments. As a patriot, he worshiped Italy. His fervid +imagination reveled in her natural beauties--art, music, history, +poetry. He worshiped Italy, and he devoted his whole life to what he +conceived to be her good. + +Marescotti was no atheist; he was a religious reformer, sincerely and +profoundly pious, and conscientious to the point of honor. Indeed, his +conscience was so sensitive, that he had been known to confess two +and three times on the same day. The cavaliere called him an atheist +because he was a believer in Savonarola, and because he positively +refused to bind himself to any priestly dogma, or special form +of worship whatever. But he had never renounced the creed of his +ancestors. The precepts of Savonarola did, indeed, afford him infinite +consolation; they were to him a _via media_ between Protestant +latitude and dogmatic belief. + +The republican simplicity, stern morals, and sweeping reforms both in +Church and state preached by Savonarola (reforms, indeed, as radical +as were consistent with Catholicism), were the objects of his special +reverence. Savonarola had died at the stake for practising and for +teaching them; Marescotti declared, with characteristic enthusiasm, +that he was ready to do likewise. Wrong or right, he believed that, if +Savonarola had lived in the nineteenth century, he would have acted +as he himself had done. In the same manner, although an avowed +republican, he was no _sans-culotte._ His strong sense of personal +independence and of freedom, political and religious, caused him to +revolt against what he conceived tyranny or coercion of any kind. Even +constitutional monarchy was not sufficiently free for him. A king and +a court, the royal prerogative of ministers, patent places, pensions, +favors, the unacknowledged influence of a reigning house--represented +to his mind a modified system of tyranny--therefore of corruption. +Constant appeals to the sovereign people, a form of government +where the few yielded to the many, and the rich divided their riches +voluntarily with the poor--was in theory what he advocated. + +Yet with these lofty views, these grand aspirations, with unbounded +faith, and unbounded energy and generosity, Marescotti achieved +nothing. He wanted the power of concentration, of bringing his +energies to bear on any one particular object. His mind was like an +old cabinet, crowded with artistic rubbish--gems and rarities, jewels +of price and pearls of the purest water, hidden among faded flowers; +old letters, locks of hair, daggers, tinsel reliquaries, crosses, and +modern grimcracks--all that was incongruous, piled together pell-mell +in hopeless confusion. + +His countrymen, singularly timid and conventional, and always +unwilling to admit new ideas upon any subject unless imperatively +forced upon them, did not understand him. They did not appreciate +either his originality or the real strength of his character. He +differed from them and their mediaeval usages--therefore he must +be wrong. He was called eccentric by his friends, a lunatic by his +enemies. He was neither. But he lived much alone; he had dreamed +rather than reflected, and he had planned instead of acting. + +"Count Marescotti," said the marchesa, holding out her hand, "I salute +you.--Baldassare, you are welcome." + +The intonation of her voice, the change in her manner, gave the exact +degree of consideration proper to accord to the head of an ancient +Roman family, and the dandy son of a Lucca chemist. And, lest it +should be thought strange that the Marchesa Guinigi should admit +Baldassare at all to her presence, I must explain that Baldassare +was a _protege_, almost a double, of the cavaliere, who insisted upon +taking him wherever he went. If you received the cavaliere, you must, +perforce, receive Baldassare also. No one could explain why this was +so. They were continually quarreling, yet they were always together. +Their intimacy had been the subject of many jokes and some gossip; but +the character of the cavaliere was immaculate, and Baldassare's mother +(now dead) had never lived at Lucca. Trenta, when spoken to on the +subject of his partiality, said he was "educating him" to fill his +place as master of the ceremonies in Lucchese society. Except when +specially bullied by the cavaliere--who greatly enjoyed tormenting him +in public--Baldassare was inoffensive and useful. + +Now he pressed forward to the front. + +"Signora Marchesa," he said, eagerly, "allow me to make my excuses to +you." + +The marchesa turned a surprised and distant gaze upon him; but +Baldassare was not to be discouraged. He had that tough skin of true +vulgarity which is impervious to any thing but downright hard blows. + +"Allow me to make my excuses," he continued. "The cavaliere here +has been scolding me all the way up-stairs for not bringing Count +Marescotti sooner to you. I could not." + +Marescotti bowed an acquiescence. + +"While we were standing in the street, waiting to know if the +noble lady received, an old beggar, known in Lucca as the Hermit of +Pizzorna, come down from the mountains for the festival, passed by." + +"Yes, it was a providence," broke in the count--"a real hermit, not +one of those fat friars, with shaven crowns, we have in Rome, but a +genuine recluse, a man whose life is one long act of practical piety." + +When Marescotti had entered, he seemed only the calm, high-bred +gentleman; now, as he spoke, his eye sparkled, and his pale cheeks +flushed. + +"Yes, I addressed the hermit," he continued, and he raised his fine +head and crossed his hands on his breast as if he were still before +him. "I kissed his bare feet, road-stained with errands of charity. +'My father,' I said to him, 'bless me'--" + +"Not only so," interrupted Baldassare, "but, would you believe it, +madame, the count cast himself down on the dusty street to receive his +blessing!" + +"And why not?" asked the count, looking at him severely. "It came to +me like a voice from heaven. The hermit is a holy man. Would I were +like him! I have heard of him for thirty years past. Winter after +winter, among those savage mountains, in roaring winds, in sweeping +storms, in frost and snow, and water-floods, he has assisted hundreds, +who, but for him, must infallibly have perished. What courage! what +devotion! It is a poem." Marescotti spoke hurriedly and in a low +voice. "Yes, I craved his blessing. I kissed his hands, his feet. +I would have kissed the ground on which he stood." As he proceeded, +Marescotti grew more and more abstracted. All that he described was +passing like a vision before him. "Those venerable hands--yes, I +kissed them." + +"How much money did you leave in them, count?" asked the marchesa, +with a sneer. + +"Great is the mercy of God!" ejaculated the count, earnestly, +not heeding her. "Sinner as I am, the touch of those hands--that +blessing--purified me. I feel it." + +"Incredible! Well," cried Baldassare, "the price of that blessing will +keep the good man in bread and meat for a year. Let the old beggar go +to the devil, count, his own way. He must soon appear there, anyhow. +A good-for-nothing old cheat! His blessing, indeed! I can get you a +dozen begging friars who will bless you all day for a few farthings." + +The count's brow darkened. + +"Baldassare," said he, very gravely, "you are young, and, like your +age, inconsiderate. I request that, in my presence, you speak with +becoming respect of this holy man." + +"Per Bacco!" exclaimed the cavaliere, advancing from where he had +been standing behind the marchesa's chair, and patting Baldassare +patronizingly on the shoulder, "I never heard you talk so much before +at one time, Baldassare. Now, you had better have held your tongue, +and listened to Count Marescotti. Leading the cotillon last night has +turned your head. Take my advice, however--an old man's advice--stick +to your dancing. You understand that. Every man has his _forte_--yours +is the ballroom." + +Baldassare smiled complaisantly at this allusion to the swiftness of +his heels. + +"Out of the ballroom," continued Trenta, eying him with quiet scorn, +"I advise caution--great caution. Out of the ballroom you are capable +of any imbecility." + +"Cavaliere!" cried Baldassare, turning very red and looking at him +reproachfully. + +"You have deserved this reproof, young man," said the marchesa, +harshly. "Learn your place in addressing the Count Marescotti." + +That the son of a shopkeeper should presume to dispute in her presence +with a Roman noble, was a thing so unsuitable that, even in her own +house, she must put it down authoritatively. She had never liked +Baldassare--never wanted to receive him, now she resolved never to see +him again; but, as she feared that Trenta would continue to bring him, +under pretext of making up her whist-table, she did not say so. + +The medical Adonis was forced to swallow his rage, but his cheeks +tingled. He dared not quarrel either with the marchesa, Trenta, or +the count, by whose joint support alone he could hope to plant himself +firmly in the realms of Lucchese fashionable life--a life which he +felt was his element. Utterly disconcerted, however, he turned down +his eyes, and stared at his boots, which were highly glazed, then +glanced up at his own face (as faultless and impassive as a Greek +mask) in a mirror opposite, hastily arranged his hair, and finally +collapsed into silence and a corner. + +At this moment Count Marescotti became suddenly aware of Enrica's +presence. She was, as I have said, sitting in the same place by +the casement, concealed by the curtain, her head bent down over her +knitting. She had only looked up once when Nobili's name had been +mentioned. No one had noticed her. It was not the usage of Casa +Guinigi to notice Enrica. Enrica was not the marchesa's daughter; +therefore, except in marriage, she was not entitled to enjoy +the honors of the house. She was never permitted to take part in +conversation. + +Marescotti, who had not seen her since she was fourteen, now bounded +across the room to where she sat, overshadowed by the curtain, bowed +to her formally, then touched the tips of her fingers with his lips. + +Enrica raised her eyes. And what eyes they were!--large, melancholy, +brooding, of no certain color, changing as she spoke, as the summer +sky changes the color of the sea. They were more gray than blue, yet +they were blue, with long, dark eyelashes that swept upon her cheeks. +As she looked up and smiled, there was an expression of the most +perfect innocence in her face. It was like a flower that opens its +bosom frankly to the sun. + +Marescotti's artistic nature was deeply stirred. He gazed at her in +silence for some minutes; he was seeking in his own mind in what type +of womanhood he should place her. Suddenly an idea struck him.--She +was the living image of the young Madonna--the young Madonna before +the visit of the archangel--pale, meditative, pathetic, but with no +shadow of the future upon her face. Marescotti was so engrossed by +this idea that he remained motionless before her. Each one present +observed his emotion, the marchesa specially; she frowned her +disapproval. + +Trenta laughed quietly to himself, then stroked his well-shaved chin. + +"Signorina," said the count, at length breaking silence, "permit me to +offer my excuses for not having sooner perceived you. Will you forgive +me?" + +"Mio Dio!" muttered the marchesa to herself, "he will turn the child's +head with his fine phrases." + +"I have nothing to forgive, count," answered Enrica simply. She spoke +low. Her voice matched the expression of her face; there was a natural +tone of plaintiveness in it. + +"When I last saw you," continued the count, standing as if spellbound +before her, "you were only a child. Now," and his kindling eyes +riveted themselves upon her, "you are a woman. Like the magic rose +that was the guerdon of the Troubadours, you have passed in an hour +from leaf to bud, from bud to fairest flower. You were, of course, at +the Orsetti ball last night?" He asked this question, trying to rouse +himself. "What ball in Lucca would be complete without you?" + +"I was not there," answered Enrica, blushing deeply and glancing +timidly at the marchesa, who, with a scowl on her face, was fanning +herself violently. + +"Not there!" ejaculated Marescotti, with wonder.--"Why, marchesa, is +it not barbarous to shut up your beautiful niece? Is it because you +deem her too precious to be gazed upon? If so, you are right." + +And again his eyes, full of ardent admiration, were bent on Enrica. + +Enrica dropped her head to hide her confusion, and resumed her +knitting. + +It was a golden sunset. The sun was sinking behind the delicate +arcades of the Moorish garden, and spreading broad patches of rosy +light upon the marble. The shrubs, with their bright flowers, were set +against a tawny orange sky. The air was full of light--the last gleams +of parting day. The splash of the fountain upon the lion's heads was +heard in the silence, the heavy perfume of the magnolia-flowers stole +in wafts through the sculptured casements, creeping upward in the soft +evening air. + +Still, motionless before Enrica, Marescotti was rapidly falling into a +poetic rapture. The marchesa broke the awkward silence. + +"Enrica is a child," she said, dryly. "She knows nothing about balls. +She has never been to one. Pray do not put such ideas into her head, +count," she added, looking at him angrily. + +"But, marchesa, your niece is no child--she is a lovely woman," +insisted the count, his eyes still riveted upon her. The marchesa did +not consider it necessary to answer him. + +Meanwhile the cavaliere, who had returned to his seat near her, had +watched the moment when no one was looking that way, had given her a +significant glance, and placed his finger warningly upon his lip. + +Not understanding what he meant by this action, the marchesa was at +first inclined to resent it as a liberty, and to rebuke him; but she +thought better of it, and only glanced at him haughtily. + +It was not the first time she had found it to her advantage to accept +Trenta's hints. Trenta was a man of the world, and he had his eyes +open. What he meant, however, she could not even guess. + +Meanwhile the count had drawn a chair beside Enrica. + +"Yes, yes, the Orsetti ball," he said, absently, passing his hand +through the masses of black curls that rested upon his forehead. + +He was following out, in his own mind, the notion of addressing an +ode to her in the character of the young Madonna--the uninstructed +Madonna--without that look of pensive suffering painters put into her +eyes. + +The Madonna figured prominently in Marescotti's creed, spite of his +belief in the stern precepts of Savonarola--the plastic creed of an +artist, made up of heavenly eyes, ravishing forms, melodious sounds, +rich color, sweeping rhythms, moonlight, and violent emotions. + +"I was not there myself--no, or I should have been aware you had +not honored the Countess Orsetti with your presence. But in the +morning--that glorious mass in the old cathedral--you were there?" + +Enrica answered that she had not left the house all day, at which the +count raised his eyebrows in astonishment. + +"That mass," he continued, "in celebration of a local miracle +(respectable from its antiquity), has haunted me ever since. The +gloomy splendor of the venerable cathedral overwhelmed me; the happy +faces that met me on every side, the spontaneous rejoicing of the +whole population, touched me deeply. I longed to make them free. They +deserve freedom; they shall have it!" A dark fire glistened in his +eye. "I have been lost in day-dreams ever since; I must give them +utterance." And he gazed steadfastly at Enrica.--"I have not left my +room, marchesa, ever since"--at last Marescotti left Enrica's side, +and approached the marchesa--"until an hour ago, when Baldassare"--and +the count bowed to Adonis, still seated sulky in a corner--"came +and carried me off in the hope that you would permit me to join your +rubber. Had I known"--he added, in a lower voice, bending his head +toward Enrica. Then he stopped, suddenly aware that every one was +listening to all he said (a fact which he had been far too much +absorbed to notice previously), colored, and retreated to the sofa +with the spindle-legs. + +"Per Bacco!" whispered the cavaliere to the marchesa, sitting near her +on the other side; "I am convinced poor Marescotti has never touched +a morsel of food since that mass--I am certain of it. He always lives +upon a poetical diet, poor devil!--rose-leaves and the beauties of +Nature, with a warm dish now and then in the way of a _ragout_ of +conspiracy. God help him! he's a greater lunatic than ever." This was +spoken aside into the marchesa's ear. "If you have a soul of pity, +marchesa, order him a chicken before we begin playing, or he will +faint upon the floor." The marchesa smiled. + +"I don't like impressionable people at all," she responded, in the +same tone of voice. "In my opinion, feelings should be concealed, not +exhibited." And she sighed, recalling her own silent vigils on the +floor beneath, unknown to all save the cavaliere. + +"But--a thousand pardons!" cried Marescotti, gradually waking up to +some social energy, "I have been talking only of myself! Talking of +myself in your presence, ladies!--What can we do to amuse your niece, +marchesa? Lucca is horribly dull. If she is to go neither to festivals +nor to balls, it will not be possible for her to exist here." + +"It will be quite possible," answered the marchesa, greatly displeased +at the turn the conversation was taking. "Quite possible, if I choose +it. Enrica will exist where I please. You forget she has lived here +for seventeen years. You see she has not died of it. She stays at home +by my order, count." + +Enrica cast a pleading look at her aunt, as if to say, "Can I help all +this?" As for Count Marescotti, he was far too much engrossed with his +own thoughts to be aware that he was treading on delicate ground. + +"But, marchesa," he urged, "you can't really keep your niece any +longer shut up like the fairy princess in the tower. Let me be +permitted to act the part of the fairy prince and liberate her." + +Again he had turned, and again his glowing eyes fixed themselves on +Enrica, who had withdrawn as much as possible behind the curtains. Her +cheeks were dyed with blushes. She shrank from the count's too ardent +glances, as though those glances were an involuntary treason to +Nobili. + +"Something must be done," muttered the count, meditating. + +"Will you trust your niece with Cavaliere Trenta, and permit me to +accompany them on some little excursion in the city, to make up for +the loss of the cathedral and the ball?" + +The marchesa, who found the count decidedly troublesome, not to say +impertinent, had opened her lips to give an unqualified negative, but +another glance from Trenta checked her. + +"An excellent idea," put in the cavaliere, before she could +speak. "With _me_, marchesa--with _me_" he added, looking at her +deprecatingly. + +Trenta loved Enrica better than any thing in the world, but carefully +concealed it, the better to serve her with her aunt. + +"As for me, I am ready for any thing." And, to show his agility, he +rose, and, with the help of his stick, made a _glissade_ on the floor. + +Baldassare laughed out loud from the corner. It gratified his wounded +vanity to see his elder ridiculous. + +Marescotti, greatly alarmed, started forward and offered his arm, in +order to lead the cavaliere back to his seat, but Trenta indignantly +refused his assistance. The marchesa shook her head. + +"Calm yourself," she said, looking at him compassionately. "Calm +yourself, Cesarino, I should not like you to have a fit in my house." + +"Fit!--che che?" cried Trenta, angrily. "Not while I am in the +presence of the young and fair," he added, recovering himself. "It is +that which has kept me alive all this time. No, marchesa, I refuse +to sit down again. I refuse to sit down, or to take a hand at your +rubber, until something is settled." + +This was addressed to the marchesa, who had caught him by the tails of +his immaculate blue coat and forced him into a seat beside her. + +"_Vive la bagatelle_! Where shall we go? You cannot refuse the count," +he added, giving the marchesa a meaning look. "What shall we do? Let +us all propose something. Let me see. I propose to improve Enrica's +mind. She is young--the young have need of improvement. I propose to +take her to the church of San Frediano and to show her the ancient +fresco representing the discovery of the Holy Countenance; also +the Trenta chapel, containing the tombs of my family. I will try to +explain to her their names and history.--What do you say to this, my +child?" + +And the cavaliere turned to Enrica, who, little accustomed to be +noticed at all, much less to occupy the whole conversation, looked +supplicatingly at her aunt. She would gladly have run out of the room +if she had dared. + +"No, no," exclaimed the irrepressible Baldassare, from the corner. +"Never! What a ghastly idea! Tombs and a mouldy old church! You may +find satisfaction, Signore Trenta, in the contemplation of your tomb, +but the signorina is not eighty, nor am I, nor is the count. I propose +that after being shut up so many years the Guinigi Palace be thrown +open, and a ball given on the first floor in honor of the signorina. +There should be a band from Florence and presents from Paris for the +cotillon. What do you say to _that_, Signora Marchesa?" asked the +misguided young man, with unconscious self-satisfaction. + +If a mine had sprung under the marchesa's feet, she could not have +been more horrified. What she would have said to Baldassare is +difficult to guess, but fortunately for him, while she was struggling +for words in which she could suitably express her sense of his +presumption, Trenta, seeing what was coming, was beforehand. + +"Be silent, Baldassare," he exclaimed, "or, per Dio, I will never +bring you here again." + +Before Baldassare could offer his apologies, the count burst in-- + +"I propose that we shall show the signorina something that will amuse +her." He thought for a moment. "Have you ever ascended the old tower +of this palace?" he asked. + +Enrica shook her head. + +"Then I propose the Guinigi Tower--the stairs are rather rickety, but +they are not unsafe. I was there the last time I visited Lucca. The +view over the Apennines is superb. Will you trust yourself to us, +signorina?" + +Enrica raised her head and looked at him hesitatingly, glanced at +her aunt, then looked at him again. Until the marchesa had spoken she +dared not reply. She longed to go. If she ascended the tower, might +she not see Nobili? She had not set her eyes on him for a whole week. + +Marescotti saw her hesitation, but he misunderstood the cause. He +returned her look with an ardent glance. Where was the young Madonna +leading him? He did not stop to inquire, but surrendered himself to +the enchantment of her presence. + +"Is my proposal accepted?" Count Marescotti inquired, anxiously +turning toward the marchesa, who sat listening to them with a +deeply-offended air. + +"And mine too?" put in the cavaliere. "Both can be combined. I should +so much like to show Enrica the tombs of the Trenta. We have been a +famous family in our time. Do not refuse us, marchesa." + +All this was entirely out of the habits of Casa Guinigi. Hitherto +Enrica had been kept in absolute subjection. If she were present no +one spoke to her, or noticed her. Now all this was to be changed, +because Count Marescotti had come up from Rome. Enrica was not only to +be gazed at and flattered, but to engross attention. + +The marchesa showed evident tokens of serious displeasure. Had Count +Marescotti not been present, she would assuredly have expressed this +displeasure in very strong language. In all matters connected with her +niece, with her household, and with the management of her own affairs, +she could not tolerate remark, much less interference. Every kind of +interference was offensive to her. She believed in herself, as I have +said, blindly: never, up to that time, had that belief been shaken. +All this discussion was, to her mind, worse than interference--it was +absolute revolution. She inwardly resolved to shut up her house and +go into the country, rather than submit to it. She eyed the count, who +stood waiting for an answer, as if he were an enemy, and scowled at +the excellent Trenta. + +Enrica, too, had fixed her eyes upon her beseechingly; Enrica +evidently wanted to go. The marchesa had already opened her lips to +give an abrupt refusal, when she felt a warning hand laid upon her +arm. Again she was shaken in her purpose of refusal. She rose, and +approached the card-table. + +"I shall take time to consider," she replied to the inquiring eyes +awaiting her reply. + +The marchesa took up the pack of cards and examined the markers. +She was debating with herself what Trenta could possibly mean by his +extraordinary conduct, _twice_ repeated. + +"You had better retire now," she said to Enrica, with an expression of +hostility her niece knew too well. "You have listened to quite enough +folly for one night. Men are flatterers." + +"Not I! not I!" cried Marescotti. "I never say any thing but what I +mean." + +And he flew toward the door in order to open it before Enrica could +reach it. + +"All good angels guard you!" he whispered, with a tender voice, into +her ear, as, greatly confused, she passed by him, into the anteroom. +"May you find all men as true as I! Per Dio! she is the living +image of the young Madonna!" he added, half aloud, gazing after her. +"Countenance, manner, air--it is perfect!" + +A match was now produced out of Trenta's pocket. The candles were +lighted, and the casements closed. The party then sat down to whist. + +The marchesa was always specially irritable when at cards. The +previous conversation had not improved her temper. Moreover, the count +was her partner, and a worse one could hardly be conceived. Twice +he did not even take up the cards dealt to him, but sat immovable, +staring at the print of the Empress Eugenie in the Spanish dress on +the green wall opposite. Called to order peremptorily by the marchesa, +he took up his cards, shuffled them, then laid them down again on +the table, his eyes wandering off to the chair hitherto occupied by +Enrica. + +This was intolerable. The marchesa showed him that she thought so. He +apologized. He did take up his cards, and for a few deals attended +to the game. Again becoming abstracted, he forgot what were trumps, +losing thereby several tricks. Finally, he revoked. Both the marchesa +and the cavaliere rebuked him very sharply. Again he apologized, tried +to collect his thoughts, but still played abominably. + +Meanwhile, Trenta and Baldassare kept up a perpetual wrangle. The +cavaliere was cool, sardonic, smiling, and provoking--Baldassare hot +and flushed with a concentration of rage he dared not express. +The cavaliere, thanks to his court education, was an admirable +whist-player. His frequent observations to his young friend were +excellent as instruction, but were conveyed in somewhat contemptuous +language. Baldassare, having been told by the cavaliere that playing +a good hand at whist was as necessary to his future social success as +dancing, was much chagrined. + +Poor Baldassare!--his life was a continual conflict--a sacrifice to +his love of fine company. It might be doubted if he would not +have been infinitely happier in the atmosphere of the paternal +establishment, weighing out drugs, in shabby clothes, behind the +counter, than he was now, snubbed and affronted, and barely tolerated. + +After this the marchesa and Trenta became partners; but matters did +not improve. A violent altercation ensued as to who led a certain +crucial card, which decided the game. Once seated at the whist-table, +the cavaliere was a real autocrat. _There_ he did not affect even to +submit to the marchesa. Now, provoked beyond endurance, he plainly +told her "she never had played a good game, and, what was more, +that she never would--she was too impetuous." Upon hearing this the +marchesa threw down her cards in a rage, and rose from the table. +Trenta rose also. With an imperturbable countenance he offered her his +arm, to lead her back to her seat. + +The marchesa, extremely irate at what he had said, pushed him rudely +to one side and reseated herself. + +Baldassare and Marescotti rose also. The count, having continued +persistently absent up to the last, was utterly unconscious of the +little fracas that had taken place between the marchesa and the +cavaliere, and the consequent sudden conclusion of the game. He had +seen her rise, and it was a great relief to him. He had been debating +in his own mind whether he should adopt the Dante rhyme for his ode to +the young Madonna, or make it in strophes. He inclined to the latter +treatment as more picturesque, and therefore more suitable to the +subject. + +"May I," said he, suddenly roused to what was passing about him, and +advancing with a gracious smile upon his mobile face, lit up by the +pleasant musings of the whist-table--pleasant to him, but assuredly +not pleasant to his partner--"may I hope, marchesa, that you will +acquiesce in our little plan for to-morrow?" + +The marchesa had come by this time to look on the count as a bore, of +whom she was anxious to rid herself. She was so anxious, indeed, to +rid herself of him that she actually assented. + +"My niece, Signore Conte," she said, stiffly, "shall be ready with +her gouvernante and the Cavaliere Trenta, at eleven o'clock to-morrow. +Now--good-night!" + +Marescotti took the hint, bowed, and departed arm-in-arm with +Baldassare. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE CABINET COUNCIL. + + +When the count and Baldassare had left the room, Cavaliere Trenta made +no motion to follow them. On the contrary, he leaned back in the chair +on which he was seated, and nursed his leg with the nankeen trouser +meditatively. The expression of his face showed that his thoughts were +busy with some project he desired to communicate. Until he had done so +in his own way, and at his own time, he would continue to sit where he +was. It was this imperturbable self-possession and good-humor combined +which gave him so much influence over the irascible marchesa. They +were as iron to fire, only the iron was never heated. + +The marchesa, deeply resenting his remarks upon her whist playing, +tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, fanned herself, and glowered +at him out of the darkness which the single pair of candles did not +dispel. As he still made no motion to go, she took out her watch, +looked at it, and, with an exclamation of surprise, rose. Quite +useless. Trenta did not stir. + +"Marchesa," he said at last, abruptly, raising his head and looking at +her, "do me the favor to sit down. Spare me a few moments before you +retire." + +"I want to go to bed," she answered, rudely. "It is already past my +usual hour." + +"Marchesa--one moment. I permitted myself the liberty of an old friend +just now--to check your speech to Count Marescotti." + +"Yes," said she, drawing up her long throat, and throwing back her +head, an action habitual to her when displeased, "you did so. I did +not understand it. We have been acquainted quite long enough for you +to know I do not like interference." + +"Pardon me, noble lady"--(Trenta spoke very meekly--to soothe her +now was absolutely necessary)--"pardon me, for the sake of my good +intentions." + +"And pray what _were_ your good intentions, cavaliere?" she asked, in +a mocking tone, reseating herself. Her curiosity was rapidly getting +the better of her resentment. + +As she asked the question, the cavaliere left off nursing his leg with +the nankeen trouser, rose, drew his chair closer to hers, then sat +down again. The light from the single pair of candles was very dim, +and scarcely extended beyond the card-table. Both their heads were +therefore in shadow, but the marchesa's eyes gleamed nevertheless, as +she waited for Trenta's explanation. + +"Did you observe nothing this evening, my friend?" he +asked--"_nothing_?" His manner was unusually excited. + +"No," she answered, thoughtfully. She had been so exclusively occupied +with the slights put upon herself that every thing else had escaped +her. "I observed nothing except the impertinence of Count Marescotti, +and the audacity--the--" + +"Stop, marchesa," interrupted Trenta, holding up his hand. "We will +talk of all that another time. If Count Marescotti and Baldassare have +offended you, you can decline to receive them. You observed +nothing, you say? I did." He leaned forward, and spoke with +emphasis--"Marescotti is in love with Enrica." + +The marchesa started violently and raised herself bolt upright. + +"The Red count in love with a child like Enrica!" + +"Only a child in your eyes, Signora Marchesa," rejoined Trenta, +warmly. (He had warmed with his own convictions, his benevolent heart +was deeply interested in Enrica. He had known her since she had first +come to Casa Guinigi, a baby; from his soul he pitied her.) "In the +eyes of the world Enrica is not only a woman, but promises to be a +very lovely one. She is seventeen years old, and marriageable. Young +ladies of her name and position must have fortunes, or they do not +marry well. If they do, it is a chance--quite a chance. Under these +circumstances, it would be cruel to deprive her of so suitable an +alliance as Count Marescotti. Now, allow me to ask you, seriously, how +would this marriage suit you?" + +"Not at all," replied the marchesa, curtly. "The count is a +republican. I hate republicans. The Guinigi have always been +Ghibelline, and loyal. I dislike him, too, personally. I was about to +desire you never to bring him here again. Contact with low people has +spoiled him. His manners are detestable." + +"But, marchesa, che vuole?" Trenta shrugged his shoulders. "He belongs +to one of the oldest families in Rome; he is well off, handsome (he +reminds me of your ancestor, Castruccio Castracani); a wife might +improve him." The marchesa shook her head. + +"He like the great Castruccio!--I do not see it." + +"Permit me," resumed Trenta, "without entering into details which, as +a friend, you have confided to me, I must remind you that your affairs +are seriously embarrassed." + +The marchesa winced; she guessed what was coming. She knew that she +could not deny it. + +"You are embarrassed by lawsuits. Unfortunately, all have gone against +you." + +"I fought for the ancient privileges of the Guinigi!" burst out the +marchesa, imperiously. "I would do it again." + +"I do not in the least doubt you would do it again, exalted lady," +responded Trenta, with a quiet smile. "Indeed, I feel assured of it. +I merely state the fact. You have sacrificed large sums of money. You +have lost every suit. The costs have been enormous. Your income is +greatly reduced. Enrica is therefore portionless." + +"No, no, not altogether." The marchesa moved nervously in her chair, +carefully avoiding meeting Trenta's steely blue eyes. "I have saved +money, Cesarino--I have indeed," she repeated. The marchesa was +becoming quite affable. "I cannot touch the heirlooms. But Enrica will +have a small portion." + +"Well, well," replied Trenta. "But it is impossible you can have saved +much since the termination of that last long suit with the chapter +about your right to the second bench in the nave of the cathedral, the +bench awarded to Count Nobili when he bought the palace. The expense +was too great, and the trial too recent." + +She made no reply. + +"Then there was that other affair with the municipality about the +right of flying the flag from the Guinigi Tower. I do not mention +small affairs, such as disputes with your late steward at Corellia, +trials at Barga, nor litigation here at Lucca on a small scale. My +dear marchesa, you have found the law an expensive pastime." The +cavaliere's round eyes twinkled as he said this. "Enrica is therefore +virtually portionless. The choice lies between a husband who will wed +her for herself, or a convent. If I understand your views, a convent +would not suit you. Besides, you would not surely voluntarily condemn +a girl, without vocation, and brought up beside you, to the seclusion +of a convent?" + +"But Enrica is a child--I tell you she is too young to think about +marriage, cavaliere." + +The marchesa spoke with anger. She would stave off as long as possible +the principal question--that of marriage. Sudden proposals, +too, emanating from others, always nettled her; it narrowed her +prerogative. + +"Besides," objected the marchesa, still fencing with the real +question, "who can answer for Count Marescotti? He is so capricious! +Supposing he likes Enrica to-day, he may change before to-morrow. Do +you really think he can care enough about Enrica to marry her? Her +name would be nothing to him." + +"I think he does care for her," replied Trenta, reflectively; "but +that can be ascertained. Enrica is a fit consort for a far greater man +than Count Marescotti. Not that he, as you say, would care about her +name. Remember, she will be your heiress--that is something." + +"Yes, yes, my heiress," answered the marchesa, vaguely; for the +dreadful question rose up in her mind, "What would Enrica have to +inherit?" + +That very day she had received a most insolent letter from a creditor. +Under the influence of the painful thoughts, she turned her head aside +and said nothing. One of her hands was raised over her eyes to shade +them from the candles; the other rested on her dark dress. + +If a marriage were really in question, what could be more serious? +Was not Enrica's marriage to raise up heirs to the Guinigi--heirs to +inherit the palace and the heirlooms? If--the marchesa banished the +thought, but it would return, and haunt her like a spectre--if not the +palace, then at least the name--the historic name, revered throughout +Italy? Nothing could deprive Enrica of the name--that name was in +itself a dower. That Enrica should possess both name and palace, with +a husband of her--the marchesa's--own choosing, had been her dream, +but it had been a far-off dream--a dream to be realized in the course +of years. + +Taken thus aback, the proposal made by Trenta appeared to her hurried +and premature--totally wanting in the dignified and well-considered +action that should mark the conduct of the great. Besides, if an +immediate marriage were arranged between Count Marescotti and Enrica, +only a part of her plan could be realized. Enrica was, indeed, +now almost portionless; there would be no time to pile up those +gold-pieces, or to swell those rustling sheaves of notes that she +had--in imagination--accumulated. + +"Portionless!" the marchesa repeated to herself, half aloud. "What a +humiliation!--my own niece!" + +It will be observed that all this time the marchesa had never +considered what Enrica's feeling might be. She was to obey her--that +was all. + +But in this the marchesa was not to blame. She undoubtedly carried +her idea of Enrica's subserviency too far; but custom was on her side. +Marriages among persons of high rank are "arranged" in Italy--arranged +by families or by priests, acting as go-betweens. The lady leaves the +convent, and her marriage is arranged. She is unconscious that she has +a heart--she only discovers that unruly member afterward. To love a +husband is unnecessary; there are so many "golden youths" to choose +from. And the husband has his pastime too. Cosi fan tutti! It is a +round game! + +All this time the cavaliere had never taken his eyes off his friend. +To a certain extent he understood what was passing in her mind. A +portionless niece would reveal her poverty. + +"A good marriage is a good thing," he suggested, as a safe general +remark, after having waited in vain for some response. + +"In all I do," the marchesa answered, loftily, "I must first consider +what is due to the dignity of my position." Trenta bowed. + +"Decidedly, marchesa; that is your duty. But what then?" + +"No feeling _whatever_ but that will influence me _now_, or +hereafter--nothing." She dwelt upon the last word defiantly, as the +final expression of her mind. Spite of this defiance, there was, +however, a certain hesitation in her manner which did not escape the +cavaliere. As she spoke, she looked hard at him, and touched his arm +to arouse his attention. + +Trenta, who knew her so well, perfectly interpreted her meaning. His +ruddy cheeks flushed crimson; his kindly eyes kindled; he felt sure +that his advice would be accepted. She was yielding, but he must +be most cautious not to let his satisfaction appear. So strangely +contradictory was the marchesa that, although nothing could possibly +be more advantageous to her own schemes than this marriage, she might, +if indiscreetly pressed, veer round, and, in spite of her interest, +refuse to listen to another syllable on the subject. + +All this kept the cavaliere silent. Receiving no answer, she looked +suspiciously at him, then grasped his arm tightly. + +"And you, cavaliere--how long have you been so deeply interested in +Enrica? What is she to you? Her future can only signify to you as far +as it affects myself." + +She waited for a reply. What was the cavaliere to answer? He loved +Enrica dearly, but he dared not say so, lest he should offend the +marchesa. He feared that if he spoke he should assuredly say too much. +Well as he knew her, the marchesa's egotism horrified him. + +"Poor Enrica!" he muttered, involuntarily, half aloud. + +The marchesa caught at the name. + +"Enrica?--yes. From the time of my husband's death I have sacrificed +my life to the duties imposed on me by my position. So must Enrica. No +personal feeling for her shall bias me in the least." + +Her eyes were fixed on those of Trenta. She paused again, and passed +her white hand slowly one over the other. The cavaliere looked down; +he durst not meet her glance, lest she should read his thoughts. +Thinking of Enrica at that moment, he absolutely hated her! + +"What would you advise me to do?" she asked, at last. Her voice fell +as she put the question. + +Trenta had been waiting for this direct appeal. Now his tongue was +unloosed. + +"I will tell you, Signora Marchesa, plainly what I would advise you +to do," was his answer. "Let Enrica marry Marescotti. Put the whole +matter into my hands, if you have sufficient confidence in me." + +"Remember, Trenta, the humiliation!" + +"What humiliation?" asked the cavaliere, with surprise. + +"The humiliation involved in the confession that my niece is almost +portionless." The words seemed to choke her. "She will inherit all I +have to leave," and she glanced significantly at the cavaliere; "but +that is--you understand me?--uncertain." + +"Bagatella!--that will be all right," he rejoined, with alacrity. "The +idea of money will not sway Marescotti in the least. He is wealthy--a +fine fellow. Have no fear of that. Leave it all to me, Enrica, and +Marescotti. I am an old courtier. Many a royal marriage has passed +through my hands. Per Bacco--though no one but the duke knew +it--through my hands! You may trust me, marchesa." + +There was a proud consciousness of the past in the old man's face. He +showed such perfect confidence in himself that he imparted the same +confidence to the marchesa. + +"I would trust no one else, Cesarino," she said, rising from her +chair. "But be cautious; bind me to nothing until we meet again. I +must hear all that passes between you and the count, then judge for +myself." + +"I will obey you in all things, noble lady," replied Trenta, +submissively. + +How he dreaded betraying his secret exultation! To emancipate +Enrica from her miserable life by an honorable marriage, was, to his +benevolent heart, infinite happiness! + +"Good-night, marchesa. May you repose well!" + +"Good-night, Cesarino--a rivederci!" + +So they parted. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. + + +The ball at Casa Orsetti was much canvassed in Lucca. Hospitality is +by no means a cardinal virtue in Italy. Even in the greatest houses, +the bread and salt of the Arab is not offered to you--or, if offered +at all, appears in the shape of such dangerously acid lemonade or +such weak tea, it is best avoided. Every year there are dances at the +Casino dei Nobili, during the Carnival, and there are veglioni, or +balls, at the theatre, where ladies go masked and in dominoes, but +do not dance; but these annual dissipations are paid for by ticket. +A general reception, therefore, including dancing, supper, and +champagne, _gratis_, was an event. + +The Orsetti Palace, a huge square edifice of reddish-gray stone, with +overtopping roof, four tiers of lofty windows, and a broad arched +entrance, or portone, with dark-green doors, stands in the street +of San Michele. You pass it, going from the railway-station to the +city-gate (where the Lucchese lions keep guard), and the road leads +onward to the peaked mountains over Spezia. + +On the evening of the ball the entire street of San Michele was hung +with Chinese lanterns, arranged in festoons. Opposite the entrance +shone a gigantic star of gas. The palace itself was a blaze of +light. As the night was warm, every window was thrown open; +chandeliers--scintillating like jeweled fountains--hung from the +ceilings; wax-lights innumerable, in gilded sconces, were grouped upon +the walls; crimson-silk curtains cast a ruddy glare across the street, +and the sound of harps and violins floated through the night air. The +crowd of beggars and idlers, generally gathered in the street, saw so +much that they might be considered to "assist," in an independent +but festive capacity, at the entertainment from outside. Matches were +hawked about for the convenience of the male portion of this +extempore assembly, and fruit in baskets was on sale for the women. +"Cigars--cigars of quality!"--"Good fruit--ripe fruit!" were cries +audible even in the ballroom; and a fine aroma of coarse tobacco +mounted rapidly upward to the illuminated windows. + +Within the archway groups of servants were ranged in the Orsetti +livery. Also a magnificent personage, not to be classed with any of +the other domestics, wearing a silver chain with a key passed across +his breast. The personage called a major-domo, in the discharge of +his duty, divested the ladies of their shawls, and arranged their +draperies. + +All this was witnessed with much glee by the plebs outside--the men +smoking, the women eating and talking. As the guests arrived in rapid +succession, the plebs pressed more and more forward, until at last +some of the boldest stood within the threshold. The giants in +livery not only tolerated this, but might be said to observe them +individually with favor--seeing how much of their admiration was +bestowed on themselves and their fine clothes. The major-domo also, +with amiable condescension, affected not to notice them--no, not even +when one tall fellow, a butcher, with eyes as black as sloes, a pipe +in his mouth, and a coarse cloak wrapped round him, took off his +hat to the Princess Cardeneff, as she passed by him glittering with +diamonds, and cried in her face, "Oh! bella, bella!" + +When the major-domo had performed those mysteries intrusted to him, +attendant giants threw open folding doors at the farther end of the +court, and the bright visions disappeared into a long gallery on the +ground-floor, painted in brilliant frescoes, to the reception-room. +The suite of rooms on the ground-floor are the summer apartments, +specially arranged for air and coolness. Rustic chairs stand against +walls painted with fruit and flowers, the stems and leaves represented +as growing out of the floor, as at Pompeii. The whole saloon is like +a _parterre_. Settees, sofas, and cozy Paris chairs covered with rich +satins, are placed under arbors of light-gilt trellis-work, wreathed +with exquisite creepers in full flower. Palms, orange and lemon trees, +flowering cacti, and large-leaved cane-plants, are grouped about; +consoles and marble tables, covered with the loveliest cut flowers. + +Near the door, in the first of these floral saloons where sweet scents +made the air heavy, stands the Countess Orsetti. Although she had +certainly passed that great female climacteric, forty, a stately +presence, white skin, abundant hair, and good features treated +artistically, gave her still a certain claim to matronly beauty. She +greets each guest with compliments and phrases which would have been +deemed excessive out of Italy. Here in Lucca, where she met most of +her guests every day, these compliments and phrases were not only +excessive, but wearisome and out of place. Yet such is the custom of +the country, and to such fulsome flattery do the language and common +usage lend themselves. Countess Orsetti, therefore, is not responsible +for this absurdity. + +Her son is beside her. He is short, stout, and smiling, with a +hesitating manner, and a habit of referring every thing to his +magnificent mamma. Away from his mamma, he is frank, talkative, and +amusing. It is to be hoped that he will marry soon, and escape from +the leading-strings. If he marries Teresa Ottolini--and it is said +such a result is certain--no palace in Lucca would be big enough to +hold Teresa and the countess-mother at one time. + +Group after group enters, bows to the countess, and passes on among +the flowers: the Countess Navascoes (with her lord), pale, statuesque, +dark-eyed, raven-haired--a type of Italian womanhood; Marchesa +Manzi--born of the noble house of Buoncampagni--looking as if she +had walked out of a picture by Titian; the Da Gia, separated from +her husband--a little habit, this, of Italian ladies, consequent upon +intimacy with the _jeunesse doree_, who prefer the wives of their best +friends to all other women--it saves trouble, and a "golden youth" +is essentially idle. This little habit, moreover, of separation from +husbands does not damage the lady in the least; no one inquires what +has happened, or who is in the wrong. Society receives and pets her +just the same, and, quite impartial, receives and pets the husband +also.--Luisa Bernardini, a glowing little countess, as plump as an +ortolan, dimpling with smiles, an ugly old husband at her side--comes +next. It is whispered, unless the ugly old husband is blind as well +as deaf, they will be separated, too, very shortly. Young Civilla, +a "golden youth," is so very pressing. He could live with Luisa +at Naples--a cheap place. They might have gone on for years as a +triangular household--but for Civilla's carelessness. Civilla would +always put out old Bernardini about the dinner. (Civilla dined at +Bernardini's house every day, as he would at a _cafe_.) Now, old +Bernardini did not care a button that his little wife had a lover; it +would not have been _en regle_ if she had not--nor did he care that +his wife's lover should dine with him every day--not a bit--but old +Bernardini is a gourmand, and he does care to be kept waiting for his +dinner. He has lately confided to a friend, that he should be sorry +to cause a scandal, but that he must separate from his wife if Civilla +will not reform in the matter of the dinner-hour. "He is getting old," +Bernardini says, "and his digestion suffers." No man keeps a French +cook to be kept waiting for his dinner. + +Luisa, who looks the picture of innocence, wears an unexceptionable +pink dress, with a train that bodes ill-luck, and many apologies, to +her partners. A long train is Luisa's little game. (Spite of Civilla, +she has many other little games.) Fragments of the train fly about the +room all the evening, and admirers take care that she shall see +these picked up, fervently kissed, and stowed away as relics in +breast-pockets. One enthusiast pinned his fragment to his shoulder, +like an order--a knight of San Luisa, he called himself. + +Teresa Ottolini, with her mother, has just arrived. Being single, +Teresa either is, or affects to be, excessively steady; no one would +marry her if she were not--not even the good-natured Orsetti. Your +Italian husband _in futuro_ will pardon nothing in his wife that +may be--not even that her dress should be conspicuous, much less +her manners. Neither is it expedient that she should be seen much +in society. That dangerous phalanx of "golden youth" are ever on the +watch, "gentlemen sportsmen," to a man; their sport, woman. If she +goes out much these "golden youth" might compromise her. Less than +a breath upon a maiden's name is social death. That name must not be +coupled with any man's--not coupled even in lightest parlance. So the +lady waits, waits until she has a husband--it is more piquant to be +a naughty wife than a fast miss--then she makes her choice--one, or +a dozen--it is a matter of taste. Danger is added to vice; and that +element of intrigue dear to the Italian soul, both male and female. +The _jeunesse doree_ delight in mild danger--a duel with swords, +not pistols, with a foolish husband. Why cannot he grin and bear +it?--others do. + +But to return to Teresa. She is courtesying very low to the Countess +Orsetti. Although it is well known that these ladies hate each other, +Countess Orsetti receives Teresa with a special welcome, kisses her +on both cheeks, addresses more compliments to her, and makes her more +courtesies than to any one else. How beautiful she is, the Ottolini, +with those white flowers twisted into the braids of her chestnut +hair!--those large, lazy eyes, too--like sleeping volcanoes!--Count +Orsetti thinks her beautiful, clearly; for, under the full battery of +his mother's glances, he advances to meet her, blushing like a girl. +He presses Teresa's hand, and whispers in her ear that "she must +not forget her promise about the cotillon. He has lived upon it ever +since." Her reply has apparently satisfied him, for the honest fellow +breaks out all over into smiles and bows and amorous glances. Then +she passes on, the fair Teresa, like a queen, followed by looks of +unmistakable admiration--much more unmistakable looks of admiration +than would be permitted elsewhere; but we are in Italy, where men are +born artists and have artistic feelings. + +The men, as a rule, are neither as distinguished looking nor as well +dressed as the women. The type of the Lucchese nobleman is dark, +short, and commonplace--rustic is the word. + +There is the usual crowding in doorways, and appropriation of seats +whence arrivals can be seen and criticised. But there is no line +of melancholy young girls wanting partners. The gentlemen decidedly +predominate, and all the ladies, except Teresa Ottolini and the +Boccarini, are married. + +The Marchesa Boccarini had already arrived, accompanied by her three +daughters. They are seated near the door leading from the first +saloon, where Countess Orsetti is stationed. In front of them is +a group of flowering plants and palm-trees. Madame Boccarini peers +through the leaves, glass in eye. As a general scans the advance +of the enemy's troops from behind an ambush, calculates what their +probable movements will be, and how he can foil them--either by open +attack or feigned retreat, skirmish or manoeuvre--so Madame Boccarini +scans the various arrivals between the dark-green foliage. + +To her every young and pretty woman is a rival to her daughters; if +a rival, an enemy--if an enemy, to be annihilated if possible, or at +least disabled, and driven ignominiously from the field. + +It is well known that the Boccarini girls are poor. They will have no +portions--every one understands that. The Boccarini girls must marry +as they can; no priest will interest himself in their espousals. It +was this that made Nera so attractive. She was perfectly natural and +unconventionally bold--"like an English mees," it was said--with +looks of horror. (The Americans have much to answer for; they have +emancipated young ladies; all their sins, and our own to boot, we have +to answer for abroad.) + +The Boccarini were in reality so poor that it was no uncommon thing +for them to remain at home because they could not afford to buy new +dresses in which to display themselves. (Poor Madame Boccarini felt +this far more than the girls did themselves.) To be seen more than +thrice in the same dress is impossible. Lucca is so small, every one's +clothes are known. There was no throwing dust in the eyes of dear +female friends in this particular. + +On the present occasion the Boccarini girls had made great efforts to +produce a brilliant result. Madame Boccarini had told her daughters +that they must expect no fresh dresses for six months at least, so +great had been the outlay. Nera, on hearing this, had tossed her +stately head, and had inwardly resolved that before six months she +would marry--and that, dress or no dress, she would go wherever she +had a chance of meeting Count Nobili. Her mother tacitly concurred in +these views, as far as Count Nobili was concerned, but said nothing. + +A Belgravian mother who frankly drills her daughter and points out, +_viva voce_, when to advance and when to retreat, and to whom the +honors of war are to be accorded--is an article not yet imported into +classic Italy with the current Anglomania. + +Beside Nera sat Prince Ruspoli, a young Roman of great wealth. Ruspoli +aspired to lead the fashion, but not even Poole could well tailor him. +(Ruspoli was called _poule mouillee_.) Nature had not intended it. +His tall, gaunt figure, long arms, and thin legs, rendered him +artistically unavailable. The music has just sounded from a large +saloon at the end of the suite, and Prince Ruspoli has offered his arm +to Nera for the first waltz. If Count Nobili had arrived, she would +have refused Ruspoli, even on the chance of losing the dance; but he +had not come. Her sisters, who are older, and less attractive than +herself, had as yet found no partners; but they were habitually +resigned and amiable, and submitted with perfect meekness to be +obliterated by Nera. + +A knot of young men have now formed near the door of the +dancing-saloon. They are eagerly discussing the cotillon, the final +dance of the evening. Count Orsetti had left his mother's side and +joined them. + +The cotillon is a matter of grave consideration--the very gravest. +Indeed it was very seldom these young heads considered any thing +so grave. On the success of the cotillon depends the success of the +evening. All the "presents" had come from Paris. Some of the figures +were new and required consultation. + +"I mean to dance with Teresa Ottolini," announced Count Orsetti, +timidly--he could not name Teresa without reddening. "We arranged it +together a month ago." + +"And I am engaged to Countess Navascoes," said Count Malatesta. + +This engagement was said to have begun some years back, and to be very +enthralling. No one objected, least of all the husband, who worshiped +at the shrine of the blooming Bernardini when she quarreled with +Civilla. A lady of fashion has a choice of lovers, as she has a choice +of dresses--for all emergencies. + +"But how about these new figures?" asked Orsetti. + +"Per Bacco--hear the music!" cried Malatesta. "What a delicious waltz! +I want to dance. Let's settle it at once. Who's to lead?" + +"Oh! Baldassare, of course," replied Franchi, a sallow, languid young +man, who looked as if he had been raised in a hot-house, and had lost +all his color. "Nobody else would take the trouble. Who is he to dance +with?" + +"Let him see who will have him. I shall not interfere. He'll dance +for both, anyhow," answered Orsetti, laughing. "No one competes with +Adonis." + +"Where is he?" + +"Oh! dancing, of course," returned Orsetti. "Don't you see him +twirling round like a teetotum, with Marchesa Amici 'of the +swan-neck?'" And he pointed to a pair who were waltzing with +such precision that they never by a single step broke the +circle--Baldassare gallantly receiving the charge of any free lancers +who flung themselves in their path. + +Baldassare is much elated at being permitted to dance with "the +swan-neck," a little faded now, but once a noted beauty. The swan-neck +is a famous lady. Ill-natured persons might have added an awkward +syllable to _famous._ She had been very dear to a great Russian +magnate who lived in a villa lined with malachite, and loaded her +with gifts. But as the marquis, her husband, was always with her and +invariably spoke of his wife as an angel, where was the harm? Now the +Russian magnate was dead, and the Marchesa Amici had retired to Lucca, +to enjoy the spoils along with her discreet and complaisant marquis. + +"How that young fellow does push himself!" observes the cynical +Franchi. "Dancing with the Amici--such a great lady! Nothing is sacred +to him." + +"I wish Nobili were come." It was Orsetti who spoke now. "I should +have liked him to lead instead of Baldassare. Adonis is getting +forward. He wants keeping in order. Will no one else lead? I cannot, +in my own house." + +"Oh! but you would mortally offend poor Trenta if you did not let +Baldassare lead. The women will keep him in order," was the immediate +reply of a young man who had not yet spoken. "The cavaliere must +marshal the dancers, and Baldassare must lead, or the old man would +break his heart." + +"I wish Nobili were here all the same," replied Orsetti. "If he does +not come soon, we must select his partner for him. Whom is he to +have?" + +"Oh! Nera Boccarini, of course," responded two or three voices, amid a +general titter. + +"I don't think Nobili cares a straw about Nera," put in the languid +Franchi, drawling out his words. "I have heard quite another story +about Nobili. Give Nera to Ruspoli. He seems about to take her for +life. I wish him joy!" with a sneer. "Ruspoli likes English manners. +Nera won't get Nobili, my word upon _that_--there are too many stories +about her." + +But these remarks at the moment passed unnoticed. No one asked what +Franchi had heard, all being intent about the cotillon and the choice +of partners. + +"Well," burst out Orsetti, no longer able to resist the music (the +waltz had been turned into a galop), "I am sure I don't care if Nobili +or Ruspoli likes Nera. I shall not try to cut them out." + +"No, no, not you, Orsetti! We know your taste does not lie in that +quarter. Yours is the domestic style, chaste and frigid!" cried +Malatesta, with a sardonic smile. There was a laugh. Malatesta was +so bad, even according to the code of the "golden youths," that he +compromised any lady by his attentions. Orsetti blushed crimson. + +"Pardon me," he replied, much confused, "I must go; my partner is +looking daggers at me. Call up old Trenta and tell him what he has +to do." Orsetti rushes off to the next room, where Teresa Ottolini is +waiting for him, with a look of gentle reproach in her sleepy eyes, +where lies the hidden fire. + +Meanwhile Cavaliere Trenta's white head, immaculate blue coat and gold +buttons--to which coat were attached several orders--had been seen +hovering about from chair to chair through the rooms. He attached +himself specially to elderly ladies, his contemporaries. To these he +repeated the identical high-flown compliments he had addressed to +them thirty years before, in the court circle of the Duke of +Lucca--compliments such as elderly ladies love, though conscious all +the time of their absurd inappropriateness. + +Like the dried-up rose-bud of one's youth, religiously preserved as a +relic, there is a faint flavor of youth and pleasure about them, +sweet still, as a remembrance of the past. "Always beautiful, always +amiable!" murmured the cavaliere, like a rhyme, a placid smile upon +his rosy face. + +Summoned to the cabinet council held near the door, Trenta becomes +intensely interested. He weighs each detail, he decides every point +with the gravity of a judge: how the new figures are to be danced, and +with whom Baldassare is to lead--no one else could do it. He himself +would marshal the dances. + +The double orchestra now play as if they were trying to drown each +other. Half a dozen rooms are full of dancers. The matrons, and older +men, have subsided into whist up-stairs. All the ladies have found +partners; there is not a single wall-flower. + +Nothing could exceed the stately propriety of the ball. It was a grand +and stately gathering. Nobody but Nera Boccarini was natural. "To +save appearances" is the social law. "Do what you like, but save +appearances." A dignified hypocrisy none disobey. These men and women, +with the historic names, dare not show each other what they are. There +was no flirting, no romping, no loud laughter; not a loud word--no +telltale glances, no sitting in corners. It was a pose throughout. Men +bowed ceremoniously, and addressed as strangers ladies with whom they +spent every evening. Husbands devoted themselves to wives whom they +never saw but in public. Innocence _may_ betray itself, _seems_ to +betray itself--guilt never. Guilt is cautious. + +At this moment Count Nobili entered. He was received with lofty +courtesy by the countess. Her manner implied a gentle protest. Count +Nobili was a banker's son; his mother was not--_nee_--any thing. Still +he was welcome. She graciously bent her head, on which a tiara of +diamonds glittered--in acknowledgment of his compliments on the +brilliancy of her ball. + +Nobili's address was frank and manly. There was an ease and freedom +about him that contrasted favorably with the effeminate appearance +and affected manners of the _jeunesse doree_. His voice, too, was a +pleasant voice, and gave a value to all he said. A sunny smile lighted +up his fair-complexioned face, the face old Carlotta had called +"lucky." + +"You are very late," the countess had said, with the slightest tone +of annoyance in her voice--fanning herself languidly as she spoke. "My +son has been looking for you." + +"It has been my loss, Signora Contessa," replied Nobili, bowing. +"Pardon me. I was delayed. With your permission, I will find your +son." He bowed again, then walked on into the dancing-rooms beyond. + +Nobili had come late. "Why should he go at all?" he had asked himself, +sighing, as he sat at home, smoking a solitary cigar. "What was the +Orsetti ball, or any other ball, to him, when Enrica was not there?" + +Nevertheless, he did dress, and he did go, telling himself, however, +that he was simply fulfilling a social duty by so doing. Now that he +is here, standing in the ballroom, the incense of the flowers in his +nostrils, the music thrilling in his ear--now that flashing eyes, +flushed cheeks, graceful forms palpitating with the fury of the +dance--and hands with clasping fingers, are turned toward him--does he +still feel regretful--sad? Not in the least. + +No sooner had he arrived than he found himself the object of a species +of ovation. This put him into the highest possible spirits. It was +most gratifying. He could not possibly do less than return these +salutations with the same warmth with which they were offered. + +Not that Count Nobili acknowledged any inferiority to those among whom +he moved as an equal. Count Nobili held that, in New Italy, every +man is a gentleman who is well educated and well mannered. As to the +language the Marchesa Guinigi used about him, he shook with laughter +whenever it was mentioned. + +So it fell out that, before he had arrived many minutes, the +remembrance of Enrica died out, and Nobili flung himself into the +spirit of the ball with all the ardor of his nature. + +"Why did you come so late, Nobili?" asked Orsetti, turning his head, +and speaking in the pause of a waltz with Luisa Bernardini. "You must +go at once and talk to Trenta about the cotillon." + +"Well, Nobili, you gave us a splendid entertainment for the festival," +said Franchi. "Per Dio! there were no women to trouble us." + +"No women!" exclaimed Civilla--"that was the only fault. Divine +woman!--Otherwise it was superb. Who has been ill-treating you, +Franchi, to make you so savage?" + +Franchi put up his eye-glass and stared at him. + +"When there is good wine, I prefer to drink it without women. They +distract me." + +"Never saw such a reception in Lucca," said Count Malatesta; "never +drank such wine. Go on, caro mio, go on, and prosper. We will all +support you, but we cannot imitate you." + +Nobili, passing on quickly, nearly ran over Cavaliere Trenta. He was +in the act of making a profound obeisance, as he handed an ice to one +of his contemporaries. + +"Ah, youth! youth!" exclaimed poor Trenta, softly, with difficulty +recovering his equilibrium by the help of his stick.--"Never mind, +Count Nobili, don't apologize; I can bear any thing from a young +man who celebrates the festival of the Holy Countenance with such +magnificence. Per Bacco! you are the best Lucchese in Lucca. I have +seen nothing like it since the duke left. My son, it was worthy of the +palace you inhabit." + +Ah! could the marchesa have heard this, she would never have spoken to +Trenta again! + +"You gratify me exceedingly, cavaliere," replied Nobili, really +pleased at the old man's praise. "I desire, as far as I can, to become +Lucchese at heart. Why should not the festivals of New Italy exceed +those of the old days? At least, I shall do my best that it be so." + +"Eh? eh?" replied Trenta, rubbing his nose with a doubtful expression; +"difficult--very difficult. In the old days, my young friend, society +was a system. Each sovereign was the centre of a permanent court +circle. There were many sovereigns and many circles--many purses, +too, to pay the expenses of each circle. Now it is all hap-hazard; no +money, no court, no king." + +"No king?" exclaimed Nobili, with surprise. + +"I beg pardon, count," answered the urbane Trenta, remembering +Nobili's liberal politics--"I mean no society. Society, as a system, +has ceased to exist in Italy. But we must think of the cotillon. It +is now twelve o'clock. There will be supper. Then we must soon begin. +You, count, are to dance with Nera Boccarini. You came so late we were +obliged to arrange it for you." + +Nobili colored crimson. + +"Does the lady--does Nera Boccarini know this?" he asked, and as he +asked his color heightened. + +"Well, I cannot tell you, but I presume she does. Count Orsetti will +have told her. The cotillon was settled early. You have no objection +to dance with her, I presume?" + +"None--none in the world. Why should I?" replied Nobili, hastily (now +the color of his cheeks had grown crimson). "Only--only I might +not have selected her." The cavaliere looked up at him with evident +surprise. "Am I obliged to dance the cotillon at all, cavaliere?" +added Nobili, more and more confused. "Can't I sit out?" + +"Oh, impossible--simply impossible!" cried Trenta, authoritatively. +"Every couple is arranged. Not a man could fill your place; the whole +thing would be a failure." + +"I am sorry," answered Nobili, in a low voice--"sorry all the same." + +"Now go, and find your partner," said Trenta, not heeding this little +speech. "I am about to have the chairs arranged. Go and find your +partner." + +"Now what could make Nobili object to dance with Nera Boccarini?" +Trenta asked himself, when Nobili was gone, striking his stick loudly +on the floor, as a sign for the music to cease. + +There was an instant silence. The gentlemen handed the ladies to a +long gallery, the last of the suite of the rooms on the ground-floor. +Here a buffet was arranged. The musicians also were refreshed with +good wine and liquors, before the arduous labors of the cotillon +commenced. No brilliant cotillon ends before 8 A.M.; then there is +breakfast and driving home by daylight at ten o'clock. + +Nobili, his cheeks still tingling, felt that the moment had come +when he must seek his partner. It would be difficult to define the +contending feelings that made him reluctant to do so. Nera Boccarini +had taken no pains to conceal how much she liked him. This was +flattering; perhaps he felt it was too flattering. There was a +determination about Nera, a power of eye and tongue, an exuberance of +sensuous youth, that repelled while it allured him. It was like new +wine, luscious to the taste, but strong and heavy. New wine is very +intoxicating. Nobili loved Enrica. At that moment every woman that +did not in some subtile way remind him of her, was distasteful to him. +Now, it was not possible to find two women more utterly different, +more perfect contrasts, than the dreamy, reserved, tender Enrica--so +seldom seen, so little known--and the joyous, outspoken Nera--to be +met with at every mass, every _fete_, in the shops, on the Corso, on +the ramparts. + +Now, Nera, who had been dancing much with Prince Ruspoli, had heard +from him that Nobili was selected as her partner in the cotillon. + +"Another of your victims," Prince Ruspoli had said, with a kindling +eye. + +Nera had laughed gayly. + +"My victims?" she retorted. "I wish you would tell me who they are." + +This question was accompanied by a most inviting glance. Prince +Ruspoli met her glance, but said nothing. (Nera greatly preferred +Nobili, but it is well to have two strings to one's bow, and Ruspoli +was a prince with a princely revenue.) + +When Nobili appeared, Prince Ruspoli, who had handed Nera to a seat +near a window, bowed to her and retired. + +"To the devil with Nobili!" was Prince Ruspoli's thought, as he +resigned her. "I do like that girl--she is so English!" and Ruspoli +glanced at Poole's dress-clothes, which fitted him so badly, and +remembered with satisfaction certain balls in London, and certain +water-parties at Maidenhead (Ruspoli had been much in England), +where he had committed the most awful solecisms, according to Italian +etiquette, with frank, merry-hearted girls, whose buoyant spirits were +contagious. + +Nobili's eyes fell instinctively to the ground as he approached Nera. +The rosy shadow of the red-silk curtains behind her fell upon her +face, bosom, and arms, with a ruddy glow. + +"I am to have the honor of dancing the cotillon with you, I believe?" +he said, still looking down. + +"Yes, I believe so," she responded--"at least so I am told; but you +have not asked me yet. Perhaps you would prefer some one else. I +confess _I_ am satisfied." + +As she spoke, Nera riveted her full black eyes upon Nobili. If he +only would look up, she would read his thoughts, and tell him her +own thoughts also. But Nobili did not look up; he felt her gaze, +nevertheless; it thrilled him through and through. + +At this moment, the melody of a voluptuous waltz, the opening of the +cotillon, burst from the orchestra with an _entrain_ that might have +moved an anchorite. As the sounds struck upon his ear, Nobili grew +dizzy under the magnetism of those unseen eyes. His cheeks flushed +suddenly, and the blood stirred itself tumultuously in his veins. + +"Why should I repulse this girl because she loves me?" he asked +himself. + +This question came to him, wafted, as it were, upon the wings of the +music. + +"Count Nobili, you have not answered me," insisted Nera. She had not +moved. "You are very absent this evening. Do you _wish_ to dance with +me? Tell me." + +She dwelt upon the words. Her voice was low and very pleading. Nobili +had not yet spoken. + +"I ask you again," she said. + +This time her voice sounded most enticing. She touched his arm, too, +laying her soft fingers upon it, and gazed up into his face. Still no +answer. + +"Will you not speak to me, Nobili?" She leaned forward, and grasped +his arm convulsively. "Nobili, tell me, I implore you, what have I +done to offend you?" + +Tears gathered in her eyes. Nobili felt her hand tremble. + +He looked up; their eyes met. There was a fire in hers that was +contagious. His heart gave a great bound. Pressing within his own the +hand that still rested so lovingly upon his arm, Nobili gave a rapid +glance round. The room was empty; they were standing alone near the +window, concealed by the ample curtains. Now the red shadow fell upon +them both-- + +"This shall be my answer, Nera--siren," whispered Nobili. + +As he speaks he clasps her in his arms; a passionate kiss is imprinted +upon her lips. + + * * * * * + +Hours have passed; one intoxicating waltz-measure has been exchanged +for another, that falls upon the ear as enthralling as the last. Not +an instant had the dances ceased. The Cavaliere Trenta, his round +face beaming with smiles, is seated in an arm-chair at the top of the +largest ballroom. He keeps time with his foot. Now and then he raps +loudly with his stick on the floor and calls out the changes of the +figures. Baldassare and Luisa Bernardini lead with the grace and +precision of practised dancers. + +"Brava! brava! a thousand times! Brava!" calls out the cavaliere +from his arm-chair, clapping his hands. "You did that beautifully, +marchesa!"--This was addressed to the swan's-neck, who had circled +round, conducted by her partner, selecting such gentlemen as she +pleased, and grouping them in one spot, in order to form a _bouquet_. +"You couldn't have done it better if you had been taught in +Paris.--Forward! forward!" to a timid couple, to whom the intricacies +of the figure were evidently distracting. "Belle donne! belle donne! +Victory to the brave! Fear nothing.--Orsetti, keep the circle down +there; you are out of your place. You will never form the _bouquet_ if +you don't--Louder! louder!" to the musicians, holding up his stick +at them like a marshal's baton--"loud as they advance--then +piano--diminuendo--pia-nis-si-mo--as they retreat. That sort of +thing gives picturesqueness--light and shade, like a picture. Hi! hi! +Malatesta! The devil! You are spoiling every thing! Didn't I tell you +to present the flowers to your partner? So--so. The flowers--they are +there." Trenta pointed to a table. He struggled to rise to fetch the +bouquets himself. Malatesta was too quick for him, however. + +"Now bring up all the ladies and place them in chairs; bow to them," +etc., etc. + +Thanks to the energy of the cavaliere, and the agility of +Baldassare--who, it is admitted on all hands, had never distinguished +himself so much as on this occasion--all the difficulties of the new +figures have been triumphantly surmounted. Gentlemen had become spokes +of a gigantic wheel that whirled round a lady seated on a chair in +the centre of the room. They had been named as roots, trees, and even +vegetables; they had answered to such names, seeking corresponding +weeds as their partners. At a clap of the cavaliere's hands they had +dashed off wildly, waltzing. Gentlemen had worn paper nightcaps, put +on masks, and been led about blindfold. They had crept under chairs, +waved flags from tables, thrown up colored balls, and unraveled +puzzles--all to the rhythm of the waltz-measure babbling on like a +summer brooklet under the sun, through emerald meadows. + +And now the exciting moment of the ribbons is come--the moment +when the best presents are to be produced--the ribbons--a sheaf of +rainbow-colors, fastened into a strong golden ring, which ring is to +be held by a single lady, each gentleman grasping (as best he can) a +single ribbon. As long as the lady seated on the chair in the centre +pleases, the gentlemen are to gyrate round her. When she drops the +ring holding the sheaf of ribbons, the Cavaliere Trenta is to clap his +hands, and each gentleman is instantly to select that lady who wears +a rosette corresponding in color to his ribbon--the lady in the chair +being claimed by her partner. + +Nobili has placed Nera Boccarini on the chair in the centre. (Ever +since the flavor of that fervid kiss has rested on his lips, Nobili +has been lost in a delicious dream. "Why should not he and Nera +dance on--on--on--forever?--Into indefinite space, if possible--only +together?" He asks himself this question vaguely, as she rests within +his arms--as he drinks in the subtile perfume of the red roses bound +in her glossy hair.) + +Nera is triumphant. Nobili is her own! As she sits in that chair +when he has placed her, she is positively radiant. Love has given +an unknown tenderness to her eyes, a more delicate brilliancy to her +cheeks, a softness, almost a languor, to her movements. (Look out, +acknowledged _belle_ of Lucca--look out, Teresa Ottolini--here is +a dangerous rival to your supremacy! If Nobili loves Nera as Nera +believes he does--Nera will ripen quickly into yet more transcendent +beauty.) + +Now Nobili has left Nera, seated in the chair. He is distributing +the various ribbons among the dancers. As there are over a hundred +couples, and there is some murmuring and struggling to secure certain +ladies, who match certain ribbons, this is difficult, and takes time. +See--it is done; again Nobili retires behind Nera's chair, to wait the +moment when he shall claim her himself. + +How the men drag at the ribbons, whirling round and round, +hand-in-hand!--Nera's small hand can scarcely hold them--the men +whirling round every instant faster--tumbling over each other, indeed; +each moment the ribbons are dragged harder. Nera laughs; she sways +from side to side, her arms extended. Faster and more furiously the +men whirl round--like runaway horses now, bearing dead upon the reins. +The strain is too great, Nera lets fall the ring. The cavaliere claps +his hands. Each gentleman rushes toward the lady wearing a rosette +matching his ribbon. Nera rises. Already she is encircled by Nobili's +arm. He draws her to him; she makes one step forward. Nera is a bold, +firm dancer, but, unknown to her, the ribbons in falling have become +entangled about her feet; she, is bound, she cannot stir; she gives +a little scream. Nobili, startled, suddenly loosens his hold upon her +waist. Nera totters, extends her arms, then falls heavily backward, +her head striking on the _parquet_ floor. There is a cry of horror. +Every dancer stops. They gather round her where she lies. Her face is +turned upward, her eyes are set and glassy, her cheeks are ashen. + +"Holy Virgin!" cries Nobili, in a voice of anguish, "I have killed +her!" He casts himself on the floor beside her--he raises her in his +strong arms. "Air, air!--give her air, or she will die!" he cries. + +Putting every one aside, he carries Nera to the nearest window, he +lays her tenderly on a sofa. It is the very spot where he had kissed +her--under the fiery shadow of the red curtain. Alas! Nobili is +sobered now from the passion of that moment. The glamour has departed +with the light of Nera's eyes. He is ashamed of himself; but there +is a swelling at his heart, nevertheless--an impulse of infinite +compassion toward the girl who lies senseless before him--her beauty, +her undisguised love for him, plead powerfully for her. Does he love +her? + +The Countess Boccarini and Nera's sisters are by her side. The poor +mother at first is speechless; she can only chafe her child's cold +hands, and kiss her white lips. + +"Nera, Nera," at last she whispers, "Nera, speak to me--speak to +me--one word--only one word!" + +But, alas! there is no sign of animation--to all appearance Nera is +dead. Nobili, convinced that he alone is responsible, and too much +agitated to care what he does, kneels beside her, and places his hand +upon her heart. + +"She lives! she lives!" he cries--"her heart beats! Thank God, I have +not killed her!" + +This leap from death to life is too much for him; he staggers to his +feet, falls into a chair, and sobs aloud. Nera's eyelids tremble; she +opens her eyes, her lips move. + +"Nera, my child, my darling, speak to me!" cries Madame Boccarini. +"Tell me that you can hear me." + +Nera tries to raise her head, but in vain. It falls back upon the +cushion. + +"Home, mamma--home!" her lips feebly whisper. + +At the sound of her voice Nobili starts up; he brushes away the tears +that still roll down his cheeks. Again he lifts Nera tenderly in his +arms. For that night Nera belongs to him; no one else shall touch her. +He bears her down-stairs to a carriage. Then he disappears into the +darkness of the night. + +No one will leave the ball until there is some report of Nera's +condition from the doctor who has been summoned. The gay groups sit +around the glittering ballroom, and whisper to each other. The "golden +youth" offer bets as to Nera's recovery; the ladies, who are jealous, +back freely against it. In half an hour, however, Countess Orsetti is +able to announce that "Nera Boccarini is better, and that, beyond the +shock, it is hoped that she is not seriously hurt." + +"You see, Malatesta, I was right," drawls out the languid Franchi as +he descends the stairs. "You will believe me another time. You know +I told you and Orsetti that Nera Boccarini and Nobili understood each +other. He's desperately in love with her." + +"I don't believe it, all the same," answers Malatesta, shaking his +head. "A man can't half kill a girl and show no compunction--specially +not Nobili--the best-hearted fellow breathing. Nobili is just the man +to feel such an accident as that dreadfully. How splendid Nera looked +to-night! She quite cut out the Ottolini." Malatesta spoke with +enthusiasm; he had a practised eye for woman's fine points. "Here, +Adonis--I beg your pardon--Baldassare, I mean--where are you going?" + +"Home," replies the Greek mask. + +"Never mind home; we are all obliged to you. You lead the cotillon +admirably." + +Baldassare smiles, and shows two rows of faultless teeth. + +"Come and have some supper with us at the Universo. Franchi is coming, +and all our set." + +"With the greatest pleasure," replies Baldassare, smiling. + + + + +PART II. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +CALUMNY. + + +Baldassare was, of course, invited by the cavaliere to join the +proposed expedition to the tombs of the Trenta and to the Guinigi +Tower. Half an hour before the time appointed he appeared at the +Palazzo Trenta. The cavaliere was ready, and they went out into the +street together. + +"If you have not been asleep since the ball, Baldassare--which is +probable--perhaps you can tell me how Nera Boccarini is this morning?" + +"She is quite well, I understand," answered Adonis, with an air of +great mystery, as he smoothed his scented beard. "She is only a little +shaken." + +"By Jove!" exclaimed the cavaliere. "Never was I present at any thing +like that! A love-scene in public! Once, indeed, I remember, on one +occasion, when her highness Paulina threw herself into the arms of his +serene highness--" + +"Have you heard the news?" asked Baldassare, interrupting him. + +He dreaded a long tirade from the old chamberlain on the subject +of his court reminiscences; besides, Baldassare was bursting with a +startling piece of intelligence as yet evidently unknown to Trenta. + +"News!--no," answered the cavaliere, contemptuously. "I dare say it is +some lie. You have, I am sorry to say, Baldassare, all the faults of a +person new to society; you believe every thing." + +Baldassare eyed the cavaliere defiantly; but he pulled at his curled +mustache in silence. + +The cavaliere stopped short, raised his head, and scanned him +attentively. + +"Out with it, my boy, out with it, or it will choke you! I see you are +dying to tell me!" + +"Not at all, cavaliere," replied Baldassare, with assumed +indifference; "only I must say that I believe you are the only person +in Lucca who has not heard it." + +"Heard what?" demanded Trenta, angrily. + +Baldassare knew the cavaliere's weak point; he delighted to tease him. +Trenta considered himself, and was generally considered by others, as +a universal news-monger; it was a habit that had remained to him +from his former life at court. From the time of Polonius downward a +court-chamberlain has always been a news-monger. + +"Heard? Why, the news--the great news," Baldassare spoke in the +same jeering tone. He drew himself up, affecting to look over the +cavaliere's head as he bent on his stick before him. + +"Go on," retorted the cavaliere, doggedly. + +"How strange you have not heard any thing!" Trenta now looked so +enraged, Baldassare thought it was time to leave off bantering him. +"Well, then, cavaliere, since you really appear to be ignorant, I will +tell you. After you left the Orsetti ball, Malatesta asked me and the +other young men of their set to supper at the Universo Hotel." + +"Mercy on us!" ejaculated the cavaliere, who was now thoroughly +irritated, "you consider yourself one of _their set_, do you? I +congratulate you, young man. This is news to me." + +"Certainly, cavaliere, if you ask me, I do consider myself one of +their set." + +The cavaliere shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. + +"We talked of the accident," continued Baldassare, affecting not to +notice his sneers, "and we talked of Nobili. Many said, as you +do, that Nobili is in love with Nera Boccarini, and that he would +certainly marry her. Malatesta laughed, as is his way, then he swore +a little. Nobili would do no such thing, he declared, he would +answer for it. He had it on the best authority, he said, that of an +eye-witness." (Ah, cruel old Carlotta, you have made good your threat +of vengeance!) "An eye-witness had said that Nobili was in love +with some one else--some one who wrote to him; that they had been +watched--that he met some one secretly, and that by-and-by all the +city would know it, and that there would be a great scandal." + +"And who may the lady be?" asked the cavaliere carelessly, raising +his head as he put the question, with a sardonic glance at Baldassare. +"Not that I believe one word Malatesta says. He is a young coxcomb, +and you, Baldassare, are a parrot, and repeat what you hear. Per +Bacco! if there had been any thing serious, I should have known it +long ago. Who is the lady?" Spite of himself, however, his blue eyes +sparkled with curiosity. + +"The marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi." + +"What!" roared out the cavaliere, striking his stick so violently on +the ground that the sound echoed through the solitary street. "Enrica +Guinigi, whom I see every day! What a lie!--what a base lie! How dare +Malatesta--the beast--say so? I will chastise him myself!--with my own +hand, old as I am, I will chastise him! Enrica Guinigi!" + +Baldassare shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace. This incensed +the cavaliere more violently. + +"Now, listen to me, Baldassare Lena," shouted the cavaliere, +advancing, and putting his fist almost into his face. "Your father is +a chemist; and keeps a shop. He is not a doctor, though you call +him so. If ever you presume again to repeat scandals such as +this--scandals, I say, involving the reputation of noble ladies, my +friends--ladies into whose houses I have introduced you, there shall +be no more question of your being of their '_set_.' I will take care +that you never enter one of their doors again. By the body of my holy +ancestor, San Riccardo, I will disgrace you--publicly disgrace you!" + +Trenta's rosy face had grown purple, his lips worked convulsively. He +raised his stick, and flourished it in the air, as if about to make it +descend like a truncheon on Baldassare's shoulders. Adonis drew back a +step or two, following with his eyes the cavaliere's movements. He +was quite unmoved by his threats. Not a day passed that Trenta did not +threaten him with his eternal displeasure. Adonis was used to it, and +bore it patiently. He bore it because he could not help it. Although +by no means overburdened with brains, he was conscious that as yet he +was not sufficiently established in society to stand alone. Still, +he had too high an opinion of his personal beauty, fine clothes, and +general merits, to believe that the ladies of Lucca would permit of +his banishment by any arbitrary decree of the cavaliere. + +"You had better find out the truth, cavaliere," he muttered, keeping +well out of the range of Trenta's stick, "before you put yourself in +such a passion." + +"Domine Dio! that they should dare to utter such abominations!" +ejaculated the cavaliere. "Why, Enrica lives the life of a nun! I +doubt if she has ever seen Nobili--certainly she has never spoken to +him. Let Malatesta, and the young scoundrels at the club, attack +the married women. They can defend themselves. But, to calumniate an +innocent girl!--it is horrible!--it is unmanly! His highness the Duke +of Lucca would have banished the wretch forthwith. Ah! Italy is going +to the devil!--Now, Baldassare," he continued, turning round and +glaring upon Adonis, who still retreated cautiously before him, "I +have a great mind to send you home. We are about to meet the young +lady herself. You are not worthy to be in her company." + +"I only repeated what Malatesta told me," urged Baldassare, +plaintively, looking very blank. "I am not answerable for him. Go and +quarrel with Malatesta, if you like, but leave me alone. You asked me +a question, and I answered you. That is all." + +Baldassare had dressed himself with great care; his hair was +exquisitely curled for the occasion. He had nothing to do all day, and +the prospect of returning home was most depressing. + +"You are not answerable for being born a fool!" was the rejoinder. "I +grant that. Who told Malatesta?" asked the cavaliere, turning sharply +toward Baldassare. + +"He said he had heard it in many quarters. He insisted on having heard +it from one who had seen them together." + +(Old Carlotta, sitting in her shop-door at the corner of the street of +San Simone, like an evil spider in its web, could have answered that +question.) + +The cavaliere was still standing on the same spot, in the centre of +the street. + +"Baldassare," he said, addressing him more calmly, "this is a wicked +calumny. The marchesa must not hear it. Upon reflection, I shall not +notice it. Malatesta is a chattering fool--an ape! I dare say he was +tipsy when he said it. But, as you value my protection, swear to +me not to repeat one word of all this. If you hear it mentioned, +contradict it--flatly contradict it, on my authority--the authority +of the Marchesa Guinigi's oldest friend. Nobili will marry Nera +Boccarini, and there will be an end of it; and Enrica--yes, +Baldassare," continued the cavaliere, with an air of immense +dignity--"yes, to prove to you how ridiculous this report is, Enrica +is about to marry also. I am at this very time authorized by the +family to arrange an alliance with--" + +"I guess!" burst out Baldassare, reddening with delight at being +intrusted with so choice a piece of news--"with Count Marescotti!" +Trenta gave a conscious smile, and nodded. This was done with a +certain reserve, but still graciously. "To be sure; it was easy to see +how much he admired her, but I did not know that the lady--" + +"Oh, yes, the lady is all right--she will agree," rejoined Trenta. +"She knows no one else; she will obey her aunt's commands and my +wishes." + +"I am delighted!" cried Baldassare. "Why, there will be a ball at +Palazzo Guinigi--a ball, after all!" + +"But the marchesa must never hear this scandal about Nobili," added +Trenta, suddenly relapsing into gravity. "She hates him so much, it +might give her a fit. Have a care, Baldassare--have a care, or you may +yet incur my severest displeasure." + +"I am sure I don't want the marchesa or any one else to know it," +replied Baldassare, greatly reassured as to the manner in which he +would pass his day by the change in Trenta's manner. "I would not +annoy her or injure the signorina for all the world. I am sure you +know that, cavaliere. No word shall pass my lips, I promise you." + +"Good! good!" responded Trenta, now quite pacified (it was not in +Trenta's nature to be angry long). Now he moved forward, and as he did +so he took Baldassare's arm, in token of forgiveness. "No names must +be mentioned," he continued, tripping along--"mind, no names; but I +authorize you, on my authority, if you hear this abominable nonsense +repeated--I authorize you to say that you have it from me--that Enrica +Guinigi is to be married, _and not to Nobili_. He! he! That will +surprise them--those chattering young blackguards at the club." + +Thus, once more on the most amiable terms, the cavaliere and +Baldassare proceeded leisurely arm-in-arm toward the street of San +Simone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO. + + +Count Marescotti was walking rapidly up and down in the shade before +the Guinigi Palace when the cavaliere and Baldassare appeared. He was +so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not perceive them. + +"I must speak to him as soon as possible about Enrica," was Trenta's +thought on seeing him. "With this report going about, there is not an +hour to lose." + +"You have kept your appointment punctually, count," he said, laying +his hand on Marescotti's shoulder. + +"Punctual, my dear cavaliere? I never missed an appointment in my life +when made with a lady. I was up long before daylight, looking over +some books I have with me, in order to be able the better to describe +any object of interest to the Signorina Enrica." + +"An opportunity for you, my boy," said Trenta, nodding his head +roguishly at Baldassare. "You will have a lesson in Lucchese history. +Of course, you know nothing about it." + +"Every man has his forte," observed the count, good-naturedly, seeing +Baldassare's embarrassment at having his ignorance exposed. (The +cavaliere never could leave poor Adonis alone.) "We all know your +forte is the ballroom; there you beat us all." + +"Taught by me, taught by me," muttered the cavaliere; "he owes it all +to me." + +Leaving the count and Baldassare standing together in the street, +the cavaliere knocked at the door of the Guinigi Palace. When it was +opened he entered the gloomy court. Within he found Enrica and Teresa +awaiting his arrival. + +At the sight of her whom he so much loved, and of whom he had just +heard what he conceived to be such an atrocious calumny, the cavaliere +was quite overcome. Tears gathered in his eyes; he could hardly reply +to her when she addressed him. + +"My Enrica," he said at last, taking her by the hand and imprinting a +kiss upon her forehead, "you are a good child. Heaven bless you, and +keep you always as you are!" A conscious blush overspread Enrica's +face. + +"If he knew all, would he say this?" she asked herself; and her pretty +head with the soft curls dropped involuntarily. + +Enrica was very simply attired, but the flowing lines of her graceful +figure were not to be disguised by any mere accident of dress. A black +veil, fastened upon her hair like a mantilla (a style much affected +by the Lucca ladies), fell in thick folds upon her shoulders, and +partially shaded her face. + +Teresa stood by her young mistress, prepared to follow her. Trenta +perceived this. He did not like Teresa. If she went with them, the +whole conversation might be repeated in Casa Guinigi. This, with +Count Marescotti in the company, would be--to say the least of +it--inconvenient. + +"You may retire," he said to Teresa. "I will take charge of the +signorina." + +"But--Signore Cavaliere"--and Teresa, feeling the affront, colored +scarlet--"the marchesa's positive orders were, I was not to leave the +signorina." + +"Never mind," answered the cavaliere, authoritatively, "I will take +that on myself. You can retire." + +Teresa, swelling with anger, remained in the court. The cavaliere +offered his arm to Enrica. She turned and addressed a few words to the +exasperated Teresa; then, led by Trenta, she passed into the street. +Upon the threshold, Count Marescotti met them. + +"This is indeed an honor," he said, addressing Enrica--his face +beamed, and he bowed to the ground. "I trembled lest the marchesa +should have forbidden your coming." + +"So did I," answered Enrica, frankly. "I am so glad. I fear that my +aunt is not altogether pleased; but she has said nothing, and I came." + +She spoke with such eagerness, she saw that the count was surprised. +This made her blush. At any other time such an expedition as that they +were about to make would have been delightful to her for its own sake, +Enrica was so shut up within the palace, except on the rare occasions +when she accompanied Teresa to mass, or took a formal drive on the +ramparts at sundown with her aunt. But now she was full of anxiety +about Nobili. They had not met for a week--he had not written to her +even. Should she see him in the street? Should she see him from the +top of the tower? Perhaps he was at home at that very moment watching +her. She gave a furtive glance upward at the stern old palace before +her. The thick walls of sun-dried bricks looked cruel; the massive +Venetian casements mocked her. The outer blinds shut out all hope. +Alas! there was not a chink anywhere. Even the great doors were +closed. + +"Ah! if Teresa could have warned him that I was coming!"--and she gave +a great sigh. "If he only knew that I was here, standing in the very +street! Oh, for one glimpse of his dear, bright face!" + +Again Enrica sighed, and again she gazed up wistfully at the closed +facade. + +Meanwhile the cavaliere and Baldassare were engaged in a violent +altercation. Baldassare had proposed walking to the church of San +Frediano, which, in consideration of the cavaliere's wishes, they were +to visit first. "No one would think of driving such a short distance," +he insisted. "The sun was not hot, and the streets were all in shade." +The cavaliere retorted that "it was too hot for any lady to walk," +swung his stick menacingly in the air, called Baldassare "an +imbecile," and peremptorily ordered him to call a _fiacre_. Baldassare +turned scarlet in the face, and rudely refused to move. + +"He was not a servant," he said. "He would do nothing unless treated +like a gentleman." + +This was spoken as he hurled what he intended to be a tremendous +glance of indignation at the cavaliere. It produced no effect +whatever. With an exasperating smile, the cavaliere again desired +Baldassare to do as he was bid, or else to go home. The count +interposed, a _fiacre_ was called, in which they all seated +themselves. + + * * * * * + +San Frediano, a basilica in the Lombard style, is the most ancient +church in Lucca. The mid-day sun now flashed full upon the front, and +lighted up the wondrous colors of a mosaic on a gold ground, over the +entrance. At one corner of the building a marble campanile, formed by +successive tiers of delicate arcades, springs upward into the azure +sky. Flocks of gray pigeons circled about the upper gallery (where +hang the bells), or rested, cooing softly in the warm air, upon the +sculptured cornice bordering the white arches. It was a quiet scene +of tranquil beauty, significant of repose in life and of peace in +death--the church, with its wide portals, offering an everlasting home +to all who sought shelter within its walls. + +The cavaliere was so impatient to do the honors that he actually +jumped unaided from the carriage. + +"This, dear Enrica, is my parish church," he said, as he handed her +out, pointing upward to the richly-tinted pile, which the suns of +many centuries had dyed of a golden hue. "I know every stone in the +building. From a child I have played in this piazza, under these +venerable walls. My earliest prayers were said at the altar of the +Sacrament within. Here I confessed my youthful sins. Here I received +my first communion. Here I hope to lay my bones, when it shall please +God to call me." + +Trenta spoke with a tranquil smile. It was clear neither life nor +death had any terrors for him. "The very pigeons know me," he added, +placidly. He looked up to the campanile, gave a peculiar whistle, and, +putting his hand into his pocket, threw down some grains of corn +upon the pavement. The pigeons, whirling round in many circles (the +sunlight flashing upon their burnished breasts, and upon the soft gray +and purple feathers of their wings), gradually--in little groups of +twos and threes--flew down, and finally settled themselves in a knot +upon the pavement, to peck up the corn. + +"Good, pious old man, how I honor you!" ejaculated Count Marescotti, +fervently, as he watched the timid gray-coated pigeons gathering +round the cavaliere's feet, as he stood apart from the rest, serenely +smiling as he fed them. "May thy placid spirit be unruffled in time +and in eternity!" + +The interior of the church, in the Longobardic style, is bare almost +to plainness. On entering, the eye ranges through a long broad nave +with rounded arches, the arches surmounted by narrow windows; these +dividing arches, supported on single columns with monumental capitals, +forming two dark and rather narrow aisles. The high altar is raised on +three broad steps. Here burn a few lights, dimmed into solitary specks +by the brightness of the sun. The walls on either side of the aisles +are broken by various chapels. These lie in deep shadow. The roof, +formed of open rafters, bearing marks of having once been elaborately +gilded, is now but a mass of blackened timbers. The floor is of brick, +save where oft-recurring sepulchral slabs are cut into the surface. +These slabs, of black-and-white marble, or of alabaster stained +and worn from its native whiteness into a dingy brown, are almost +obliterated by the many footsteps which have come and gone upon them +for so many centuries. Not a single name remains to record whom they +commemorate. Dimly seen under a covering of dirt and dust deposited by +the living, lie the records of these unknown dead: here a black lion +rampant on a white shield; there a coat-of-arms on an escutcheon, with +the fragment of a princely coronet; beyond, a life-sized monk, his +shadowy head resting on a cushion--a matron with her robes soberly +gathered about her feet, her hands crossed on her bosom--a bishop, +under a painted canopy, mitre on head and staff in hand--a warrior, +grimly helmeted, carrying his drawn sword in his hand. Who are these? +Whence came they? None can tell. + +Beside one of the most worn and defaced of these slabs the cavaliere +stopped. + +"On this stone," he said, his smiling countenance suddenly grown +solemn--"on this very stone, where you see the remains of a +mosaic"--and he pointed to some morsels of color still visible, +crossing himself as he did so--"a notable miracle was performed. +Before I relate it, let us adore the goodness of the Blessed Virgin, +from whom all good gifts come." + +Cavaliere Trenta was on his knees before he had done speaking; again +he fervently crossed himself, reciting the "Maria Santissima." Enrica +bowed her head, and timidly knelt beside him; Baldassare bent his +knees, but, remembering that his trousers were new, and that they +might take an adverse crease that could never be ironed out, he did +not allow himself to touch the floor; then, with open eyes and ears, +he rose and stood waiting for the cavaliere to proceed. Baldassare +was uneducated and superstitious. The latter quality recommended him +strongly to Trenta. He was always ready to believe every word the +cavaliere uttered with unquestioning faith. At the mention of a church +legend Count Marescotti turned away with an expression of disgust, and +leaned against a pillar, his eyes fixed on Enrica. + +The cavaliere, having risen from his knees, and carefully dusted +himself with a snowy pocket-handkerchief, took Enrica by the hand, and +placed her in such a position that the sunshine, striking through the +windows of the nave, fell full upon the monumental stone before them. + +"My Enrica," he said, in a subdued voice, "and you, Baldassare"--he +motioned to him to approach nearer--"you are both young. Listen to me. +Lay to heart what an old man tells you. Such a miracle as I am about +to relate must touch even the count's hard heart." + +He glanced round at Marescotti, but it was evident he was chagrined by +what he saw. Marescotti neither heard him, nor even affected to do +so. Trenta's voice in the great church was weak and piping--indistinct +even to those beside him. Finding the count unavailable either +for instruction or reproof, the cavaliere shook his head, and his +countenance fell. Then he turned his mild blue eyes upon Enrica, +leaned upon his stick, and commenced: + +"In the sixth century, the flagstones in this portion of the nave were +raised for the burial of a distinguished lady, a member of the Manzi +family; but oh! stupendous prodigy!"--the cavaliere cast up his eyes +to heaven, and clasped his dimpled hands--"no sooner had the coffin +been lowered into the vault prepared for it, than the corpse of the +lady of the Manzi family sat upright in the open bier, put aside the +flowers and wreaths piled upon her, and uttered these memorable and +never-to-be-forgotten words: 'Bury me elsewhere; here lies the body of +San Frediano.'" + +Baldassare, who had grown very pale, now shuddered visibly, and +contemplated the cavaliere with awe. + +"Stupendous!" he muttered--"prodigious!--Indeed!" + +Enrica did not speak; her eyes were fixed on the ground. + +"Yes, yes, you may well say prodigious," responded Trenta, bowing his +white head; then, looking round triumphantly: "It was prodigious, +but a prodigy, remember, vouched for by the chronicles of the Church. +(Chronicles of the Church are much more to be trusted than any thing +else, much more than Evangelists, who were not bishops, and therefore +had no authority--we all know that.) No sooner, my friends, had the +corpse of the lady of the Manzi family spoken, as I have said, than +diligent search was made by those assembled in the church, when +lo!--within the open vault the remains of the adorable San Frediano +were discovered in excellent preservation. I need not say that, having +died in the odor of sanctity, the most fragrant perfume filled the +church, and penetrated even to the adjacent streets. Several sick +persons were healed by merely inhaling it. One man, whose arm had been +shot off at the shoulder-joint many years before, found his limb +come again in an instant, by merely touching the blessed relic." The +cavaliere paused to take breath. No one had spoken.--"Have you heard +the miracle of the glorious San Frediano?" asked Trenta, a little +timidly, raising his voice to its utmost pitch as he addressed Count +Marescotti. + +"No, I have not, cavaliere; but, if I had, it would not alter my +opinion. I do not believe in mediaeval miracles." As he spoke, Count +Marescotti turned round from the steps of a side-altar, whither he had +wandered to look at a picture. "I did not hear one word you said, my +dear cavaliere, but I am acquainted with the supposed miracles of San +Frediano. They are entirely without evidence, and in no way shake my +conclusions as to the utter worthlessness of such legends. In this +I agree with the Protestants," he continued, "rather than with that +inspired teacher, Savonarola. The Protestants, spite of so-called +'ecclesiastical authority,' persist in denying them. With the +Protestants, I hold that the entire machinery of modern miracles is +false and unprofitable. With the Apostles miraculous power ended." + +"Marescotti!" ejaculated the poor cavaliere, aghast at the effect his +appeal had produced, "for God's sake, don't, don't! before Enrica--and +in a church, too!" + +"I believe with Savonarola in other miracles," continued the count, in +a louder tone, addressing himself directly to Enrica, on whom he gazed +with a tender expression--he was far too much engrossed with her and +with the subject to heed Trenta's feeble remonstrance--"I believe in +the mystic essence of soul to soul--I believe in the reappearance of +the disembodied spirit to its kindred affinity still on earth--still +clothed with a fleshly garment. I believe in those magnetic influences +that circle like an atmosphere about certain purified and special +natures, binding them together in a closely-locked embrace, an embrace +that neither time, distance, nor even death itself, can weaken or +sever!" + +He paused for an instant; a dark fire lit up his eyes, which were +still bent on Enrica. + +"All this I believe--life would be intolerable to me without such +convictions. At the same time, I am ready to grant that all cannot +accept my views. These are mysteries to be approached without +prejudice--mysteries that must be received absolutely without +prejudice of religion, country, or race; received as the aesthetic +instinct within us teaches. Who," he added, and as he spoke he +stood erect on the steps of the altar, his arms outstretched in the +eagerness of argument, his grand face all aglow with enthusiasm--"who +can decide? It is faith that convinces--faith that vivifies--faith +that transforms--faith that links us to the hierarchy of angels! To +believe--to act on our belief, even if that belief be false--that is +true religion. A merciful Deity will accept our imperfect sacrifice. +Are we not all believers in Christ? Away with creeds and churches, +with formularies and doctrines, with painted walls and golden altars, +with stoled priests, infallible popes, and temporal hierarchies! What +are these vain distinctions, if we love God? Let the whole world +unite to believe in the Redeemer. Then we shall all be brothers--you, +I--all, brothers--joined within the holy circle of one universal +family--of one universal worship!" + +Count Marescotti ceased speaking, but his impassioned words still +echoed through the empty aisles. His eyes had wandered from Enrica; +they were now fixed on high. His countenance glowed with rapture. +Wrapped in the visions his imagination had called forth, he descended +from the altar, and slowly approached the silent group gathered beside +the monumental stone. + +Enrica had eagerly drunk in every word the count had uttered. He +seemed to speak the language of her secret musings; to interpret the +hidden mysteries of her young heart. She, at least, believed in the +affinity of kindred spirits. What but that had linked her to Nobili? +Oh, to live in such a union! + +Trenta had become very grave. + +"You are a visionary," he said, addressing the count, who now stood +beside them. "I am sorry for you. Such a consummation as you desire +is impossible. Your faith has no foundation. It is a creation of the +brain. The Catholic Church stands upon a rock. It permits no change, +it accepts no compromise, it admits no errors. The authority given to +St. Peter by Jesus Christ himself, with the spiritual keys, can alone +open the gates of heaven. All without are damned. Good intentions +are nothing. Private interpretation, believe me, is of the devil. +Obedience to the Holy Father, and the intercession of the saints, can +alone save your soul. Submit yourself to the teaching of our mother +Church, my dear count. Submit yourself--you have my prayers." Trenta +watched Marescotti with a fixed gaze of such solemn earnestness, it +seemed as though he anticipated that the blessed San Frediano himself +might appear, and then and there miraculously convert him. "Submit +yourself," he repeated, raising his arm and pointing to the altar, +"then you will be blessed." + +No miraculous interposition, however, was destined to crown the poor +cavaliere's strenuous efforts to convert the heretical count; but, +long before he had finished, the sound of his voice had recalled +Count Marescotti to himself. He remembered that the old chamberlain +belonged, in years at least, if not in belief, to the past. He blamed +himself for his thoughtlessness in having said a syllable that could +give him pain. The mystic disciple of Savonarola became in an instant +the polished gentleman. + +"A thousand pardons, my dear Trenta," he said, passing his hand over +his forehead, and putting back the dark, disordered hair that hung +upon his brow--"a thousand pardons!--I am quite ashamed of myself. We +are here, as I now remember, to examine the tombs of your ancestors +in the chapel of the Trenta. I have delayed you too long. Shall we +proceed?" + +Trenta, glad to escape from the possibility of any further discussion +with the count, whose religious views were to him nothing but the +ravings of a mischievous maniac, at once turned into the side-aisle, +and, with ceremonious politeness, conducted Enrica toward the chapel +of the Trenta. + +The chapel, divided by gates of gilt bronze from the line of the other +altars bordering the aisles, forms a deep recess near the high +altar. The walls are inlaid by what had once been brilliantly-colored +marbles, in squares of red, green, and yellow; but time and damp had +dulled them into a sombre hue. Above, a heavy circular cornice joins +a dome-shaped roof, clothed with frescoes, through which the light +descends through a central lantern. Painted figures of prophets stand +erect within the four spandrils, and beneath, breaking the marble +walls, four snow-white statues of the Evangelists fill lofty niches of +gray-tinted stone. Opposite the gilded gates of entrance which +Trenta had unlocked, a black sarcophagus projects from the wall. This +sarcophagus is surmounted by a carved head. Many other monuments break +the marble walls; some very ancient, others of more recent shape +and construction. The floor, too, is almost entirely overlaid by +tombstones, but, like those in the nave, they are greatly defaced, +and the inscriptions are for the most part illegible. Over the altar +a blackened painting represents "San Riccardo of the Trenta" battling +with the infidels before Jerusalem. + +"Here," said the cavaliere, standing in the centre under the dome, +"is the chapel of the Trenta. Here I, Cesare Trenta, fourteenth in +succession from Gaultiero Trenta--who commanded a regiment at the +battle of Marignano against the French under Francis I.--hope to lay +my bones. The altar, as you see, is sanctified by the possession of +an ancestral picture, deemed miraculous." He bowed to the earth as he +spoke, in which example he was followed by Enrica and Baldassare. "San +Riccardo was the companion-in-arms of Godfrey de Bouillon. His bones +lie under the altar. Upon his return from the crusades he died in our +palace. We still show the very room. His body is quite entire within +that tomb. I have seen it myself when a boy." + +Even the count did not venture to raise any doubt as to the +authenticity of the patron saint of the Trenta family. The cavaliere +himself was on his knees; rosary in hand, he was devoutly offering up +his innocent prayers to the ashes of an imaginary saint. After many +crossings, bowings, and touchings of the tomb (always kissing the +fingers that had been in contact with the sanctified stone), he arose, +smiling. + +"And now," said the count, turning toward Enrica, "I will ask leave to +show you another tomb, which may, possibly, interest you more than +the sepulchre of the respected Trenta." As he spoke he led her to the +opposite aisle, toward a sarcophagus of black marble placed under an +arch, on which was inscribed, in gilt letters, the name "Castruccio +Castracani degli Antimelli," and the date "1328." "Had our Castruccio +moved in a larger sphere," said the count, addressing the little group +that had now gathered about him, "he would have won a name as great as +that of Alexander of Macedon. Like Alexander, he died in the flower of +his age, in the height of his fame. Had he lived, he would have +been King of Italy, and Lucca would have become the capital of the +peninsula. Chaste, sober, and merciful--brave without rashness, +and prudent without fear--Castruccio won all hearts. Lucca at least +appreciated her hero. Proud alike of his personal qualities, and of +those warlike exploits with which Italy already rang, she unanimously +elected him dictator. When this signal honor was conferred upon him," +continued the count, addressing himself again specially to Enrica, +who listened, her large dreamy eyes fixed upon him, "Castruccio was +absent, engaged in one of those perpetual campaigns against Florence +which occupied so large a portion of his short life. At that very +moment he was encamped on the heights of San Miniato, preparing to +besiege the hated rival of our city--broken and reduced by the recent +victory he had gained over her at Altopasso. At Altopasso he had +defeated and humiliated Florence. Now he had planted our flag under +her very walls. Upon the arrival of the ambassadors sent by the +Lucchese Republic--one of whom was a Guinigi--" + +"There was a Trenta, too, among them; Antonio Trenta, a knight of St. +John," put in the cavaliere, gently, unwilling to interrupt the count, +but finding it impossible to resist the temptation of identifying +his family with his country's triumphs. The count acknowledged the +omission with a courteous bow. + +"Upon the arrival of the ambassadors," he resumed, "announcing the +honor conferred upon him, Castruccio instantly left his camp, and +returned with all haste to Lucca. The dignity accorded to Castruccio +exalted him above all external demonstration, but he understood +that his native city longed to behold, and to surround with personal +applause, the person of her idol. In the piazza without this church, +the very centre of Lucca, the heart, as it were, whence all the veins +and arteries of our municipal body flow, Castruccio was received +with all the pomp of a Roman triumph. Ah! cavaliere"--and the count's +lustrous eyes rested on Trenta, who was devouring every word he +uttered with silent delight--"those were proud days for Lucca!" + +"Recall them--recall them, O Count!" cried Trenta. "It does me good to +listen." + +"Thirty thousand Florentine prisoners followed Castruccio to Lucca. +His soldiers were laden with booty. They drove before them innumerable +herds of cattle; strings of wagons, filled with the spoils of a +victorious campaign, blocked the causeways. Last of all appeared, +rumbling on its ancient wheels, the carroccio, or state-car of +the Florentine Republic, bearing their captured flags lowered, and +trailing in the dust. Castruccio--whose sole representatives are the +Marchesa Guinigi and yourself, signorina--Castruccio followed. He +was seated in a triumphal chariot, drawn by eight milk-white horses. +Banners fluttered around him. A golden crown of victory was suspended +above his head. He was arrayed in a flowing mantle of purple, over a +suit of burnished armor. His brows were bound by a wreath of golden +laurel. In his right hand he carried a jeweled sceptre. Upon his +knees lay his victorious sword unsheathed. Never was manly beauty more +transcendent. His lofty stature and majestic bearing fulfilled the +expectation of a hero. How can I describe his features? They are known +to all of you by that famous picture (the only likeness of him extant) +belonging to the Marchesa Guinigi, placed in the presence-chamber of +her palace." + +"Yes, yes," burst forth Trenta, no longer able to control his +enthusiasm. "Old as I am, when I think of those days, it makes me +young again. Alas! what a change! Now we have lost not only +our independence, but our very identity. Our sovereign is +gone--banished--our state broken up. We are but the slaves of a +monster called the kingdom of Italy, ruled by Piedmontese barbarians!" + +"Hush!--hush!" whispered the irrepressible Baldassare. "Pray do not +interrupt the count." Even the stolid Adonis was moved. + +"The daughters of the noblest houses of Lucca," continued Marescotti, +"strewed flowers in Castruccio's path. The magistrates and nobles +received him on their knees. Young as he was, with one voice they +saluted him 'Father of his Country!'" + +The count paused. He bowed his head toward the sarcophagus before +which they were gathered, in a mute tribute of reverence. After a few +minutes of rapt silence he resumed: + +"When the multitude heard that name, ten thousand thousand voices +echoed it. 'Father of his Country!' resounded to the summits of the +surrounding Apennines. The mountain-tops tossed it to and fro--the +caves thundered it--the very heavens bore it aloft to distant +hemispheres! Our great soldier, overcome by such overwhelming marks +of affection, expressed in every look and gesture how deeply he +was moved. Before leaving the piazza, Castruccio was joined by his +relative, young Paolo Guinigi!--after his decease to become dictator, +and Lord of Lucca. Amid the clash of arms, the braying of trumpets, +and the applause of thousands, they cordially embraced. They were fast +friends as well as cousins. Our Castruccio was of a type incapable +of jealousy. Paolo was a patriot--that was enough. Together they +proceeded to the cathedral of San Martino. At the porch Castruccio was +received by the archbishop and the assembled clergy. He was placed +in a chair of carved ivory, and carried in triumph up the nave to +the chapel of the Holy Countenance. Here he descended, and, while he +prostrated himself before the miraculous image, hymns and songs of +praise burst from the choir." + +"Such, Signorina Enrica," said the count, turning toward her, "is +a brief outline of the scene that passed within this city of Lucca, +before that tomb held the illustrious dust it now contains." + +"Bravo, bravo, count!" exclaimed the mercurial Trenta, in a delighted +tone. (He was ready to forgive all the count's transgressions, in the +fervor of the moment.) "That is how I love to hear you talk. Now you +do yourself justice. Gesu mio! how seldom it is given to a man to be +so eloquent! How can he bring himself to employ such gifts against the +infallible Church?" This last remark was addressed to Enrica in a tone +too low to be overheard. + +"And now," said the old chamberlain, always on the lookout to marshal +every one as he had marshaled every one at court--"now we will leave +the church, and proceed to the Guinigi Tower." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE GUINIGI TOWER. + + +Count Marescotti, by reason of too much imagination, and Baldassare, +by reason of too little, were both oblivious; consequently the key and +the porter were neither of them forthcoming when the party arrived +at the door of the tower, which opened from a side-street behind and +apart from the palace. Both the count and Baldassare ran off to find +the man, leaving Trenta alone with Enrica. + +"Ahi!" exclaimed the cavaliere, looking after them with a comical +smile, "this youth of New Italy! They have no more brains than a pin. +When I was young, and every city had its own ruler and its own court, +I should not have escorted a lady and kept her waiting outside in the +sun. Bah! those were not the manners of my day. At the court of the +Duke of Lucca ladies were treated like divinities, but now the young +men don't know how to kiss a woman's hand." + +Receiving no answer, Trenta looked hard at Enrica. He was struck by +her absent expression. There was a far-away look on her face he had +never noticed on it before. + +"Enrica," he said, taking both her hands within his own, "I fear you +are not amused. These subjects are too grave to interest you. What are +you thinking about?" + +An anxious look came into her eyes, and she glanced hastily round, as +if to assure herself that no one was near. + +"Oh! I am thinking of such strange things!" She stopped and hesitated, +seeing the cavaliere's glance of surprise. "I should like to tell you +all, dear cavaliere--I would give the world to tell you--" + +Again she stopped. + +"Speak--speak, my child," he answered; "tell me all that is in your +mind." + +Before she could reply, the count and Baldassare reappeared, +accompanied by the porter of the Guinigi Palace and the keys. + +"Are you sure you would rather not return home again, Enrica? You have +only to turn the corner, remember," asked Trenta, looking at her with +anxious affection. + +"No, no," she answered, greatly confused; "please say nothing--not +now--another time. I should like to ascend the tower; let us go on." + +The cavaliere was greatly puzzled. It was plain there was something on +her mind. What could it be? How fortunate, he told himself, if she had +taken a liking to Marescotti, and desired to confess it! This would +make all easy. When he had spoken to the count, he would contrive to +see her alone, and insist upon knowing if it were so. + +The door was now opened, and the porter led the way, followed by the +count and Baldassare. Trenta came next, Enrica last. They ascended +stair after stair almost in darkness. After having mounted a +considerable height, the porter unlocked a small door that barred +their farther advance. Above appeared the blackened walls of the +hollow tower, broken by the loop-holes already mentioned, through +which the ardent sunshine slanted. Before them was a wooden stair, +crossing from angle to angle up to a dizzy height, with no other +support but a frail banister; this even was broken in places. The +count and Enrica both entreated the cavaliere to remain below. +Marescotti ventured to allude to his great age--a subject he himself +continually, as has been seen, mentioned, but which he generally much +resented when alluded to by others. + +Trenta listened with perfect gravity and politeness, but, when the +count had done speaking, he placed his foot firmly on the first stair, +and began to ascend after the porter. The others were obliged to +follow. At the last flight several loose planks shook ominously +under their feet; but Trenta, assisted by his stick, stepped on +perseveringly. He also insisted on helping Enrica, who was next to +him, and who by this time was both giddy and frightened. At length a +trap-door, at the top of the tower, was reached and unbarred by +the attendant. Without, covered with grass, is a square platform, +protected by a machicolated parapet of turreted stone-work. In the +centre rises a cluster of ancient bay-trees, fresh and luxuriant, +spite of the wind and storms of centuries. + +The count leaped out upon the greensward and rushed to the parapet. + +"How beautiful!" he exclaimed, throwing back his head and drawing in +the warm air. "See how the sun of New Italy lights up the old city! +Cathedral, palace, church, gallery, roof, tower, all ablaze at our +feet! Speak, tell me, is it not wonderful?" and he turned to Enrica, +who, anxiously turning from side to side, was trying to discover where +she could best overlook the street of San Simone and Nobili's palace. + +Addressed by Marescotti, she started and stopped short. + +"Never, never," he continued, becoming greatly excited, "shall I +forget this meeting!--here with you--the golden-haired daughter of +this ancient house!" + +"I!" exclaimed Enrica. "O count, what a mistake! I have no house, no +home. I live on the charity of my aunt." + +"That makes no difference in your descent, fair Guinigi. Charity! +charity! Who would not shower down oceans of charity to possess such +a treasure?" He leaned his back against the parapet, and bent his +eyes with fervent admiration on her. "It is only in verse that I can +celebrate her," he muttered, "prose is too cold for her warm coloring. +The Madonna--the uninstructed Madonna--before the archangel's visit--" + +"But, count," said Enrica timidly (his vehemence and strange glances +made her feel very shy), "will you tell me the names of the beautiful +mountains around? I have seen so little--I am so ignorant." + +"I will, I will," replied Marescotti, speaking rapidly, his glowing +eyes raising themselves from her face to look out over the distance; +"but, in mercy, grant me a few moments to collect myself. Remember I +am a poet; imagination is my world; the unreal my home; the Muses my +sisters. I live there above, in the golden clouds"--and he turned and +pointed to a crest of glittering vapor sailing across the intense blue +of the sky. Then, with his hand pressed on his brow, he began to pace +rapidly up and down the narrow platform. + +The cavaliere and Baldassare were watching him from the farther end of +the tower. + +"He! he!" said Trenta, and he gave a little laugh and nudged +Baldassare. "Do you see the count? He is fairly off. Marescotti is too +poetical for this world. Unpractical, poor fellow--very unpractical. +The fit is on him now. Look at him, Baldassare; see how he stares +about, and clinches his fist. I hope he will not leap over the parapet +in his ecstasy." + +"Ha! ha!" responded Baldassare, who with eyes wide open, and hands +thrust into his pockets, leaned back beside Trenta against the wall. +"Ha, ha!--I must laugh," Baldassare whispered into his ear--"I cannot +help it--look how the count's lips are moving. He is in the most +extraordinary excitement." + +"It's all very fine," rejoined Trenta, "but I wonder he does not +frighten Enrica. There she stands, quite still. I can't see her face, +but she seems to like it. It's all very fine," he repeated, nodding +his white head reflectively. "Republicans, communists, orators, poets, +heretics--all the plagues of hell! Dio buono! give me a little plain +common-sense--plain common-sense, and a paternal government. As to +Marescotti, these new-fangled notions will turn his brain; he'll end +in a mad-house. I don't believe he is quite in his senses at this very +minute. Look! look! What strides he is taking up and down! For the +love of Heaven, my boy, run and fasten the trap-door tight! He +may fall through! He's not safe! I swear it, by all the saints!" +Baldassare, shaking with suppressed laughter, secured the trap-door. + +"I must say you are a little hard on the count," Baldassare said. +"Why, he's only composing. I know his way. Trust me, it's a sonnet. He +is composing a sonnet addressed perhaps to the signorina. He admires +her very much." + +Trenta smiled, and mentally determined, for the second time, to take +the earliest opportunity of speaking to Count Marescotti before the +ridiculous reports circulating in Lucca reached him. + +"Per Bacco!" he replied, "when the count is as old as I am, he +will have learned that quiet is the greatest luxury a man can +enjoy--especially in Italy, where the climate is hot and fevers +frequent." + +How long the count would have continued in the clouds, it is +impossible to say, had he not been suddenly brought down to earth--or, +at least, the earth on the top of the tower--by something that +suddenly struck his gaze. + +Enrica, who had strained her eyes in vain to discover some trace of +Nobili in the narrow street below, or in the garden behind his palace, +had now thrown herself on the grass under the overhanging branches of +the glossy bay-trees. These inclosed her as in a bower. Her colorless +face rested upon her hand, her eyes were turned toward the ground, +and her long blond hair fell in a tangled mass below the folds of her +veil, upon her white dress. The count stood transfixed before her. + +"Move not, sweet vision!" he cried. "Be ever so! That innocent face +shaded by the classic bay; that white robe rustling with the thrill of +womanly affinities; those fair locks floating like an aureole in the +breeze thy breath has softly perfumed! Rest there enthroned--the world +thy backguard, the sky thy canopy! Stay, let me crown thee!" + +As he spoke he hastily plucked some sprays of bay, which he twisted +into a wreath. He approached Enrica, who had remained quite still, +and, kneeling at her feet, placed the wreath upon her head. + +"Enrica Guinigi"--the count spoke so softly that neither Trenta nor +Baldassare could catch the words--"there is something in your beauty +too ethereal for this world." + +Enrica, covered with blushes, tried to rise, but he held out his hands +imploringly for her to remain. + +"Suffer me to speak to you. Yours is a face of one easily moved to +love--to love and to suffer," he added, strange lights coming into his +eyes as he gazed at her. + +Enrica listened to him in painful silence; his words sounded +prophetic. + +"To love and to suffer; but, loving once"--again the count was +speaking, and his voice enchained her by its sweetness--"to love +forever. Where shall the man be found pure enough to dare to accept +such love as you can bestow? By Heavens!" he added, and his voice fell +to a whisper, and his black eyes seemed to penetrate into her very +soul, "you love already. I read it in the depths of those heavenly +eyes, in the shadow that already darkens that soft brow, in the +dreamy, languid air that robs you of your youth. You love--is it +possible that you love--?" + +He stopped before the question was finished--before the name was +uttered. A spasm, as if wrung from him by sharp bodily pain, passed +over his features as he asked this question, never destined to be +answered. No one but Enrica had heard it. An indescribable terror +seized her; from pale she grew deadly white; her eyelids dropped, her +lips trembled. Tears gathered in Marescotti's eyes as he gazed at her, +but he dared not complete the question. + +"If you have guessed my secret, do not--oh! do not betray me!" + +She said this so faintly that the sound came to him like a whisper +from the rustling bay-leaves. + +"Never!" he responded in a low, earnest tone--"never!" + +She believed him implicitly. With that look, that voice, who could +doubt him? + +"I have cause to suffer," she replied with a sigh, not venturing to +meet his eyes--"to suffer and to wait. But my aunt--" + +She said no more; her head fell on her bosom, her arms dropped to her +side, she sighed deeply. + +"May I be at hand to shield you!" was his answer. + +After this, he, too, was silent. Rising from his knees, he leaned +against the trunk of the bay-tree and contemplated her steadfastly. +There was a strange mixture of passion and of curiosity in his mobile +face. If she would not tell him, could he not rend her secret from +her? + +Trenta, seated at the opposite side of the platform, observed them as +they stood side by side, half concealed by the foliage--observed them +with benign satisfaction. It was all as it should be; his mission +would be easy. It was clear they understood each other. He believed at +that very moment Enrica was receiving the confession of Marescotti's +love; the confusion of her looks was conclusive. The cavaliere's whole +endeavor was, at that moment, to keep Baldassare quiet; he rejoiced +to see that he was gently yielding to the influence of the heat, and +nodding at his side. + +"Count," said Enrica, looking up and endeavoring to break a silence +which had become painful, "if I have inspired you with any interest--" + +She hesitated. + +"_If_ you have inspired me?" ejaculated Marescotti, reproachfully, not +moving his eyes off her. + +"I can hardly believe it," she added; "but, if it be so, speak to me +in the voice of poetry. Tell me your thoughts." + +"Yes," exclaimed the count, clasping his hands; "I have been longing +to do so ever since I first saw you. Will you permit it? If so, give +me paper and pencil, that I may write." + +Enrica had neither. Rising from the ground, she crossed over to where +Trenta sat, apparently absorbed in the contemplation of the roofs of +his native city. Fortunately, after diving into various pockets, he +found a pencil and the fly-leaf of a letter. Marescotti took them and +retreated to the farther end of the tower; Enrica leaned against the +wall beside the cavaliere. + +In a few minutes the count joined them; he returned the pencil with a +bow to the cavaliere. The sonnet was already written on the fly-leaf +of the letter. + +"Oh!" cried Enrica, "give me that paper, I know it will tell me my +fate. Give it to me. Count, do not refuse me." Her look, her manner, +was eager--imploring. As the count drew back, she endeavored to seize +the paper from his hand. But Marescotti, holding the paper above +his head, in one moment had crushed it in his fingers, and, rushing +forward, he flung it over the battlements. + +"It is not worthy of you!" he exclaimed, with excitement; "it is +worthy neither of you nor of me! No, no," and he leaned over the +tower, and watched the paper as it floated downward in the still air. +"Let it perish." + +"Oh! why have you destroyed it?" cried Enrica, greatly distressed. +"That paper would have told me all I want to know. How cruel! how +unkind!" + +But there was no help for it. No lamentation could bring the paper +back again. The sonnet was gone. Marescotti had sacrificed the man to +the poet. His artistic sense had conquered. + +"Excuse me, dear signorina," he pleaded, "the composition was +imperfect. It was too hurried. With your permission, on my return, +I will address some other verses to you, more appropriate--more +polished." + +"Ah! they will not be like those. They will not tell me what I want +to know. They cannot come from your very soul like those. The power to +divine is gone from you." Enrica could hardly restrain her tears. + +"I am very sorry," answered the count, "but I could not help it; I did +it unconsciously." + +"Indeed, count, you did very wrong," put in the cavaliere; "one +understands you wrote _in furore_--so much the better," and Trenta +gave a sly wink, which was entirely lost on Marescotti. "But time +is getting on. When are we to have that oration on the history and +beauties of Lucca that we came up to hear? Had you not better begin?" + +The count was engaged at that moment in plucking a sprig of bay for +himself and for the cavaliere to wear, as he said, "in memoriam." "I +am ready," he replied. "It is a subject that I love." + +"Let us begin with the mountains; they are the nearest to God." As +he pronounced that name, the count raised his eyes reverently, and +uncovered his head. Enrica had placed herself on his right hand, but +all interest had died out of her face. She only listened mechanically. + +(Yes, the mountains, the glorious mountains! There they were--before, +behind, in front; range upon range--peak upon peak, like breakers on +a restless sea! Mountains of every shade, of every shape, of every +height. Already their mighty tops were flecked with the glow of the +western sunbeams; already pink and purple mists had gathered upon +their sides, filling the valleys with mystery!) + +"There," said the count, pointing in the direction of the winding +river Serchio, "is La Panga, the loftiest Apennine in Central Italy. +The peaked summits of those other mountains more to the right are the +marble-bosomed range of Carrara. One might believe them at this time +covered with a mantle of snow, but for the ardent sun, the deep green +of the belting plains, and the luxuriance of the forests. Yonder steep +chestnut-clothed height that terminates the valley opening before us +is Bargilio, a mountain fortress of the Panciatici over the Baths of +Lucca." + +Marescotti paused to take breath. Enrica's eyes languidly followed the +direction of his hand. The cavaliere, standing on his other side, was +adjusting his spectacles, the better to distinguish the distance. + +"To the south," continued the count, pointing with his finger--"in the +centre of that rich vine-trellised Campagna, lies Pescia, a garden +of luscious fruits. Beyond, nestling in the hollows of the Apennines, +shutting in the plain of that side, is ancient Lombard-walled +Pistoja--the key to the passes of Northern Italy. Farther on, nearer +Florence, rise the heights of Monte Catni, crowned as with a diadem +by a small burgh untouched since the middle ages. Nearer at hand, +glittering like steel in the sunshine, is the lake of Bientina. You +can see its low, marshy shores fringed by beauteous woodlands, but +without a single dwelling." + +Enrica, in a fit of abstraction, leaned over the parapet. Her eyes +were riveted upon the city beneath. Marescotti followed her eyes. + +"Yes," said he, "there is Lucca;" and as he spoke he glanced +inquiringly at her, and the tones of his clear, melodious voice grew +soft and tender. "Lucca the Industrious, bound within her line of +ancient walls and fortifications. Great names and great deeds are +connected with Lucca. Here, tradition says, Julius Caesar ruled as +proconsul. How often may the sandals of his feet have trod these +narrow streets--his purple robes swept the dust of our piazza! Here he +may have officiated as high-priest at our altars--dictated laws from +our palaces! It was after the conquest of the Nervii (most savage +among the Gaulish tribes) that Julius Caesar is said to have first +come to Lucca. Pompey and Crassus met him here. It was at this +time that Domitius--Caesar's enemy, then a candidate for the +consulship--boasted that he would ruin him. But Caesar, seizing the +opportune moment of his recent victories over the Gauls, and his +meeting with Pompey--formed the bold plan of grasping universal power +by means of his deadliest enemies. These enemies, rather than see the +supreme power vested in each other, united to advance him. The first +triumvirate was the consequence of the meeting. Ages pass by. +The Roman Empire dissolves. Barbarians invade Italy. Lucca is an +independent state--not long to remain so, however, for the Countess +Matilda, daughter of Duke Bonifazio, is born within her walls. At +Lucca Countess Matilda holds her court. By her counsels, assistance, +and the rich legacy of her patrimonial dominions, she founds the +temporal power of the papacy. To Lucca came, in the fifteenth century, +Charles VIII. of France, presumptuous enough to attempt the conquest +of Naples; also that mighty dissembler, Charles V. to meet the +reigning pontiff Paul III. in our cathedral of San Martino. But more +precious far to me than the traditions of the shadowy pomp of defunct +tyrants is the remembrance that Lucca was the Geneva of Italy--that +these streets beneath us resounded to the public teaching of the +Reformation! Such progress, indeed, had the reformers made, that it +was publicly debated in the city council, 'If Lucca should declare +herself Protestant--'" + +"Per Bacco! a disgraceful fact in our history!" burst out Trenta, a +look of horror in his round blue eyes. "Hide it, hide it, count! For +the love of Heaven! You do not expect me to rejoice at this? Pray, +when you mention it, add that the Protestants were obliged to flee for +their lives, and that Lucca purified itself by abject submission to +the Holy Father." + +"Yes; and what came of that?" cried the count, raising his voice, +a sudden flush of anger mounting over his face. "The Church--your +Catholic and Apostolic Church--established the Inquisition. The +Inquisition condemned to the flames the greatest prophet and teacher +since the apostles--Savonarola!" + +Trenta, knowing how deeply Marescotti's feelings were engaged in +the subject of Savonarola, was too courteous to desire any further +discussion. But at the same time he was determined, if possible, to +hear no more of what was to him neither more nor less than blasphemy. + +"Do you know how long we have been up here, count?" he asked, taking +out his watch. "Enrica must return. I hope you won't detain us," he +said, with a pitiful look at the count, who seemed preparing for +an oration in honor of the mediaeval martyr. "I have already got +a violent rheumatism in my shoulder.--Here, Baldassare, open the +trap-door, and let us go down.--Where is Baldassare?--Baldassare! +Where are you, imbecile? Baldassare, I say! Why, diamine! Where can +the boy be? He's not been privately practising his last new step +behind the bay-trees, and taken a false one over the parapet?" + +The small space was easily searched. Baldassare was discovered +sketched at full length and fast asleep under a bench on the other +side of the bay-trees. + +"Ah, wretch!" grumbled the old chamberlain, "if you sleep like this +you will outlive me, who mean to flourish for the next hundred +years. He's always asleep, except when dancing," he added indignantly +appealing to Marescotti. "Look at him. There's beauty without +expression. Doesn't he inspire you? Endymion who has overslept himself +and missed Diana--Narcissus overcome by the sight of his own beauty." + +After being called, pushed, and pinched, by the cavaliere, Baldassare +at last opened his eyes in great bewilderment--stretched himself, +yawned, then, suddenly clapping his hand to his side, looked fiercely +at Trenta. Trenta was shaking with laughter. + +"Mille diavoli!" cried Baldassare, rubbing himself vigorously, "how +dare you pinch me so, cavaliere? I shall be black and blue. Why should +not I sleep? Nobody spoke to me." + +"I fear you have heard little of the history of Lucca," said the +count, smiling. + +"Dio buono! what is history to me? I hate it!--I-tell you what, +cavaliere, you have hurt me very much." And Baldassare passed his hand +carefully down his side. "The next time I go to sleep in your company, +I'll trouble you to keep your fingers to yourself. You have rapped me +like a drum." + +Trenta watched the various phases of Baldassare's wrath with the +greatest amusement. The descent having been safely accomplished, the +whole party landed in the street. Count Marescotti, who came last, +advanced to take leave of Enrica. At this moment an olive-skinned, +black-eyed girl rose out of the shadow of a neighboring wall, and, +lowering a basket from her head, filled with fruit--tawny figs, ruddy +peaches, purple grapes, and russet-skinned medlars, shielded from +the heat by a covering of freshly-picked vine-leaves--offered it to +Enrica. Our Adonis, still sulky and sore from the pinches inflicted by +the mischievous fingers of the cavaliere, waved the girl rudely away. + +"Fruit! Che! Begone! our servants have better. Such fruit as that is +not good enough for us; it is full of worms." + +The girl looked up at him timidly, tears gathered in her dark eyes. + +"It is for my mother," she answered, humbly; "she is ill." + +As she bent her head to replace the basket, Marescotti, who had +listened to Baldassare with evident disgust, raised the basket in his +arms, and with the utmost care poised it on the coil of her dark hair. + +"Beautiful peasant," he said, "I salute you. This is for your mother," +and he placed some notes in her hand. + +The girl thanked him, coloring as red as the peaches in her basket, +then, hastily turning the corner of the street, disappeared. + +"A perfect Pomona! I make a point of honoring beauty whenever I find +it," exclaimed the count, looking after her. He cast a reproving +glance at Baldassare, who stood with his eyes wide open. "The Greeks +worshiped beauty--I agree with them. Beauty is divine. What say you? +Were not the Greeks right?" + +The words were addressed to Baldassare--the sense and the direction of +his eyes pointed to Enrica. + +"Yes; beauty," replied Baldassare, smoothing his glossy mustache, and +trying to look very wise (he was not in the least conscious of the +covert rebuke administered by Marescotti)--"beauty is very refreshing, +but I must say I prefer it in the upper classes. For my part, I like +beauty that can dance--wooden shoes are not to my taste." + +"Ah! canaglia!" muttered the cavaliere, "there is no teaching you. You +will never be a gentleman." + +Baldassare was dumbfounded. He had not a word to reply. + +"Count"--and the old chamberlain, utterly disregarding the dismay of +poor Adonis, who never clearly understood what he had done to deserve +such severity, now addressed himself to Marescotti--"will you be +visible to-morrow after breakfast? If so, I shall have the honor of +calling on you." + +"With pleasure," was the count's reply. + +Enrica stood apart. She had not spoken one word since the +disappearance of the sonnet--that sonnet which would have told her +of her future; for had not Marescotti, by some occult power, read +her secret? Alas! too, was she not about to reenter her gloomy home +without catching so much as a glimpse of Nobili? Count Marescotti had +no opportunity of saying a word to Enrica that was not audible to all. +He did venture to ask her if she would be present next evening, if +he joined the marchesa's rubber? Before she could reply, Trenta had +hastily answered for her, that "he would settle all that with the +count when they met in the morning." So, standing in the street, +they parted. Count Marescotti sought in vain for one last glance from +Enrica. When he turned round to look for Baldassare, Baldassare had +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +COUNT NOBILI. + + +When Nobili rushed home through the dark streets from the Countess +Orsetti's ball, he shut himself up in his own particular room, threw +himself on a divan, and tried to collect his thoughts. At first he was +only conscious of one overwhelming feeling--a feeling of intense joy +that Nera Boccarina was alive. The unspeakable horror he had felt, as +she lay stretched out on the floor before him, had stupefied him. If +she had died?--As the horrible question rose up within him, his blood +froze in his veins. But she was not dead--nay, if the report of Madame +Orsetti was to be trusted, she was in no danger of dying. + +"Thank God!--thank God!" Then, as the quiet of the night and the +solitude of his own room gradually restored his scattered senses, +Nobili recalled her, not only in the moment of danger, as she lay +death-like, motionless, but as she stood before him lit up by the +rosy shadow of the silken curtains. Was it an enchantment? Had he +been under a spell? Was Nera fiend or angel? As he asked himself these +questions, again her wondrous eyes shone upon him like stars; again +the rhythm of that fatal waltz struck upon his ears soft and liquid +as the fall of oars upon the smooth bosom of an inland lake, bathed in +the mellow light of sunset. + +What had he done? He had kissed her--her lips had clung to his; her +fingers had linked themselves in his grasp; her eyes--ah!--those eyes +had told him that she loved him. Loved him!--why not? + +And Enrica!--the thought of Enrica pierced through him like the stab +of a knife. Nobili sprang to his feet, pressed both hands to his +bosom, then sank down again, utterly bewildered. Enrica!--He had +forgotten her! He, Nobili, was it possible? Forgotten her!--A pale +plaintive face rose up before him, with soft, pleading eyes. There was +the little head, with its tangled meshes of yellow curls, the slight +girlish figure, the little feet. "Enrica! my Enrica!" he cried aloud, +so palpable did her presence seem--"I love you, I love you only!" +He dashed, as it were, Nera's image from him. She had tempted +him--tempted him with all the fullness of her beauty, tempted him--and +he had yielded! On a sudden it came over him. Yes, she had tempted +him. She had followed him--pursued him rather. Wherever he went, there +Nera was before him. He recalled it all. And how he had avoided her +with the avoidance of an instinct! He clinched his fists as he thought +of it. What devil had possessed him to fall headlong into the snare? +What was Nera--or any other woman--to him now? If he had been obliged +to dance with her, why had he yielded to her? + +"I will never speak to her again," was his instant resolve. But the +next moment he remembered that he had been indirectly the cause of an +accident which might have been fatal. He must see her once more if +she were visible--or, if not, he must see her mother. Common humanity +demanded this. Then he would set eyes on her no more. He had almost +come to hate her, for the spell she had thrown over him. + +But for Enrica he would have left Lucca altogether for a time. What +had passed that evening would be the subject of general gossip. He +remembered with shame--and as he did so the blood rushed over his face +and brow--how openly he had displayed his admiration. He remembered +the hot glances he had cast upon Nera. He remembered how he had leaned +entranced over her chair; how he had pressed her to him in the fury of +that wild waltz, her white arms entwined round him--the fragrance +of the red roses she wore in her hair mounting to his brain! At the +moment he had been too much entranced to observe what was passing +about him. Now he recalled glances and muttered words. The savage +look Ruspoli had cast on him, when he led her up to him in one of the +figures of the cotillon; how Malatesta had grinned at him--how Orsetti +had whispered "Bravo!" in his ear. Might not some rumor of all this +reach Enrica?--through Trenta, perhaps, or that chattering fool, +Baldassare? If they spoke of the accident, they would surely connect +his name with that of Nera. Would they say he was in love with her? He +grew cold as he thought of it. + +Neither could Nobili conceal from himself how probable it was that +the Marchesa Guinigi should come to some knowledge of his clandestine +interviews with her niece. It had been necessary to trust many +persons. Spite of heavy bribes, one of these might at any moment +betray them. He might be followed and watched, spite of his +precautions. Their letters might be intercepted. Should any thing +happen, what a situation for Enrica! She was too trusting and too +inexperienced fully to appreciate the danger; but Nobili understood +it, and trembled for her. Something must, he felt, be done at once. +Enrica must be prepared for any thing that might happen. He must write +to her--write this very night to her. + +And then came the question--what should he say to her? Then Nobili +felt, and felt keenly, how much he had compromised himself. Hitherto +his love for Enrica, and Enrica's love for him, had been so full, so +entire, that every thought was hers. Now there was a name he must hide +from her, an hour of his life she must never know. + +Nobili rose from the divan on which he had been lying, lighted some +candles, and, sitting down at a table, took a pen in his hand. But the +pen did not help him. He tore it between his teeth, he leaned his head +upon his hand, he stared at the blank paper before him. What should +he say to her? was the question he asked himself. After all, should +he confess all his weakness, and implore her forgiveness? or should he +take the chance of her hearing nothing? + +After much thought and many struggles with his pen, he decided he +would say nothing. But write he would; write he must. Full of remorse +for what had passed, he longed to assure her of his love. He yearned +to cast himself for pardon at her feet; to feast his eyes upon the +sweetness of her fair face; to fill his ears with the sound of her +soft voice; to watch her heavenly eyes gathering upon him with the +gleam of incipient passion. + +How pure she was! How peerless, how different from all other women! +How different from Nera! dark-eyed, flashing, tempting Nera!--Nera, so +sensual in her ripe and dazzling beauty. At that moment of remorse and +repentance he would have likened her to an alluring fiend, Enrica to +an angel! Yes, he would write; he would say something decisive. This +point settled, Nobili put down the pen, struck a match, and lit a +cigar. A cigar would calm him, and help him to think. + +His position, even as he understood it, was sufficiently difficult. +How much more, had he known all that lay behind! He had entered life a +mere boy at his father's death, with some true friends; his wealth +had created him a host of followers. His frank, loyal disposition, his +generosity, his lavish hospitality, his winning manners, had insured +him general popularity. Not one, even of those who envied him, could +deny that he was the best fellow in Lucca. Women adored him, or said +so, which came to the same thing, for he believed them. Many had +proved, with more than words, that they did so. In a word, he had been +_feted_, followed, and caressed, as long as he could remember. Now the +incense of flattery floating continually in the air which he breathed +had done its work. He was not actually spoiled but he had grown +arrogant; vain of his person and of his wealth. He was vain, but not +yet frivolous; he was insolent, but not yet heartless. At his age, +impressions come from without, rather than from within. Nobili was +extremely impressionable; he also, as has been seen, wanted resolution +to resist temptation. As yet, he had not developed the firmness and +steadfastness that really belonged to his character. + +But spite of foibles, spite of weakness--foibles and weakness were +but part of the young blood within him--Nobili possessed, especially +toward women, that rare union of courage, tenderness, and fortitude, +we call chivalry; he forgot himself in others. He did this as the most +natural thing in the world--he did it because he could not help it. +He was capable of doing a great wrong--he was also capable of a great +repentance. His great wealth had hitherto enabled him to indulge every +fancy. With this power of wealth, unknown almost to himself, a spirit +of conquest had grown upon him. He resolved to overcome whatever +opposed itself to him. Nobili was constantly assured by those ready +flatterers who lived upon him--those toadies who, like a mildew, +dim and deface the virtues of the rich--that "he could do what he +pleased." + +With the presumption of youth he believed this, and he acted on it, +especially in regard to women. He was of an age and temperament to +feel his pulse quicken at the sight of every pretty woman he met, even +if he should meet a dozen in the day. Until lately, however, he had +cared for no one. He had trifled, dangled, ogled. He had plucked the +fair fruit where it hung freely on the branch, and he had turned away +heart-whole. He knew that there was not a young lady in Lucca who +would not accept him as her suitor--joyfully accept him, if he +asked her. Not a father, let his name be as old as the Crusades, his +escutcheon decorated with "the golden rose," or the heraldic ermine of +the emperors, who would not welcome him as a son-in-law. + +The Marchesa Guinigi alone had persistently repulsed him. He had heard +and laughed at the outrageous words she had spoken. He knew what a +struggle it had cost her to sell the second Guinigi Palace at all. He +knew that of all men she had least desired to sell it to him. For that +special reason he had resolved to possess it. He had bought it, so to +say, in spite of her, at the price of gold. + +Yet, although Nobili laughed with his friends at the marchesa's +outrageous words, in reality they greatly nettled him. By constant +repetition they came even to rankle. At last he grew--unconfessed, of +course--so aggravated by them that a secret longing for revenge rose +up within him. She had thrown down the gauntlet, why should he not +pick it up? The marchesa, he knew, had a niece, why should he not +marry the niece, in defiance of the aunt? + +No sooner was this idea conceived than he determined, if he married at +all (marriage to a young man leading his dissipated life is a serious +step), that, of all living women, the marchesa's niece should be his +wife. All this time he had never seen Enrica. Yes, he would marry the +niece, to spite the marchesa. Marry--she, the marchesa, should see +a Guinigi head his board; a Guinigi seated at his hearth; worse than +all, a Guinigi mother of his children! + +All this he kept closely locked within his own breast. As the marchesa +had intimated to him, at the time he bought the palace, that she would +never permit him to cross her threshold, he was debarred from taking +the usual social steps to accomplish his resolve. Not that he in the +least desired to see her, save for that overbearing disposition which +impelled him to combat all opposition. With great difficulty, and +after having expended various sums in bribes among the ill-paid +servants of the marchesa, he had learned the habits of her household. + +Enrica, he found, had a servant, formerly her nurse, who never left +her. Teresa, this servant, was cautiously approached. She was informed +that Count Nobili was distractedly in love with the signorina, and +addressed himself to her for help. Teresa, ignorant, well-meaning, +and brimming over with that mere animal fondness for her foster-child +uneducated women share with brute creatures, was proud of becoming the +medium of what she considered an advantageous marriage for Enrica. The +secluded life she led, the selfish indifference with which her aunt +treated her, had long moved Teresa's passionate southern nature to a +high pitch of indignation. Up to this time no man had been permitted +to enter Casa Guinigi, save those who formed the marchesa's +whist-party. + +"How, then," reasoned Teresa, shrewdly, "was the signorina to marry at +all? Surely it was right to help her to a husband. Here was one, rich, +handsome, and devoted, one who would give the eyes out of his head for +the signorina." Was such an opportunity to be lost? Certainly not. + +So Teresa took Nobili's bribes (bribes are as common in Italy as in +the East), putting them to fructify in the National Bank with an easy +conscience. Was she not emancipating her foster-child from that old +devil, her aunt? Had she not seen Nobili himself when he sent for +her?--seen him, face to face, inside his palace glittering like +paradise? And had he not given her his word, with his hand upon his +heart (also given her a pair of solid gold ear-rings, which she wore +on Sundays), that to marry Enrica was the one hope of his life? Seeing +all this, Teresa was, as I have said, perfectly satisfied. + +When Nobili had done all this, impelled by mixed feelings of wounded +pride, obstinacy, and defiance, he had never, let it be noted, seen +Enrica. But after a meeting had been arranged by Teresa one morning at +early mass in the cathedral, near a dark and unfrequented altar in the +transept--an arrangement, be it observed, unknown to Enrica--all his +feelings changed. From the moment he saw her he loved her with all +the fervor of his ardent nature; from that moment he knew that he had +never loved before. The mystery of their stolen meetings, the sweet +flavor of this forbidden fruit--and what man does not love forbidden +fruit better than labeled pleasures?--the innocent frankness with +which Enrica confessed her love, her unbounded faith in him--all +served to heighten his passion. He gloried--he reveled in her +confidence. Never, never, he swore a thousand times, should she have +cause to repent it. In the possession of Enrica's love, all other +desires, aims, ambitions, had--up to the night of the Orsetti +ball--vanished. Up to that night, for her sake, he had grown solitary, +silent--nay, even patient and subtle. He had clean forgotten his +feud with the Marchesa Guinigi, or only remembered it as a possible +obstacle to his union with Enrica; otherwise the marchesa was +absolutely indifferent to him. Up to the night of the Orsetti ball the +whole world was indifferent to him. But now!-- + +Nobili, sitting very still, his face shaded by his hand, had finished +his cigar. While smoking it he had decided what he would say to +Enrica. Again he took up his pen. This time he dropped it in the ink, +and wrote as follows: + +AMORE: I have treasured all the love you gave me when last we met. +I know that love witnesses for me also in your own heart. Beyond all +earthly things you are dear to me. Come to me, O my Enrica--come to +me; never let us part. I must have you, you only. I must gaze upon +you hour by hour; I must hang upon that dear voice. I must feel that +angel-presence ever beside me. When will you meet me? I implore you to +answer. After our next meeting I am resolved to claim you, by force +or by free-will, to be my wife. To wait longer, O my Enrica, is +good neither for you nor for me. My love! my love! you must be +mine--mine--mine! Come to me--come quickly. Your adoring. + +"MARIO NOBILI." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. + + +Cesare Trenta is dressed with unusual care. His linen is spotless; +his white hair, as fine as silk, is carefully combed; his chin is well +shaven. He wears a glossy white hat, and carries his gold-headed cane +in his hand. Not that he condescends to use that cane as he mounts the +marble staircase of the Universo Hotel (once the Palazzo Buffero) +a little stiffly, on his way to keep his appointment with Count +Marescotti; oh, no--although the cavaliere is well past eighty, he +intends to live much longer; he reserves that cane, therefore, to +assist him in his old age. Now he does not want it. + +It is quite clear that Trenta is come on a mission of great +importance; his sleek air, and the solemnly official expression of +his plump rosy face, say so. His glassy blue eyes are without their +pleasant twinkle, and his lips, tightly drawn over his teeth, lack +their usual benignant smile. Even his fat white hand dimples itself +on the top of his cane, so tightly does he clutch it. He has learned +below that Count Marescotti lives at No. 4 on the second story; at +the door of No. 4 he raps softly. A voice from within asks, "Who is +there?" + +"I," replies Trenta, and he enters. + +The count, who is seated at a table near the window, rises. His tall +figure is enveloped in a dark dressing-gown, that folds about him like +a toga. He has all the aspect of a man roused out of deep thought; +his black hair stands straight up in disordered curls all over his +head--he had evidently been digging both his hands into it--his eyes +are wild and abstracted. Taken as he is now, unawares, that expression +of mingled sternness and sweetness in which he so much resembles +Castruccio Castracani is very striking. From the manner he fixes his +eyes upon Trenta it is clear he does not at once recognize him. The +cavaliere returns his stare with a look of blank dismay. + +"Oh, carissimo!" the count exclaims at last, his countenance changing +to its usual expression--he holds out both hands to grasp those of +the cavaliere--"how I rejoice to see you! Excuse my absence; I had +forgotten our appointment at the moment. That book"--and he points to +an open volume lying on a table covered with letters, manuscripts, and +piles of printed sheets tossed together in wild confusion--"that book +must plead my excuse; it has riveted me. The wrongs of persecuted +Italy are so eloquently pleaded! Have you read it, my dear cavaliere? +If not, allow me to present you with a copy." + +Trenta made a motion with his hand, as if putting both the book and +the subject from him with a certain disgust: he shakes his head. + +"I have not read it, and I do not wish to read it," he replies, +curtly. + +The poor cavaliere feels that this is a bad beginning; but he quickly +consoles himself--he was of a hopeful temperament, and saw life +serenely and altogether in rose-color--by remembering that the count +is habitually absent, also that he habitually uses strong language, +and that he had probably not been so absorbed by the wrongs of Italy +as he pretends. + +"I fear you have forgotten our appointment, count," recommences the +cavaliere, finding that Marescotti is silent, and that his eyes have +wandered off to the pages of the open book. + +"Not at all, not at all, my dear Trenta. On the contrary, had you not +come, I was about to send for you. I have a very important matter to +communicate to you." + +The cavaliere's face now breaks out all over into smiles. "Send for +me," he repeats to himself. "Good, good! I understand." He seats +himself with great deliberation in a large, well-stuffed arm-chair, +near the table, at which Marescotti still continues standing. He +places his cane across his knees, folds his hands together, then looks +up in the other's face. + +"Yes, yes, my dear count," he answers aloud, "we have much to say to +each other--much to say on a most interesting subject." And he gives +the count what he intends to be a very meaning glance. + +"Interesting!" exclaims the count, his whole countenance lighting +up--"enthralling, overwhelming!--a matter to me of life or death!" + +As he speaks he turns aside, and begins to stride up and down the +room, as was his wont when much moved. + +"He! he! my dear count, pray be calm." And Trenta gives a little +laugh, and feebly winks. "We hope it is a matter of _life_, not of +_death_--no--not of _death_, surely." + +"Of death," replied the count, solemnly, and his mobile eyes flash +out, and a dark frown gathers on his brow--"of death, I repeat. Do you +take me for a trifler? I stake my life on the die." + +Trenta felt considerably puzzled. Before he begins, he is anxious to +assure himself that the nature of his errand had at least distinctly +dawned upon the count's mind, if it had not (as he hoped) been fully +understood by him. Should he let Marescotti speak first; or should he, +Trenta, address him formally? In order to decide, he again scans the +count's face closely. But, after doing so, he is obliged to confess +that Marescotti is impenetrable. Now he no longer strode up and down +the room, but he has seated himself opposite the cavaliere, and again +his speaking eyes have wandered off toward the book which he has +been reading. It is evident he is mentally resuming the same train of +thought Trenta's entrance had interrupted. Trenta feels therefore that +he must begin. He has prepared himself for some transcendentalism +on the subject of marriage; but with a man who is so much in love as +Count Marescotti, and who was about to send for him and to tell him +so, there can be no great difficulty; nor can it matter much who opens +the conversation. The cavaliere takes a spotless handkerchief from his +pocket, uses it, replaces it, then coughs. + +"Count," he begins, in a tone of conscious importance, "when I +proposed this meeting, it was to make you a proposal calculated to +exercise the utmost influence over your future life, and--the life of +another," he adds, in a lower tone. "You appear to have anticipated me +by desiring to send for me. You are, of course, aware of my errand?" + +As he asks this question, there is, spite of himself, a slight tremor +in his voice, and the usual ruddiness of his cheeks pales a little. + +"How very mysterious!" exclaims the count, throwing himself back in +his chair. "You look like a benevolent conspirator, cavaliere! Surely, +my dear old friend, you are not about to change your opinions, and to +become a disciple of freedom?" + +"Change my opinions! At my age, count!--Che, che!"--Trenta waves his +hand impatiently. "When a man arrives at my age, he does not change +his opinions--no, count, no; it is, if you will permit me to say so, +it is yourself in whom the change is to be wrought--yourself only--" + +The count, who is still leaning back in his chair in an attitude of +polite attention, starts violently, sits straight upright, and fixes +his eyes upon Trenta. + +"What do you mean, cavaliere? After a life devoted to my country, you +cannot imagine I should change? The very idea is offensive to me." + +"No, no, my dear count, you misapprehend me," rejoins Trenta, +soothingly. (He perceived the mistake into which the word "change" +had led Count Marescotti, and dreaded exciting his too susceptible +feelings.) "It is no change of that kind I allude to; the change I +mean is in the nature of a reward for the life of sacrifice you have +led--a reward, a consolation to your fervid spirit. It is to bring +you into an atmosphere of peace, happiness, and love. To reconcile you +perhaps, as a son, erring, but repentant, with that Holy Mother Church +to which you still belong. This is the change I am come to offer you." + +As the cavaliere proceeds, the count's expressive eyes follow every +word he utters with a look of amazement. He is about to reply, but +Trenta places his finger on his lips. + +"Let me continue," he says, smiling blandly. "When I have done, you +shall answer. In one word, count, it is marriage I am come to propose +to you." + +The count suddenly rises from his seat, then he hurriedly reseats +himself. A look of pain comes into his face. + +"Permit me to proceed," urges the cavaliere, watching him anxiously. +"I presume you mean to marry?" + +Marescotti was silent. Trenta's naturally piping voice grows shriller +as he proceeds, from a certain sense of agitation. + +"As the common friend of both parties, I am come to propose a marriage +to you, Count Marescotti." + +"And who may the lady be?" asks the count, drawing back with a sudden +air of reserve. "Who is it that would consent to leave home and +friends, perhaps country, to share the lot of a fugitive patriot?" + +"Come, come, count, this will not do," answers Trenta, smiling, a +certain twinkle returning to his blue eyes. "You are a perfectly free +agent. If you are a fugitive, it is because you like change. You bear +a great name--you are rich, singularly handsome--an ardent admirer of +beauty in art and Nature. Now, ardor on one side excites ardor on the +other." + +While he is speaking, Trenta had mentally decided that Marescotti +was the most impracticable man he had ever encountered in the various +phases of his court career. + +"A fugitive," he repeats, almost with a sneer. "No, no, count, this +will not do with me." The cavaliere pauses and clears his throat. + +"You have not yet answered me," says the count, speaking low, a +certain suppressed eagerness penetrating the assumed indifference of +his manner. "Who is the lady?" + +"Who is the lady?" echoes the cavaliere. "Did you not tell me just +now you were about to send for me?" Trenta speaks fast, a flush +overspreads his cheeks. "Who is the lady?--You astonish me! Per Bacco! +There can be but one lady in question between you and me--that lady is +Enrica Guinigi." His voice drops. There is a dead silence. + +"That the marriage is suitable in all respects," Trenta continues, +reassured by the silence--"I need not tell you; else I, Cesare Trenta, +would not be here as the ambassador." + +Again the stout little cavaliere stops to take breath, under evident +agitation; then he draws himself up, and turns his face toward the +count. As Trenta proceeds, Marescotti's brow is overclouded with +thought--a haggard expression now spreads over his features. His eyes +are turned downward on the floor, else the cavaliere might have +seen that their brilliancy is dimmed by rising tears. With his elbow +resting on the arm of the chair on which he sits, the count passes his +other hand from time to time slowly to and fro across his forehead, +pushing back the disordered curls that fall upon it. + +"To restore and to continue an illustrious race--to unite yourself +with a lovely girl just bursting into womanhood." Trenta's voice +quivers as he says this. "Ah! lovely indeed, in mind as well as body," +he adds, half aloud. "This is a privilege you, Count Marescotti, can +appreciate above all other men. That you do appreciate it you have +already made evident. There is no need for me to speak about Enrica +herself; you have already judged her. You have, before my eyes, +approached her with the looks and the language of passionate +admiration. It is not given to all men to be so fascinating. I have +seen it with delight. I love her"--his voice broke and shook with +emotion--"I love her as if she were my own child." + +All the enthusiasm of which the old chamberlain is capable passes into +his face as he speaks of Enrica. At that moment he really did look as +young as he was continually telling every one that he felt. + +"Count Marescotti," he continues, a solemn tone in his voice as he +slowly pronounces the words, raising his head at the same time, and +gazing fixedly into the other's face--Count Marescotti, "I am come +here to propose a marriage between you and Enrica Guinigi. The +marchesa empowers me to say that she constitutes Enrica her sole +heiress, not only of the great Guinigi name, but of the remaining +Guinigi palace, with the portrait of our Castruccio, the heirlooms, +the castle of Corellia, and lands of--" + +"Stop, stop, my dear Trenta!" cries the count, holding up both +his hands in remonstrance; "you overwhelm me. I require no such +inducements; they horrify me. Enrica Guinigi is sufficient in +herself--so bright a jewel requires no golden settings." + +At these words the cavaliere beams all over. He rubs his fat hands +together, then gently claps them. + +"Bravo!--bravo, count! I see you appreciate her. Per Dio! you make me +feel young again! I never was so happy in my life! I should like +to dance! I will dance by-and-by at the wedding. We will open the +state-rooms. There is not a grander suite in all Italy. It is superb. +I will dance a quadrille with the marchesa. Bagatella! I shall insist +on it. I will execute a solo in the figure of the _pastorelle_. I will +show Baldassare and all the young men the finish of the old style. +People did steps then--they did not jump like wild horses--nor knock +each other down. No--then dancing was practised as a fine art." + +Suddenly the brisk old cavaliere stops. The expression of Marescotti's +large, earnest eyes, fixed on him wonderingly, recalls him to himself. + +"Excuse me, my dear friend; when you are my age, you will better +understand an old man's feelings. We are losing time. Now get your +hat, and come with me at once to Casa Guinigi; the marchesa expects +you. We will settle the day of the betrothal.--My sweet Enrica, how I +long to see you!" + +While he is speaking Trenta rises and strikes his cane on the ground +with a triumphant air; then he holds out both his hands toward the +count. + +"Shake hands with me, my dear Marescotti. I congratulate you--with my +whole soul I congratulate you! She will be your salvation, the dear, +blue-eyed little angel?" + +In the tumult of his excitement Trenta had taken every thing for +granted. His thoughts had flown off to Enrica. His benevolent +heart throbbed with joy at the thought of her emancipation from +the thralldom of her home. A vision of the dark-haired, pale-faced +Marescotti, and the little blond head, with its shower of golden +curls, kneeling together before the altar in the sunshine, danced +before his eyes. Marescotti would become a, Christian--a firm pillar +of the Church; he would rear up children who would worship God and the +Holy Father; he would restore the glory of the Guinigi! + +From this roseate dream the poor cavaliere was abruptly roused. His +outstretched hand had not been taken by Marescotti. It dropped to +his side. Trenta looked up sharply. His countenance suddenly fell; a +purple flush covered it from chin to forehead, penetrating even the +very roots of his snowy hair. His cane dropped with a loud thud, and +rolled away along the uncarpeted floor. He thrust both his hands into +his pockets, and stood motionless, with his eyes wide open, like a man +stunned. + +"Dio buono!--Dio buono!" he muttered, "the man is mad!--the man is +mad!" Then, after a few minutes of absolute silence, he asked, in a +husky voice, "Marescotti, what does this mean?" + +The count had turned away toward the window. At the sound of the +cavaliere's husky voice, he moved and faced him. In the space of a +few moments he had greatly changed. Suddenly he had grown worn and +weary-looking. His eyes were sunk into his head; dark circles had +formed round them. His bloodless cheeks, transparent with the pallor +of perfect health, were blanched; the corners of his mouth worked +convulsively. + +"Does the lady--does Enrica Guinigi know of this proposal?" he asked, +in a voice so sad that the cavaliere's indignation against him cooled +considerably. + +"Good God!" exclaimed Trenta, "such a question is an insult to me and +to my errand. Can you imagine that I, all my life chamberlain to his +highness the Duke of Lucca, am capable of compromising a lady?" + +"Thank God!" ejaculated the count, emphatically, clasping his hands +together, and raising his eyes--"thank God! Forgive me for asking." +His whole voice and manner had changed as rapidly as his aspect. There +was a sense of suffering, a quiet resignation about him, so utterly +unlike his usual excitable manner that Trenta was puzzled beyond +expression--so puzzled, indeed, that he was speechless. Besides, a +veteran in etiquette, he felt that it was to himself an explanation +was due. Marescotti had been about to send for him. Now he was there, +Marescotti had heard his proposal, it was for Marescotti to answer. + +That the count felt this also was apparent. There was something solemn +in his manner as he turned away from the window and slowly advanced +toward the cavaliere. Trenta was still standing immovable on the same +spot where he had muttered in the first moment of amazement, "He is +mad!" + +"My dear old friend," said the count, speaking with evident effort in +a dull, sad voice, "there is some mistake. It was not to speak about +any lady that I was about to send for you." + +"Not about a lady!" cried Trenta, aghast. "Mercy of God!--" + +"Let that pass," interrupted the count, waving his hand. "You have +asked me for an explanation--an explanation you shall have." He sighed +deeply, then proceeded--the cavaliere following every word he uttered +with open mouth and wildly-staring eyes: "Of the lady I can say no +more than that, on my honor as a gentleman, to me she approaches +nearer the divine than any woman I have ever seen--nay, than any woman +I have ever dreamed of." + +A flash of fire lit up the depths of the count's dark eyes, and there +was a tone of melting tenderness in his rich voice as he spoke of +Enrica. Then he relapsed into his former weary manner--the manner of a +man pronouncing his own death-warrant. + +"Of the unspeakable honor you have done me, as has also the excellent +Marchesa Guinigi--it does not become me to speak. Believe me, I feel +it profoundly." And the count laid his hand upon his heart and bent +his grand head. Trenta, with formal politeness, returned the silent +salute. + +"But"--and here the count's voice faltered, and there was a dimness +in his eyes, round which the black circles had deepened--"but it is an +honor I must decline." + +Trenta, still rooted to the same spot, listened to each word that fell +from the count's lips with a look of anguish. + +"Sit down, cavaliere--sit down," continued Marescotti, seeing his +distress. He put his arm round Trenta's burly, well-filled figure, +and drew him down gently into the depths of the arm-chair. "Listen, +cavaliere--listen to what I have to say before you altogether condemn +me. The sacrifice I am making costs me more than I can express. You +hold before my eyes what is to me more precious than life; you tempt +me with what every sense within me--heart, soul, manliness--urges me +to clutch; yet I dare not accept it." + +He paused; so profound a sigh escaped him that it almost formed itself +into a groan. + +"I don't understand all this," said Trenta, reddening with +indignation. He had been by degrees collecting his scattered senses. +"I don't understand it at all. You have, count, placed me in a most +awkward position; I feel it very much. You speak of a mistake--a +misapprehension. I beg to say there has been none on my part; I am +not in the habit of making mistakes."--It will be seen that the +cavaliere's temper was rising with the sense of the intolerable injury +Count Marescotti was inflicting on himself and all concerned.--"I have +undertaken a very serious responsibility; I have failed, you tell me. +What am I to say to the marchesa?" + +His shrill voice rose into an angry cry. Altogether, it was more than +he could bear. For a moment, the injury to Enrica was forgotten in his +own personal sense of wrong. It was too galling to fail in an official +embassy Trenta, who always acted upon mature reflection, abhorred +failure. + +"Tell her," answered the count, raising his voice, his eyes kindling +as he spoke--"tell her I am here in Lucca on a sacred mission. I +confide it to her honor. A man sworn to a mission cannot marry. As in +the kingdom of heaven they neither marry nor are given in marriage, +so I, the anointed priest of the people, dare not marry; it would be +sacrilege." His powerful voice rang through the room; he raised his +hands aloft, as if invoking some unseen power to whom he belonged. +"When you, cavaliere, entered this room, I was about to confide my +position to you. I am at Lucca--Lucca, once the foster-mother of +progress, and, I pray Heaven, to become so again!--I am at Lucca to +found a mission of freedom." A sudden gesture told him how much Trenta +was taken aback at this announcement. "We differ in our opinions as +widely as the poles," continued the count, warming to his subject, +"but you are my old friend--I felt you would not betray me. Now, after +what has passed, as a man of honor, I am bound to confide in you. +O Italy! my country!" exclaimed the count, clasping his hands, and +throwing back his head in a frenzy of enthusiasm, "what sacrifice is +too great for thee? Youth, hope, love--nay, life itself--all--all I +devote to thee!" + +As he was speaking, a ray of sunlight penetrated through the closed +windows. It struck like a fiery arrow across the darkened room, and +fell full upon the count's upturned face, lighting up every line of +his noble countenance. There was a solemn passion in his eyes, a rapt +fervor in his gaze, that silenced even the justly-irritated Trenta. + +Nevertheless the cavaliere was not a man to be put off by mere words, +however imposing they might be. He returned, therefore, to the charge +perseveringly. + +"You speak of a mission, Count Marescotti; what is the nature of this +mission? Nothing political, I hope?" + +He stopped abruptly. The count's eyelids dropped over his eyes as he +met Trenta's inquiring glance. Then he bowed his head in acquiescence. + +"Another revolution may do much for Italy," he answered, in a low +tone. + +"For the love of God," ejaculated Trenta, stung to the quick by what +he looked upon at that particular moment as in itself an aggravation +of his wrongs, "don't remind me of your politics, or I shall instantly +leave the room. Domine Dio! it is too much. You have just escaped by +the veriest good luck (good luck, by-the-way, you did not in the least +deserve) a life-long imprisonment at Rome. You had a mission there, +too, I believe." + +This was spoken in as bitter a sneer as the cavaliere's kindly nature +permitted. + +"Now pray be satisfied. If you and I are not to part this very +instant, don't let me realize you as the 'Red count.' That is a +character I cannot tolerate." + +Trenta, so seldom roused to anger, shook all over with rage. "I +believe sincerely that it is such so-called patriots as yourself, with +their devilish missions, that will ruin us all." + +"It is because you are ignorant of the grandeur of our cause, it is +because you do not understand our principles, that you misjudge us," +responded the count, raising his eyes upon Trenta, and speaking with +a lofty disregard of his hot words. "Permit me to unfold to you +something of our philosophy, a philosophy which will resuscitate our +country, and place her again in her ancient position, as intellectual +monitress of Europe. You must not, cavaliere, judge either of my +mission or of my creed by the yelping of the miserable curs that +dog the heels of all great enterprises. There is the penetralia, the +esoteric belief, in all great systems of national belief." + +The count spoke with emphasis, yet in grave and measured accents; but +his lustrous eyes, and the wild confusion of those black locks, that +waved, as it were, sympathetic to his humor, showed that his mind was +engrossed with thoughts of overwhelming interest. + +The cavaliere, after his last indignant outburst, had subsided into +the depths of the arm-chair in which Marescotti had placed him; it was +so large as almost to swallow up the whole of his stout little person. +With his hands joined, his dimpled fingers interlaced and pointing +upward, he patiently awaited what the count might say. He felt +painfully conscious that he had failed in his errand. This irritated +him exceedingly. He had not entered that room--No. 4, at the Universo +Hotel--in order to listen to the elaboration of Count Marescotti's +mission, but in order to set certain marriage-bells ringing. These +marriage-bells were, it seemed, to be forever mute. Still, having +demanded an explanation of what he conceived to be the count's most +incomprehensible conduct, he was bound, he felt, in common courtesy, +to listen to all he had to say. + +Now Trenta never in his life was wanting in the very flower of +courtesy; he would much sooner have shot himself than be guilty of an +ill-bred word. So, under protest, therefore--a protest more distinctly +written in the general puckering up of his round, plump face, and a +certain sulky swell about his usually smiling mouth--it was clear he +meant to listen, cost him what it might. Besides, when he had heard +what the count had to say, it was clearly his duty to reason with him. +Who could tell that he might not yield to such a process? He avowed +that he was deeply enamored of Enrica--a man in love is already half +vanquished. Why should Marescotti throw away his chance of happiness +for a phantasy--a mere dream? There was no real obstacle. He +was versatile and visionary, but the very soul of honor. How, if +he--Trenta--could bring Marescotti to see how much it would be to +Enrica's advantage that he should transplant her from a dreary home, +to become a wife beside him? + +Decidedly it was still possible that he, Cesare Trenta, who had +arranged satisfactorily so many most difficult royal complications, +might yet bring Marescotti to reason. Who could tell that he might not +yet be spared the humiliation of returning to impart his failure to +the marchesa? A return, be it said, the good Trenta dreaded not a +little, remembering the characteristics of his dear friend, and the +responsibility of success which he had so confidently taken upon +himself before he started. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A NEW PHILOSOPHY. + + +There had been an interval of silence, during which the count paced up +and down the spacious room meditatively, each step sounding distinctly +on the stone floor. The rugged look of conscious power upon his +face, the far-way glance in his sombre eyes, showed that his mind was +working upon what he was about to say. Presently he ceased to walk, +reseated himself opposite the cavaliere, and fixed a half-absent gaze +upon him. + +Trenta, who would cheerfully have undergone any amount of suffering +rather than listen to the abominations he felt were coming, sat with +half-closed eyes, gathered into the corner of the arm-chair, the very +picture of patient martyrdom. + +The count contemplated him for a moment. As he did so an expression, +half cynical, half melancholy, passed over his countenance, and a +faint smile lurked about the corners of his mouth. Then in a voice +so full and sweet that the ear eagerly drank in the sound, like the +harmony of a cadence, he began: + +"The Roman Catholic Church," he said, "styles itself divinely +constituted. It claims to be supreme arbiter in religion and morals; +supreme even in measuring intellectual progress; absolute in its +jurisdiction over the state, and solely responsible to itself as to +what the limit of that jurisdiction shall be. It calls itself supreme +and absolute, because infallible--infallible because divine. Thus the +vicious circle is complete. Now entire obedience necessarily comes +into collision with every species of freedom--nay, it is in +itself antagonistic to freedom--freedom of thought, freedom of +action--specially antagonistic to national freedom." + +"The supremacy of the pope (the Holy Father)," put in Trenta, +meekly; he crossed himself several times in rapid succession, looking +afterward as if it had been a great consolation to him. + +"The supremacy of the pope," repeated the count, firmly, the shadow +of a smile parting his lips, "is eternal. It is based as firmly in the +next world as it is in this. It constitutes a condition of complete +tyranny both in time and in eternity. Now I," and the count's +voice rose, and his eyes glowed, "I--both in my public and private +capacity--(call me Antichrist if you please)." A visible shudder +passed over the poor cavaliere; his eyes closed altogether, and his +lips moved. (He was repeating an Ave Maria Sanctissima). "I abhor, I +renounce this slavery!--I rebel against it!--I will have none of it. +Who shall control the immortality of thought?--a Pius, a Gregory? +Ignorant dreamers, perjured priests!--never!" + +As he spoke, the count raised his right arm, and circled it in the +air. In imagination he was waving the flag of liberty over a prostrate +world. + +"But, alas! this slavery is riveted by the grasp of centuries; it +requires measures as firm and uncompromising as its own to dislodge +it. Now the pope "--Trenta did not this time attempt to correct +Marescotti--"the pope is theoretically of no nation, but in reality +he is of all nations; and he is surrounded by a court of celibate +priests, also without nation. Observe, cavaliere--this absolute +dominion is attained by celibates only--men with no family ties--no +household influences." (This was spoken, as it were, _en parenthese_, +as a comment on the earlier portion of the conversation that had taken +place between them.) "Each of these celibate priests is the pope's +courtier--his courtier and his slave; his slave because he is subject +to a higher law than the law of his own conscience, and the law of his +own country. Without home or family, nationality or worldly interest, +the priest is a living machine, to be used in whatever direction his +tyrant dictates. Every priest, therefore, be he cardinal or deacon, +moves and acts the slave of an abstract idea; an idea incompatible +with patriotism, humanity, or freedom." + +An audible and deep groan escaped from the suffering cavaliere as the +count's voice ceased. + +"Now, Cavaliere Trenta, mark the application." As the count proceeded +with his argument, his dark eyes, lit up with the enthusiasm of +his own oratory, riveted themselves on the arm-chair. (It could not +properly be said that his eyes riveted themselves on Trenta, for +he was stooping down, his face covered with his hands, altogether +insensible to any possible appeal that might be addressed to him.) "I, +Manfredi Marescotti, consecrated priest of the people"--and the count +drew himself up to the full height of his lofty figure--"I am as +devoted to my cause--God is my witness"--and he raised his right +hand as though to seal a solemn pledge of truth--"as that consecrated +renegade, the pope! My followers--and their name is legion--believe in +me as implicitly as do the tonsured dastards of the Vatican." + +Another ill-suppressed groan escaped from Trenta, and for a moment +interrupted the count's oration. The miserable cavaliere! He had, +indeed, invoked an explanation, and, cost him what it might, he must +abide it. But he began to think that the explanation had gone too +far. He was sitting there listening to blasphemies. He was actually +imperiling his own soul. He was horrified as he reflected that he +might not obtain absolution when he confessed the awful language +which was addressed to him. Such a risk was really greater than his +submission to etiquette exacted. There were bounds even to that, the +aged chamberlain told himself. + +Gracious heavens!--for him, an unquestioning papalino, a sincere +believer in papal infallibility and the temporal power--to hear the +Holy Father called a renegade, and his faithful servants stigmatized +as dastards! It was monstrous! + +He secretly resolved that, once escaped from No. 4 at the Universo +Hotel--and he wondered that a thunderbolt had not already struck the +count dead where he stood--he would never allow himself to have any +further intercourse whatever with him. + +"I have been elected," continued the count, speaking in the same +emphatic manner, and in the same distinct and harmonious voice, +utterly careless or unobservant of the conflict of feelings under +which the cavaliere was struggling--"head pope, if you please, +cavaliere, so to call me."--("God forbid!" muttered Trenta.)--"It +makes my analogy the clearer--I have been elected by thousands of +devoted followers. But my followers are not slaves, nor am I a tyrant. +I have accepted the glorious title of Priest of the People, and +nothing--_nothing_" the count repeated, vehemently, "shall tempt me +from my duty. I am here at Lucca to establish a mission--to plant +in this fertile soil the sacred banner of freedom--red as the first +streaks of light that lace the eastern heavens; red as the life-blood +from which we draw our being. I am here, under the protection of this +glorious banner, to combat the tyranny upon which the church and the +throne are based. Instead of the fetters of the past, binding mankind +in loathsome trammels of ignorance--instead of the darkness that +broods over a subjugated world--of terrors that rend agonized souls +with horrible tortures--I bring peace, freedom, light, progress. To +the base ideal of perpetual tyranny--both here and hereafter--I oppose +the pure ideal of absolute freedom--freedom to each separate soul to +work out for itself its own innate convictions--freedom to form its +independent destiny. Freedom in state, freedom in church, freedom in +religion, literature, commerce, government--freedom as boundless as +the sunshine that fructifies the teeming earth! Freedom of thought +necessitates freedom in government. As the soul wings itself toward +the light of simple truth, so should the body politic aspire to +perfect freedom. This can only be found in a pure republic; a republic +where all men are equal--where each man lives for the other in living +for himself--where brother cleaves to brother as his own flesh--family +is knit to family--one, yet many--one, yet of all nations!" + +"Communism, in fact!" burst forth the cavaliere. His piping voice, +now hoarse with rage, quivered. "You are here to form a communistic +association! God help us!" + +"I care not what you call it," cried the count, with a rising +passion. "My faith, my hope, is the ideal of freedom as opposed to the +abstraction of hierarchical superstition and monarchic tyranny. What +are popes, kings, princes, and potentates, to me who deem all men +equal? It is by a republic alone that we can regenerate our beloved, +our unfortunate Italy, now tossed between a debauched monarch--a +traitor, who yielded Savoy--an effete Parliament--a pack of lawyers +who represent nothing but their own interests, and a pope--the +recreant of Gaeta! The sooner our ideas are circulated, the sooner +they will permeate among the masses. Already the harvest has been +great elsewhere. I am here to sow, to reap, and to gather. For this +end--mark me, cavaliere, I entreat you--I am here, for none other." + +Here the triumphant patriot became suddenly embarrassed. He stopped, +hesitated, stopped again, took breath, and sighed; then turned full +upon Trenta, in order to obtain some response to the appeal he had +addressed to him. But again Trenta, sullenly silent, had buried +himself in the depths of the arm-chair, and was, so to say, invisible. + +"For this end" (a mournful cadence came into the count's voice when he +at length proceeded) "I am ready to sacrifice my life. My life!--what +is that? I am ready to sacrifice my love--ay, my love--the love of the +only woman who fulfills the longings of my poetic soul." + +The count ceased speaking. The fair Enrica, with her tender smile, +and patient, chastened loveliness--Enrica, as he had imagined her, the +type of the young Madonna, was before him. No, Enrica could never be +his; no child of his would ever be encircled by those soft, womanly +arms! With a strong effort to shake off the feeling which so deeply +moved him, the count continued: + +"In the boundless realms of ideal philosophy"--his noble features were +at this moment lit up into the living image of that hero he so much +resembled--"man grapples hand to hand with the unseen. There are no +limits to his glorious aspirations. He is as God himself. He, too, +becomes a Creator; and a new and purer world forms beneath his hand." + +"Have you done?" asked Trenta, looking up out of the arm-chair. He was +so thoroughly overcome, so subdued, he could have wept. From the very +commencement of the count's explanation, he had felt that it was not +given to him to combat his opinions. If he could, he was not sure that +he would have ventured to do so. "Let pitch alone," says the proverb. + +Now Trenta, of a most cleanly nature, morally and physically--abhorred +pitch, especially such pitch as this. He had long looked upon Count +Marescotti as an atheist, a visionary--but he had never conceived +him capable of establishing an organized system of rebellion and +communism. At Lucca, too! It was horrible! By some means such +an incendiary must be got rid of. Next to the foul Fiend himself +established in the city, he could conceive nothing more awful! It was +a Providence that Marescotti could not marry Enrica! He should tell +the marchesa so. Such sophistry might have perverted Enrica also. It +was more than probable that, instead of reforming him, she might have +fallen a victim to his wickedness. This reflection was infinitely +comforting to the much-enduring cavaliere. It lightened also much of +his apprehension in approaching the marchesa, as the bearer of the +count's refusal. + + +To Trenta's question as to "whether he had done," Marescotti had +promptly replied with easy courtesy, "Certainly, if you desire it. +But, my dear cavaliere," he went on to say, speaking in his usual +manner, "you will now understand why, cost me what it may, I cannot +marry. Never, never, I confess, have I been so fiercely tempted! But +the pang is past!" And he swept his hand over his brow. "Marriage with +me is impossible. You will understand this." + +"Yes, yes, I quite agree with you, count," put in Trenta--sideways, as +it were. He was rejoiced to find he had any common standing-point left +with Marescotti. "I agree with you--marriage is quite impossible. +I hope, too," he added, recovering himself a little, with a faint +twinkle in his eye, "you will find your mission at Lucca equally +impossible. San Riccardo grant it!" And the old man crossed himself, +and secretly fingered an image of the Virgin he wore about his neck. + +"Putting aside the sacred office with which I am invested," resumed +the count, without noticing Trenta's observation, "no wife could +sympathize with me. It would be a case of Byron over again. What agony +it would be to me to see the exquisite Enrica unable to understand +me! A poet, a mystic, I am only fit to live alone. My path"--and +a far-away look came into his eyes--"my path lies alone upon the +mountains--alone! alone!" he added sorrowfully, and a tear trembled on +his eyelid. + +"Then why, may I ask you," retorted Trenta, with energy, raising +himself upright in the arm-chair, "why did you mislead me by such +passionate language to Enrica? Recall the Guinigi Tower, your +attitude--your glances--I must say, Count Marescotti, I consider your +conduct unpardonable--quite unpardonable." + +Trenta's face and forehead were scarlet, his steely blue eyes were +rounded to their utmost width, and, as far as such mild eyes could, +they glared at the count. + +"You have entirely misled me. As to your political opinions, I have, +thank God, nothing to do with them; that is your affair. But in this +matter of Enrica you have unjustifiably misled me. I shall not forgive +you in a hurry, I can tell you." There was a rustling of anger all +over the cavaliere, as the leaves of the forest-trees rustle before +the breath of the coming tempest. + +"My admiration for women," replied the count, "has hitherto been +purely aesthetic. You, cavaliere, cannot understand the discrepancies +of an artistic nature. Women have been to me heretofore as beautiful +abstractions. I have adored them as I adore the works of the great +masters. I would as soon have thought of plucking a virgin from the +canvas--a Venus from her pedestal, as of appropriating one of them. +Enrica Guinigi"--there was a tender inflection in Count Marescotti's +voice whenever he named her, an involuntary bending of the head that +was infinitely touching--"Enrica Guinigi is an exception. I could have +loved her--ah! she is worthy of all love! Her soul is as rare as +her person. I read in the depths of her plaintive eyes the trust of +a child and the fortitude of a heroine. If I dared to give these +thoughts utterance, it was because I knew _she loved another!_" + +"Loved another?" screamed Trenta, losing all self-control and +tottering to his feet. "Loved another?" he repeated, every feature +working convulsively. "What do you mean?" + +Marescotti rose also. Was it possible that Trenta could be in +ignorance, he asked himself, hurriedly, as he stared at the aged +chamberlain, trembling from head to foot. + +"Loved another? You are mad, Count Marescotti, I always said so--mad! +mad!" Trenta gasped for breath. He was hardly able to articulate. + +The count bowed to him ironically. + +"Calm yourself, cavaliere," he said, haughtily, measuring from head +to foot the plump little cavaliere, who stood before him literally +panting with rage. "There is no need for violence. You and the +marchesa must have known of this. I shuddered, when I thought that +Enrica might have been driven into acquiescence with your proposal +against her will. I love her too much to have permitted it." + +The cavaliere could with difficulty bring himself to allow Marescotti +to finish. He was too furious to take in the full sense of what he +said. His throat was parched. + +"You must answer to me for this!" Trenta could barely articulate. +His voice was dry and hoarse. "You must--you shall. You have refused +Enrica, now you insult her. I demand--I demand satisfaction. No +excuse--no excuse!" he shouted. And seeing that Marescotti drew back +toward the window, the cavaliere pressed closer upon him, stamped +his foot upon the floor, and raised his clinched fist as near to the +count's face as his height permitted. + +Had the official sword hung at Trenta's side, he would undoubtedly +have drawn it at that moment and attacked him. In the defense of +Enrica he forgot his age--he forgot every thing. His very voice had +changed into a manly barytone. In the absence of his sword, Trenta +was evidently about to strike Marescotti. As he advanced, the other +retreated. + +A hot flush overspread the count's face for an instant, then it faded +out, and grew pale and rigid. He remembered the cavaliere's great age, +and checked himself. To avoid him, the count retreated to the farthest +limit of the room, hastily seized a chair, and barricaded himself +behind it. "I will not fight you, Cavaliere Trenta," he answered, +speaking with calmness. + +"Ah, coward!" screamed Trenta, "would you dishonor me?" + +"Cavaliere Trenta, this is folly," said the count, crossing his arms +on his breast. "Strike me if you please," he added, seeing that Trenta +still threatened him. "Strike me; I shall not return it. On my honor +as a gentleman, what I have said is true. Had you, cavaliere, been +a younger man, you must have heard it in the city, at the club, the +theatre; it is known everywhere." + +"What is known?" asked Trenta, hoarsely, standing suddenly motionless, +the flush of rage dying out of his countenance, and a look of helpless +suffering taking its place. + +"That Count Nobili loves Enrica Guinigi," answered Marescotti, +abruptly. + +Like a shot Baldassare's words rose to Trenta's remembrance. The poor +old chamberlain turned very white. He quivered like a leaf, and clung +to the table for support. + +"Pardon me, oh! pardon me a thousand times, if I have pained you," +exclaimed the count; he left the place where he was standing, threw +his arms round Trenta, and placed him with careful tenderness on a +seat. His generous heart upbraided him bitterly for having allowed +himself for an instant to be heated by the cavaliere's reproaches. +"How could I possibly imagine you did not know all this?" he asked, in +the gentlest voice. + +Trenta groaned. + +"Take me home, take me home," he murmured, faintly. "Gran Dio! the +marchesa! the marchesa!" He clasped his hands, then let them fall upon +his knees. + +"But what real obstacle can there be to a marriage with Count Nobili?" + +"I cannot speak," answered the cavaliere, almost inaudibly, trying to +rise. "Every obstacle." And he sank back helplessly on the chair. + +Count Marescotti took a silver flask from a drawer, and offered him a +cordial. Trenta swallowed it with the submissiveness of a child. The +count picked up his cane, and placed it in his hand. The cavaliere +mechanically grasped it, rose, and moved feebly toward the door. + +"Let me go," he said, faintly, addressing Marescotti, who urged him to +remain. "Let me go. I must inform the marchesa, I must see Enrica. Ah! +if you knew all!" he whispered, looking piteously at the count. "My +poor Enrica!--my pretty lamb! Who can have led her astray? How can it +have happened? I must go--go at once. I am better now. Yes--give me +your arm, count, I am a little weak. I thank you--it supports me." + +The door of No. 4 was at last opened. The cavaliere descended the +stairs very slowly, supported by Marescotti, whose looks expressed the +deepest compassion. A _fiacre_ was called from the piazza. + +"The Palazzo Trenta," said Count Marescotti to the driver, handing in +the cavaliere. + +"No, no," he faintly interrupted, "not there. To Casa Guinigi. I must +instantly see the marchesa," whispered Trenta in the count's ear. + +The _fiacre_ containing the unhappy chamberlain drove from the door, +and plunged into a dark street toward the cathedral. + +Count Marescotti stood for some minutes in the doorway, gazing after +it. The full blaze of a hot September sun played round his uncovered +head, lighting it up as with a glory. Then he turned, and, slowly +reascending the stairs to No. 4, opened his door, and locked it behind +him. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE MARCHESA'S PASSION. + + +The Marchesa Guinigi dined early. She had just finished when a knock +at the door of her squalid sitting-room on the second story, with the +pea-green walls and shabby furniture, aroused her from what was +the nearest approach to a nap in which she ever indulged. In direct +opposition to Italian habits, she maintained that sleeping in the day +was not only lazy, but pernicious to health. As the marchesa did not +permit herself to be lulled by the morphitic influences of those long, +dreary days of an Italian summer, which must perforce be passed +in closed and darkened chambers, and in a stifling atmosphere, she +resolutely set her face against any one in her palace enjoying this +national luxury. + +At the hottest moment of the twenty-four hours, and in the dog-days, +when the rays of a scalding sun pour down upon roof and wall and +tower like molten lead, searching out each crack and cranny with cruel +persistence, the marchesa was wont stealthily to descend into the +very bowels, as it were, of that great body corporate, the Guinigi +Palace--to see with her own eyes if her orders were obeyed. With hard +words, and threats of instant dismissal, she aroused her sleeping +household. No refuge could hide an offender--no hole, however dark, +could conceal so much as a kitchen-boy. + +The marchesa's eye penetrated everywhere. From garret to cellar she +knew the dimensions of every cupboard--the capacity of each nook--the +measure of the very walls. Woe to the unlucky sleeper! his slumbers +from that hour were numbered; she watched him as if he had committed a +crime. + +When the marchesa, as I have said, was aroused by a knock, she sat up +stiffly, and rubbed her eyes before she would say, "Enter." When she +spoke the word, the door slowly opened, and Cavaliere Trenta +stood before her. Never had he presented himself in such an abject +condition; he was panting for breath; he leaned heavily on his +gold-headed cane; his snowy hair hung in disorder about his forehead, +deep wrinkles had gathered on his face; his eyes were sunk in their +sockets, and his white lips twitched nervously, showing his teeth. + +"Cristo!" exclaimed the marchesa, fixing her keen eyes upon him, "you +are going to have a fit!" + +Trenta shook his head slowly. + +The marchesa pulled a chair to her side. The cavaliere sank into it +with a sigh of exhaustion, put his hand into his pocket, drew out his +handkerchief, placed it before his eyes, and sobbed aloud. + +"Trenta--Cesarino!"--and the marchesa rose, laid her long, white +fingers on his shoulder--it was a cruel hand, spite of its symmetry +and aristocratic whiteness--"what does this mean? Speak, speak! I hate +mystification. I order you to speak!" she added, imperiously. "Have +you seen Count Marescotti?" + +Trenta nodded. + +"What does he say? Is the marriage arranged?" + +Trenta shook his head. If his life had depended upon it he could not +have uttered a single word at that moment. His sobs choked him. Tears +ran down his aged cheeks, moistening the wrinkles and furrows now so +apparent. He was in such a piteous condition that even the marchesa +was softened as she looked at him. + +"If all this is because the marriage with Count Marescotti has failed, +you are a fool, Trenta! a fool, do you hear?" And she leaned over him, +tightened her hand upon his shoulder, and actually shook him. + +Trenta submitted passively. + +"On the whole, I am very glad of it. Do you hear? You talked me over, +Cesarino; I have repented it ever since. Count Marescotti is not the +man I should have selected for raising up heirs to the Guinigi. Now +don't irritate me," she continued, with a disdainful glance at the +cavaliere. "Have done with this folly. Do you hear?" + +"Enrica, Enrica!" groaned Trenta, who, always accustomed to obey +her, began wiping his eyes--they would, however, keep overflowing--"O +marchesa! how can I tell you?" + +"Tell me what?" demanded the marchesa, sternly. + +Her breath came short and quick, her thin face grew set and rigid. +Like a veteran war-horse, she scented the battle from afar! + +"Ah! if you only knew all!" And a great spasm passed over the +cavaliere's frame. "You must prepare yourself for the worst." + +The marchesa laughed--a short, contemptuous laugh--and shrugged her +shoulders. + +"Enrica, Enrica--what can she do?--a child! She cannot compromise me, +or my name." + +"Enrica has compromised both," cried Trenta, roused at last from +his paroxysm of grief. "Enrica has more than compromised it; she +has compromised all the Guinigi that ever lived--you, the palace, +herself--every one. Enrica has a lover!" The marchesa bounded from her +chair; her face turned livid in the waning light. + +"Who told you this?" she asked, in a strange, hollow voice, without +turning her eyes or moving a muscle of her face. + +"Count Marescotti," answered Trenta, meekly. + +He positively cowered beneath the pent-up wrath of the marchesa. + +"Who is the man?" + +"Nobili." + +"What!--Count Nobili?" + +"Yes, Count Nobili." + +With a great effort she commanded herself, and continued interrogating +Trenta. + +"How did Marescotti hear it?" + +"From common report. It is known all over Lucca." + +"Was this the reason that Count Marescotti declined to marry my +niece?" + +The marchesa spoke in the same strange tone, but she fixed her eyes +savagely on Trenta, so as to be able to convince herself how far he +might dare to equivocate. + +"That was a principal reason," replied the cavaliere, in a faltering +voice; "but there were others." + +"What are the others to me? The dishonor of my niece is sufficient." + +There was a desperate composure about the marchesa, more terrible than +passion. + +"Her dishonor! God and all the saints forbid!" retorted Trenta, +clasping his hands. "Marescotti did not speak of dishonor." + +"But I speak of dishonor!" shrieked the marchesa, and the pent-up +rage within her flashed out over her face like a tongue of fire. +"Dishonor!--the vilest, basest dishonor! What do I care "--and she +stamped her foot loudly on the brick floor--"what do I care what +Nobili has done to her? By that one fact of loving him she has soiled +this sacred roof." The marchesa's eyes wandered wildly round the room. +"She has soiled the name I bear. I will cast her forth into the street +to beg--to starve!" + +And as the words fell from her lips she stretched out her long arm and +bony finger as in a withering curse. + +"But, ha! ha!"--and her terrible voice echoed through the empty +room--"I forgot. Count Nobili loves her; he will keep her--in luxury, +too--and in a Guinigi palace!" She hissed out these last words. "She +has learned her way there already. Let her go--go instantly," the +marchesa's hand was on the bell. "Let her go, the soft-voiced viper!" + +The transport of fury which possessed the marchesa had had the effect +of completely recalling Trenta to himself. For his great age, Trenta +possessed extraordinary recuperative powers, both of body and mind. +Not only had he so far recovered while the marchesa had been speaking +as to arrange his hair and his features, and to smoothe the creases +of his official coat into something of their habitual punctilious +neatness, but he had had time to reflect. Unless he could turn +the marchesa from her dreadful purpose, Enrica (still under all +circumstances his beloved child) would infallibly be turned into the +street by her remorseless aunt. + +At the moment that the marchesa had laid her hand upon the bell, +Trenta darted forward and tore it from her hand. + +"For the love of the Virgin, pause before you commit so horrible an +act!" + +So sudden had been his movement, so unwonted his energy, that the +marchesa was checked in the very climax of her passion. + +"If you have no mercy on a child that you have reared at your side," +exclaimed Trenta, laying his hand on hers, "spare yourself, your name, +your house, such a scandal! Is it for this that you cherish the name +of the great Paolo Guinigi, whose acts were acts of clemency and +wisdom? Is it for this you honor the memory of Castruccio Castracani, +who was called the 'father of the people?' Bethink you, marchesa, that +they lived under this very roof. You dare not--no, not even you--dare +not tarnish their memories! Call Enrica here. It is the barest justice +that the accused should be heard. Ask her what she has done? Ask her +what has passed? How she has met Count Nobili? Until an hour ago I +could have sworn she did not even know him." + +"Ay, ay," burst out the marchesa, "so could I. How did she come to +know him?" + +"That is precisely what we must learn," continued Trenta, eagerly +seizing on the slightest abatement of the marchesa's wrath. "That is +what we must ask her. Marchesa, in common decency, you cannot put +your own niece out of your house without seeing her and hearing her +explanation." + +"You may call her, if you please," answered the marchesa, with a look +of dogged rage; "but I warn you, Cesare Trenta, if she avows her love +for Nobili in my presence, I shall esteem that in itself the foulest +crime she can commit. If she avows it, she leaves my house to-night. +Let her die!--I care not what becomes of her!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +ENRICA'S TRIAL. + + +The Cavaliere Trenta, without an instant's delay, seized the bell and +rang it. The broken-down retainer, in his suit of well-worn livery, +shuffled in through the anteroom. + +"What did the excellency command?" he asked in a dreary voice, as the +marchesa did not address him. + +"Tell the signorina that the Marchesa Guinigi desires her presence +immediately," answered the cavaliere, promptly. He would not give her +an opportunity of speaking. + +"Her excellency shall be obeyed," replied the servant, still +addressing himself to the marchesa. He bowed, then glided noiselessly +from the room. + +A door is heard to open, then to shut; a bell is rung; there is a +muttered conversation in the anteroom, and the sound of receding +footsteps; then a side-door in the corner of the sitting-room near the +window opens; there is the slight rustle of a summer dress, and Enrica +stands before them. + +It is the same hour of sunset as when she had sat there three days +before, knitting beside the open casement, with the twisted marble +colonnettes and delicate tracery. The same subtile fragrance of the +magnolia rises upward from the waxy leaves of the tall flowering trees +growing beneath in the Moorish garden. The low rays of the setting sun +flit upon her flaxen hair, defining each delicate curl, and sharply +marking the outline of her slight girlish figure; the slender waist, +the small hands. Even the little foot is visible under the folds of +her light dress. + +Enrica's face is in shadow, but, as she raises it and sees the +cavaliere seated beside her aunt, a quiet smile plays about her mouth, +and a gleam of pleasure rises in her eyes. + +What is it that makes youth in Italy so fresh and beautiful--so lithe, +erect, and strong? What gives that lustre to the eye, that ripple to +the hair, that faultless mould to the features, that mellowness to the +skin--like the ruddy rind of the pomegranate--those rounded limbs that +move with sovereign ease--that step, as of gods treading the earth? +Is it the color of the golden skies? Is it a philter brewed by the +burning sunshine? or is it found in the deep shadows that brood in +the radiance of the starry night? Is it in those sounds of music +ever floating in the air? or in the solemn silence of the +primeval chestnut-woods? Does it come in the crackling of the +mountain-storm--in the terror of the earthquake? Does it breathe from +the azure seas that belt the classic land--or in the rippling +cadence of untrodden streams amid lonely mountains? Whence comes +it?--how?--where? I cannot tell. + +The marchesa is seated on her accustomed seat; her face is shaded by +her hand. So stern, so solemn, is her attitude that her chair seems +suddenly turned into a judgment-seat. + +The cavaliere has risen at Enrica's entrance. Not daring to display +his feelings in the presence of the marchesa, he thrusts his hands +into his pockets, and stands behind her, his head partly turned away, +leaning against the edge of the marble mantel-piece. There is such +absolute silence in the room that the ticking of a clock is distinctly +heard. It is the deadly pause before the slaughter of the battle. "You +sent for me, my aunt?" Enrica speaks in a timid voice, not moving from +the spot where she has entered, near the open window. "What is your +pleasure?" + +"My pleasure!" the marchesa catches up and echoes the words with a +horrible jeer. (She had been collecting her forces for attack; she had +lashed herself into a transport of fury. Her smooth, snake-like +head was reared erect; her upright figure, too thin to be majestic, +stiffened. Thunder and lightning were in her eyes as she turned them +on Enrica.) "You dare to ask me my pleasure! You shall hear it, lost, +miserable girl! Leave this house--go to your lover! Let it be the +motto of his low-born race that a Nobili dishonored a Guinigi. Go--I +wish you were dead!" and she points with her finger toward the door. + +Every word that fell from the marchesa sounded like a curse. As she +speaks, the smiles fade out of Enrica's face as the lurid sunlight +fades before the rising tempest. She grasps a chair for support. Her +bosom heaves under the folds of her thin white dress. Her eyes, which +had fixed themselves on her aunt, fall with an agonized expression on +the floor. Thus she stands, speechless, motionless, passive; stunned, +as it were, by the shock of the words. + +Then a low cry of pain escapes her, a cry like the complaint of a dumb +animal--the bleat of a lamb under the butcher's knife. + +"Have I not reared you as my own child?" cries the marchesa--too +excited to remain silent in the presence of her victim. "Have you ever +left my side? Yet under my ancestral roof you have dared to degrade +yourself. Out upon you!--Go, go--or with my own hand I shall drive you +into the street!" + +She starts up, and is rushing upon Enrica, who stands motionless +before her, when Trenta steps forward, puts his hand firmly on the +marchesa's arm, and draws her back. + +"You have called Enrica here," he whispers, "to question her. Do +so--do so. Look, she is so overcome she cannot speak," and he points +to Enrica, who is now trembling like an aspen-leaf, her fair head +bowed upon her bosom, the big tears trickling down her white cheeks. + +When the marchesa, checked by Trenta, has ceased speaking, Enrica +raises her heavy eyelids and turns her eyes, swimming in tears, +upon her aunt. Then she clasps her hands--the small fingers knitting +themselves together with a grasp of agony--and wrings them. Her lips +move, but no sound comes from them. Something there is so pitiful in +this mute appeal--she looks so slight and frail in the background of +the fading sunlight--there is such a depth of unspoken pathos in +every line of her young face--that the marchesa pauses; she pauses ere +putting into execution her resolve of turning Enrica herself, with her +own hands, from the palace. + +A new sentiment has also within the last few minutes arisen within +her--a sentiment of curiosity. The marchesa is a woman; in many +respects a thorough woman. The first flash of fury once passed, she +feels an intense longing to know how all this had come about. What had +passed? How had Enrica met Nobili? Whether any of her household had +betrayed her? On whom her just vengeance shall fall? + +Each moment that passes as the quick thoughts rattle through her +brain, it seems to her more and more imperative that she should inform +herself what had really happened under her roof! + +At this moment Enrica speaks in a low voice. + +"O my aunt! I have done nothing! Indeed, indeed,"--and a great sob +breaks in and cuts her speech. "I have done nothing." + +"What!" cries the marchesa, her fury again roused by such a daring +assertion. "What do you call nothing? Do you deny that you love +Nobili?" + +"No, my aunt. I love him--I love him." + +The mention of Nobili's name gave Enrica courage. With that name +the sunlit days of meeting came back again. A gleam of their divine +refraction swam before her. Nobili--is he not strong, and brave, and +true? Is he not near at hand? Oh, if he only knew her need!--oh, if he +could only rush to her--bear her in his arms away--away to untrodden +lands of love and bliss where she could hide her head upon his breast +and be at peace! + +All this gave her courage. She passes her hand over her face and +brushes the tears away. Her blue eyes, that shine out now like a rent +in a cloudy sky, are meekly but fearlessly cast upon her aunt. + +"You dare to tell me you love him--you dare to avow it in my presence, +degraded girl! have you no pride--no decency?" + +"I have done nothing," Enrica answers in the same voice, "of which +I am ashamed. From the first moment I saw him I loved him. I +loved--him--oh! how I loved him!" She repeats this softly, as if +speaking to herself. An inner light shines over her whole countenance. +"And Nobili loves me. I know it." Her voice sounds sweet and firm. "He +is mine!" + +"Fool, you think so; you are but one of many!" The marchesa, incensed +beyond endurance at her firmness, raises her head with the action of +a snake about to spring upon its prey. "Dare you deny that you are his +mistress?" + +(Could the marchesa have seen the cavaliere standing behind her, at +that moment, and how those eyes of his were riveted on Enrica with a +look in which hope, thankfulness, pity, and joy, crossed and combated +together--mercy on us! she would have turned and struck him!) + +The shock of the words overcame Enrica. She fixes her eyes on her aunt +as if not understanding their meaning. Then a deep blush covers her +from head to foot; she trembles and presses both her hands to her +bosom as if in pain. + +"Spare her, spare her!" is heard in less audible sounds from Trenta to +the marchesa. The marchesa tosses her head defiantly. + +"I am to be Count Nobili's wife," Enrica says at last, in a faltering +voice. "The Holy Mother is my witness, I have done nothing wrong. I +have met him in the cathedral, and at the door of the Moorish garden. +He has written to me, and I have answered." + +"Doubtless; and you have met him alone?" asked the marchesa, with a +savage sneer. + +"Never, my aunt; Teresa was always with me." + +"Teresa, curse her! She shall leave the house as naked as she came +into it. How many other of my servants did you corrupt?" + +"Not one; it was known to her and to me only." + +"And why not to me, your guardian? why not to me?" And the marchesa +advances step by step toward Enrica, as the bitter consciousness of +having been hoodwinked by such a child fills her with fresh rage. "You +have deceived me--I who have fed and clothed and nourished you--I who, +but for this, would have endowed you with all I have, bequeathed to +you a name greater than that of kings! Answer me this, Enrica. Leave +off wringing your hands and turning up your eyes. Answer me!" + +"My aunt, I was afraid." + +"Afraid!" and the marchesa laughs a loud and scornful laugh; "you were +not, afraid to meet this man in secret." + +"No. Fear him! what had I to fear? Nobili loves me." + +The word was spoken. Now she had courage to meet the marchesa's +gaze unmoved, spite of the menace of her look and attitude. Enrica's +conscience acquitted her of any wrong save the wrong of concealment, +"Had you asked me," she adds, more timidly, "I should have spoken. You +have asked me now, and I have told you." + +The very spirit of truth spoke in Enrica. Not even the marchesa could +doubt her. Enrica had not disgraced the name she bore. She believed +her; but there was a sting behind sharper to her than death. That +sting remained. Enrica had confessed her love for the man she hated! + +As to the cavaliere, the difficulty he experienced at this moment in +controlling his feelings amounted to positive agony. His Enrica is +safe! San Riccardo be thanked! She is safe--she is pure! Except +his eyes, which glowed with the secret ecstasy he felt, he appeared +outwardly as impassive as a stone. The marchesa turned and reseated +herself. There is, spite of her violence, an indescribable majesty +about her as she sits erect and firm upon her chair in judgment on her +niece. Right or wrong, the marchesa is a woman born to command. + +"It is not for me," she says, with lofty composure, "to reason with +a love-sick girl, whose mind runs to the tune of her lover's name. +Of all living men I abhor Count Nobili. To love him, in my eyes, is +a crime--yes, a crime," she repeats, raising her voice, seeing that +Enrica is about to speak. "I know him--he is a vain, purse-proud +reprobate. He has come and planted himself like a mushroom within our +ancient walls. Nor did this content him--he has had the presumption to +lodge himself in a Guinigi palace. The blood in his veins is as mud. +That he cannot help, nor do I reproach him for it; but he has forced +himself into our class--he has mingled his name with the old names of +the city; he has dared to speak--live--act--as if he were one of us. +You, Enrica, are the last of the Guinigi. I had hoped that a child I +had reared at my side would have learned and reflected my will--would +have repaid me for years of care by her obedience." + +"O my aunt!" exclaims Enrica, sinking on her knees, "forgive +me--forgive me! I am ungrateful." + +"Rise," cries the marchesa, sternly, not in the least touched by this +outburst of natural feeling. "I care not for words--your acts show you +have defied me. The project which for years I have silently nursed +in my bosom, waiting for the fitting time to disclose it to you--the +project of building up through you the great Guinigi name." + +The marchesa pauses; she gasps, as if for breath. A quick flush steals +over her white face, and for a moment she leans back in her chair, +unable to proceed. Then she presses her hand to her forehead, on which +the perspiration had risen in beads. + +"Alas! I did not know it!" Enrica is now sobbing bitterly. "Why--oh! +why, did you not trust me?" + +In a strange, weary-sounding voice the marchesa continues: + +"Let us not speak of it. Enrica"--she turns her gray eyes full +upon her, as she stands motionless in front of the pillared +casement--"Enrica, you must choose. Renounce Nobili, or prepare to +enter a convent. His wife you can never be." + +As a shot that strikes a brightly-plumaged bird full in its +softly-feathered breast, so did these dreadful words strike Enrica. +There is a faint, low cry, she has fallen upon the floor! + +The marchesa did not move, but, looking at her where she lay, she +slowly shook her head. Not so the cavaliere. He rushed forward, and +raised her tenderly in his arms. The tears streamed down his aged +cheeks. + +"Take her away!" cried the marchesa; "take her away! She has broken my +heart!" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +WHAT CAME OF IT. + + +When Cavaliere Trenta returned, after he had led away Enrica, and +consigned her to Teresa, he was very grave. As he crossed the room +toward the marchesa, he moved feebly, and leaned heavily on his stick. +Then he drew a chair opposite to her, sat down, heaved a deep sigh, +and raised his eyes to her face. + +The marchesa had not moved. She did not move now, but sat the picture +of hard, haughty despair--a despair that would gnaw body and soul, yet +give no sigh. But the cavaliere was now too much absorbed by Enrica's +sufferings to affect even to take much heed of the marchesa. + +"This is a very serious business," he began, abruptly. "You may +have to answer for that girl's life. I shall be the first to witness +against you." + +Never in her life had the marchesa heard Cesare Trenta deliver himself +of such a decided censure upon her conduct. His wheedling, coaxing +manner was all gone. He was neither the courtier nor the counselor. +He neither insinuated nor suggested, but spoke bluntly out bold words, +and those upon a subject she esteemed essentially her own. Even in the +depth of her despondency it made a certain impression upon her. + +She roused herself and glared at him, but there was no shrinking in +his face. Trenta's clear round eyes, so honest and loyal in their +expression, seemed to pierce her through and through. She fancied, +too, that he contemplated her with a sort of horror. + +"You have accused Enrica," he continued; "she has cleared herself. You +cannot doubt her. Why do you continue to torture her?" + +"That is my affair," answered the marchesa, doggedly. "She has +deceived me, and defied me. She has outraged the usages of society. Is +not that enough?" + +"You have brought her up to fear you," interrupted Trenta. "Had she +not feared you, she would never have deceived you." + +"What is that to you? How dare you question me?" cried the marchesa, +the glitter of passion lighting up her eyes. "Is it not enough that +by this deception she has foiled me in the whole purpose of my life? I +have given her the choice. Resign Nobili, or a convent." + +Saying this, she closed her lips tightly. Trenta, in the heat of his +enthusiasm for Enrica, had gone too far. He felt it; he hastened to +rectify his error. + +"Every thing that concerns you and your family, Marchesa Guinigi, is a +subject of overwhelming interest to me." + +Now the cavaliere spoke in his blandest manner. The smoothness of +the courtier seemed to unknit the wrinkles on his face. The look of +displeasure melted out of his eyes, the roughness fled from his voice. + +"Remember, marchesa, I am your oldest friend. A crisis has arrived; a +scandal may ensue. You must now decide." + +"I have decided," returned the marchesa; "that decision you have +heard." And again her lips closed hermetically. + +"But permit me. There are many considerations that will doubtless +present themselves to you as necessary ingredients of this decision. +If Enrica goes into religion, the Guinigi race is doomed. Why should +you, with your own hand, destroy the work of your life? If Enrica will +not consent to renounce her engagement to Count Nobili, why should she +not marry him? There is no real obstacle other than your will." + +No sooner were these daring words uttered, than the cavaliere +positively trembled. The marchesa listened to them in ominous silence. +Such a possibility had never presented itself for a instant to her +imagination. She turned slowly round, pressed her hands tightly on her +knees, and darkly eyed him. + +"You think that I should consent to such a marriage?" she asked in a +deep voice, a mocking smile upon her lips. + +"I think, marchesa, that you should sacrifice every thing--yes--every +thing." And Trenta, feeling himself on safe ground, repeated the word +with an audacity that would have surprised those who only knew him +in the polite details of ordinary life. "I think that you should +sacrifice every thing to the interests of your house." + +This was hitting the marchesa home. She felt it and winced; but her +resolution was unshaken. + +"Did I not know that you are descended from a line as ancient, though +not so illustrious as my own, I should think I was listening to a Jew +peddler of Leghorn," she replied, with insolent cynicism. + +The cavaliere felt deeply offended, but had the presence of mind to +affect a smile, as though what she had said was an excellent joke. + +"Nobili shall never mix his blood with the Guinigi--I swear it! Rather +let our name die out from the land." + +She raised both her hands in the twilight to ratify the imprecation +she had hurled upon her race. Her voice died away into the corner of +the darkening room; her thoughts wandered. She sat in spirit upon the +seigneurial throne, below, in the presence-chamber. Should Nobili sit +there, on that hallowed seat of her ancestors?--the old Lombard +palace call him master, living--gather his bones with their ashes, +dead?--Never! Better far moulder into ruin as they had mouldered. Had +she not already permitted herself to be too much influenced? She had +offered Enrica in marriage to Count Marescotti, and he had refused +her--refused her niece! + +Suddenly she shook off the incubus of these thoughts and turned toward +Trenta. He had been watching her anxiously. + +"I can never forgive Enrica," she said. "She may not have disgraced +herself--that matters little--but she has disgraced me. She must enter +a convent; until then I will allow her to remain in my house." + +"Exactly," burst in Trenta, again betrayed into undue warmth by this +concession. + +The cavaliere was old; he had seen that life revolves itself strangely +in a circle, from which we may diverge, but from which we seldom +disentangle ourselves. Desperate resolves are taken, tragedies are +planned, but Fate or Providence intervenes. The old balance pendulates +again--the foot falls into the familiar step. Death comes to cut the +Gordian knot. The grave-sod covers all that is left, and the worm +feeds on the busy brain. + +As a man of the world, Trenta was a profound believer in the chapter +of accidents. + +"I will not put Enrica out of my house," resumed the marchesa, +gazing at him suspiciously. (Trenta seemed, she thought, wonderfully +interested in Enrica's fate. She had noticed this interest once +before. She did not like it. What was Enrica to him? Trenta was _her_ +friend.) "But she shall remain on one condition only--Nobili's name +must never be mentioned. You can inform her of this, as you have taken +already so much upon yourself. Do you hear?" + +"Certainly, certainly," answered the chamberlain with alacrity. "You +shall be obeyed. I will answer for it--excellent marchesa, you are +right, always right"--and he stooped down and gently took her thin +fingers in his fat hands, and touched them with his lips. + +"I will cause no scandal," she continued, withdrawing her hand. "Once +in a convent, Enrica can harm no one." + +"No, certainly not," responded Trenta, "and the family will become +extinct. This palace and its precious heirlooms will be sold." + +The marchesa put out her hand with silent horror. + +"It is the case with so many of our great families," continued the +impassable Trenta. "Now, on the other hand, Enrica may possibly change +her mind; Nobili may change his mind. Circumstances quite unforeseen +may occur--who can answer for circumstances?" + +The marchesa listened silently. This was always a good sign; she +was too obstinate to confess herself convinced. But, spite of her +prejudices, her natural shrewdness forbade her to reject absolutely +the voice of reason. + +"I shall not treat Enrica cruelly," was her reply, "nor will I cause a +scandal, but I can never forgive her. By this act of loving Nobili she +has separated herself from me irrevocably. Let her renounce him; she +has her choice--mine is already made." + +The cavaliere listened in silence. Much had been gained, in his +opinion, by this partial concession. The subject had been broached, +the hated name mentioned, the possibility of the marriage mooted. He +rose with a cheerful smile to take his leave. + +"Marchesa, it is late--permit me to salute you; you must require +repose." + +"Yes," she answered, sighing deeply. "It seems to me a year since I +entered this room. I must leave Lucca. Enrica cannot, after what +has passed, remain here. Thanks to her, I, in the solitude of my own +palace, am become the common town-talk. Cesare, I shall leave Lucca +to-morrow for my villa of Corellia. Good-night." + +The cavaliere again kissed her hand and departed. + +"If that weathercock of a thousand colors, that idiot, Marescotti," +muttered the cavaliere, as he descended the stairs, "could only be got +to give up his impious mission, and marry the dear child, all might +yet be right. He has an eye and a tongue that would charm a woman +into anything. Alas! alas! what a pasticcio!--made by herself--made by +herself and her lawsuits about the defunct Guinigi--damn them!" + +It was seldom that the cavaliere used bad words--excuse him. + + + + +PART III + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A LONELY TOWN. + + +The road from Lucca to Corellia lies at the foot of lofty mountains, +over-mantled by chestnut-forests, and cleft asunder by the river +Serchio--the broad, willful Serchio, sprung from the flanks of virgin +fastnesses. In its course a thousand valleys open up, scoring the +banks. Each valley has its tributary stream, down which, even in the +dog-days, cool breezes rustle. The lower hills lying warm toward the +south, and the broad glassy lands by the river, are trellised with +vines. Some fling their branches in wild festoons on mulberry or aspen +trees. Some trained in long arbors are held up by pillars of unbarked +wood; others trail upon the earth in delicious luxuriance. The white +and purple grapes peep from the already shriveled leaves, or hang in +rich masses on the brown earth. + +It is the vintage. The peasants, busy as bees, swarm on the +hill-sides; the women pluck the fruit; the men bear it away in wooden +measures. While they work, they sing those wild Tuscan melodies that +linger in the air like long-drawn sighs. The donkeys, too, climb up +and down, saddled with wooden panniers, crammed with grapes. These +grapes are shot into large tubs, and placed in a shady outhouse. Some +black-eyed boy will dance merrily on these tubs, by-and-by, with his +naked feet, and squeeze out the juice. This juice is then covered and +left to ferment, then bottled into flasks, covered with wicker-work, +corked with tow, and finally stowed away in caves among the rocks. + +The marchesa's lumbering coach, drawn by three horses harnessed +abreast (another horse, smaller than the rest, put in tandem in +front), creaks along the road by the river-side, on its high wheels. +She sits within, a stony look upon her hard white face. Enrica, pale +and silent, is beside her. No word has passed between them since they +left Lucca two hours ago. They pass groups of peasants, their labors +over for the day--turning out of the vineyards upon the high-road. The +donkeys are driven on in front. They are braying for joy; their faces +are turned homeward. Boys run at their heels, and spur them on with +sticks and stones. The women lag behind talking--their white head-gear +and gold ear-rings catching the low sunshine that strikes through +rents of parting mountains. Every man takes off his hat to the +marchesa; every woman wishes her good-day. + +It is only the boys who do not fear her. They have no caps to raise; +when the carriage has passed, they leave the donkeys and hang on +behind like a swarm of bees. The driver is quite aware of this, and +his long whip, which he has cracked at intervals all the way from +Lucca--would reach the grinning, white-toothed little vagabonds well; +but he--the driver--grins too, and spares them. + +Together they all mount the zigzag mountain-pass, that turns short off +from the right bank of the valley of the Serchio, toward Corellia. The +peasants sing choruses as they trudge upward, taking short cuts among +the trees at the angles of the zigzag. The evening lights come and go +among the chestnut-trees and on the soft, short grass. Here a fierce +flick of sunshine shoots across the road; there deep gloom darkens an +angle into which the coach plunges, the peasants, grouped on the top +of a bank overhead, standing out darkly in the yellow glow. + +It is a lonely pass in the very bosom of the Apennines, midway between +Lucca and Modena. In winter the road is clogged with snow; nothing can +pass. Now, there is no sound but the singing of water-falls, and the +trickle of water-courses, the chirrup of the _cicala_, not yet gone +to its rest--and the murmur of the hot breezes rustling in the distant +forest. + +No sound--save when sudden thunder-pelts wake awful echoes among the +great brotherhood of mountain-tops--when torrents burst forth, pouring +downward, flooding the narrow garden ledges, and tearing away the patches +of corn and vineyard, the people's food. Before--behind--around--arise +peaks of purple Apennines, cresting upward into the blue sky--an earthen +sea dashed into sudden breakers, then struck motionless. In front, in +solitary state, rises the lofty summit of La Pagna, casting off its giant +mountain-fellows right and left, which fade away into a golden haze toward +Modena. + +High up overhead, crowning a precipitous rock, stands Corellia, a +knot of browned, sun-baked houses, flat-roofed, open-galleried, +many-storied, nestling round a ruined castle, athwart whose rents the +ardent sunshine darts. This ruined castle and the tower of an ancient +Lombard church, heavily arched and galleried with stone, gleaming +out upon a surface of faded brickwork, form the outline of the little +town. It is inclosed by solid walls, and entered by an archway so low +that the marchesa's driver has to dismount as he passes through. The +heavy old carriage rumbles in with a hollow noise; the horse's hoofs +strike upon the rough stones with a harsh, loud sound. + +The whole town of Corellia belongs to the marchesa. It is an ancient +fief of the Guinigi. Legend says that Castruccio Castracani was born +here. This is enough for the marchesa. As in the palace of Lucca, she +still--even at lonely Corellia--lives as it were under the shadow of +that great ancestral name. + +Lonely Corellia! Yes, it is lonely! The church bells, high up in the +Lombard tower sound loudly the matins and the eventide. They sound +louder still on the saints days and festivals. With the festivals +pass summer and winter, both dreary to the poor. Children are born, +and marriage-flutes wake the echoes of the mountain solitudes--and +mothers weep, hearing them, remembering their young days and present +pinching want. The aged groan, for joy to them comes like a fresh +pang! + +The marchesa's carriage passes through Corellia at a foot's pace. The +driver has no choice. It is most difficult to drive at all--the street +is so narrow, and the door-steps of the houses jut out so into the +narrow space. The horses, too, hired at Lucca, twenty miles away, are +tired, poor beasts, and reeking with the heat. They can hardly keep +their feet upon the rugged, slippery stones that pave the dirty +alley. As the marchesa passes slowly by, wan-faced women--colored +handkerchiefs gathered in folds upon their heads, knitting or spinning +flax cut from the little field without upon the mountain-side--put +down the black, curly-headed urchins that cling to their laps--rise +from where they are resting on the door-step, and salute the marchesa +with an awe-struck stare. She, in no mood for condescension, answers +them with a frown. Why have these wan-faced mothers, with scarcely +bread to eat, children between their knees? Why has God given her +none? Again the impious thought rises within her which tempted her +when standing before the marriage-bed in the nuptial chamber. "God is +my enemy." "He has smitten me with a curse." "Why have I no child?" +"No child, nothing but her"--and she flashes a savage glance at +Enrica, who has sunk backward, covering her tear-stained face with +a black veil, to avoid the peering eyes of the Corellia +townsfolk--"nothing but her. Born to disgrace me. Would she were dead! +Then all would end, and I should go down--the last Guinigi--to an +honored grave." + +The sick, too, are sitting at the doorways as the marchesa passes +by. The mark of fever is on many an ashy cheek. These sick have been +carried from their beds to breathe such air as evening brings. Air! +There is no air from heaven in these foul streets. No sweet breath +circulates; no summer scents of grasses and flowers reach the lonely +town hung up so high. The summer sun scorches. The icy winds of +winter, sweeping down from Alpine ridges, whistle round the walls. +Within are chilly, desolate hearths, on which no fire is kindled. +These sick, as the carriage passes, turn their weary eyes, and lift up +their wasted hands in mute salutations to that dreaded mistress who is +lord of all--the great marchesa. Will they not lie in the marchesa's +ground when their hour comes? Alas! how soon--their weakness tells +them very soon! Will they not be carried in an open bier up those +long flights of steps--all hers--cut in the rocky sides of overlapping +rocks, to the cemetery, darkly shaded by waving cypresses? The ground +is hers, the rocks, the steps, the stones, the very flowers that +brown, skinny hands will sprinkle on their bier--all hers. From birth +to bridal, and the marriage-bed (so fruitful to the poor), from bridal +to death, all hers. The land they live on, and the graves they fill, +all--but a shadow of her greatness! + +At the corner of the squalid, ill-smelling street through which she +is now passing, is the town fountain. This fountain, once a willful +mountain-torrent, now cruelly captured and borne hither by municipal +force, splashes downward through a sculptured circle cut in a +marble slab, into a covered trough below. Here bold-eyed maidens are +gathered, who poise copper vessels on their dark heads--maidens who +can chat, and laugh, and romp, on holidays, and with flushed faces +dance wild tarantellas (fingers for castanets), where the old tale of +love is told in many a subtile step, and shuffle, rush, escape, and +feint, ending in certain capture! Beside the maidens linger some +mountain lads. Now their work is over, they loll against the wall, +pipe in mouth, or lie stretched on a plot of grass that grows green +under the spray of the fountain. In a dark angle, a little behind from +these, there is a shrine hollowed out of the city wall. Within the +shrine an image of the Holy Mother of the Seven Sorrows stands, her +arms outstretched, her bosom pierced by seven gilded arrows. The +shrine is protected by an iron grating. Bunches of pale hill-side +blossoms, ferns, and a few blades of corn, are thrust in between the +bars. Some lie at the Virgin's feet--offerings from those who have +nothing else to give. A little group (but these are old, and bowed by +grief and want) kneel beside the shrine in the quiet evening-tide. + +The rumble of a carriage, so strange a sound in lonely Corellia, +rouses all. From year to year, no wheels pass through the town save +the marchesa's. Ere she appears, all know who it must be. The kneelers +at the shrine start up and hobble forward to stare and wonder at that +strange world whence she comes, so far away at Lucca. The maidens +courtesy and smile; the lads jump up, and range themselves +respectfully against the wall; yet in their hearts neither care for +her--neither the maidens nor the lads--no one cares for the marchesa. +They are all looking out for Enrica. Why does the signorina lie back +in the carriage a mass of clothes? The maidens would like to see how +those clothes are made, to cut their poor garments something like +them. The lads would like to let their eyes rest on her golden hair. +Why does the Signorina Enrica not nod and smile to those she knows, as +is her wont? Has that old tyrant, her aunt--these young ones are bold, +and dare to whisper what others think; they have no care, and, like +the lilies of the field, live in the wild, free air--has that old +tyrant, her aunt, bewitched her? + +Now the carriage has emerged from the dark alley, and entered the +dirty but somewhat less dark piazza--the market-place of Corellia. The +old Lombard church of Santa Barbara, with its big bells in the arched +tower, hanging plainly to be seen, opens into the piazza by a flight +of steps and a sculptured doorway. The Municipio, too, calling itself +a _palace_ (heaven save the mark!), with its list of births, deaths, +and marriages, posted on a black-board outside the door, to be seen of +all, adorns it. The Cafe of the Tricolor, and such shops as Corellia +boasts of, are there opposite. Men, smoking, and drinking native wine, +are lounging about. Ser Giacomo, the notary, spectacles on nose, sits +at a table in a corner, reading aloud to a select audience a weekly +broad-sheet published at Lucca, news of men and things not of the +mountain-tops. Every soul starts up as they hear wheels approaching. +If a bomb had burst in the piazza the panic could not be greater. They +know it is the marchesa. They know that now the marchesa is come she +will grind and harry them, and seize her share of grapes, and corn, +and olives, to the uttermost farthing. Silvestro, her steward, a +timid, pitiful man, can be got over by soft words, and the sight of +want and misery. Not so the marchesa. They know that now she is come +she will call the Town Council, fine them, pursue them for rent, cite +them to the High Court of Barga, imprison them if they cannot pay. +They know her, and they curse her. The ill-news of her arrival runs +from lip to lip. Checco, the butcher, who sells his meat cut into +dark, indescribably-shaped scraps, more fit for dogs than men, first +sees the carriage turn into the piazza. He passes the word on to +Oreste, the barber round the corner. Oreste, who, with his brother +Pilade, both wearing snow-white aprons, are squaring themselves at +their open doorway, over which hangs a copper basin, shaped like +Manbrino's helmet, looking for customers--Oreste and Pilade turn pale. +Then Oreste tells the baker, Pietro, who, naked as Nature made him, +has run out from his oven to the open door, for a breath of air. The +bewildered clerk at the Municipio, who sits and writes, and sleeps +by turns, all day, in a low room beside a desk, taking notes for the +sindaco (mayor) from all who come (he is so tired, that clerk, he +would hear the last trumpet sound unmoved), even he hears the news, +and starts up. + +Now the carriage stops. It has drawn up in the centre of the piazza. +It is the marchesa's custom. She puts her head out of the window, and +takes a long, grave look all round. These are her vassals. They fear +her. She knows it, and she glories in it. Every head is uncovered, +every eye turned upon her. It is obviously some one's duty to salute +her and to welcome her to her domain. She has stopped for this +purpose. It is always done. No one, however, stirs. Ser Giacomo, the +notary, bows low beside the table where he has been caught reading the +Lucca broad-sheet; but Ser Giacomo does not stir. How he wishes he had +staid at home! + +He has not the courage to move one step toward her. Something must be +done, so Ser Giacomo he runs and fetches the sindaco from inside the +recesses of the _cafe_, where he is playing dominoes under a lighted +lamp. The sindaco must give the marchesa a formal welcome. The +sindaco, a saddler by trade--a snuffy little man, with a face drawn +and yellow as parchment, wearing his working-clothes--advances to the +carriage with a step as cautious as a cat. + +"I trust the illustrious lady is well," he says timidly, bowing low +and trying to smile. Mr. Sindaco is frightened, but he can be proud +enough to his fellow-townsfolk, and he is downright cruel to that poor +lad his clerk, at the Municipal Palace. + +The marchesa, with a cold, distant air, that would instantly check +any approach to familiarity--if any one were bold enough to be +familiar--answers gravely, "That she is thankful to say she is in her +usual health." + +The sindaco--although better off than many, painfully conscious of +long arrears of unpaid rent--waxing a little bolder at the sound of +his own voice and his well-chosen phrases, continues: + +"I am glad to hear it, Signora Marchesa." The sindaco further +observes, "That he hopes for the illustrious lady's indulgence and +good-will." + +His smile has faded now; his voice trembles. If his skin were not so +yellow, he would be white all over, for the marchesa's looks are not +encouraging. The sindaco dreads a summons to the High Court of Barga, +where the provincial prisons are--with which he may be soon better +acquainted, he fears. + +In reply, the marchesa--who perfectly understands all this in a +general way--scowls, and fixes her rigid eyes upon him. + +"Signore Sindaco, I cannot stop to listen to any grievance now; I will +promise no indulgence. I must pay my bills. You must pay me, Signore +Sindaco; that is but fair." + +The poor little snuffy mayor bows a dolorous acquiescence. He is +hopeless, but polite--like a true Italian, who would thank the hangman +as he fastens the rope round his neck. But the marchesa's words strike +terror into all who hear them. All owe her long arrears of rent, and +much besides. Why--oh! why--did the cruel lady come to Corellia? + +Having announced her intentions in a clear, metallic voice, the +marchesa draws her head back into the coach. + +"Send Silvestro to me," she adds, addressing the sindaco. "Silvestro +will inform me of all I want to know." (Silvestro is her steward.) + +"Is the noble young Lady Enrica unwell?" asks the persevering +sindaco, gazing earnestly through the window. + +He knows his doom. He has nothing to hope from the marchesa's +clemency, so he may as well gratify his burning curiosity by a +question about the much-beloved Enrica, who must certainly have been +ill-used by her aunt to keep so much out of sight. + +"The people of Corellia would also offer their respectful homage to +her," bravely adds Mr. Sindaco, tempting his fate. "The Lady Enrica is +much esteemed here in the town." + +As he speaks the sindaco gazes in wonder at the muffled figure in +the corner. Can this be she? Why does she not move forward and +answer?--and show her pretty face, and approve the people's greeting? + +"My niece has a headache; leave her alone," answers the marchesa, +curtly. "Do not speak to her, Mr. Sindaco. She will visit Corellia +another day; meanwhile, adieu." + +The marchesa waves her hand majestically, and signs for him to retire. +This the sindaco does with an inward groan at the thought of what is +coming on him. + +Poor Enrica, feeling as if a curse were on her, cutting her off +from all her former life, shrinks back deeper into the corner of the +carriage, draws the black veil closer about her face, and sobs aloud. +The marchesa turns her head away. The driver cracks his long whip over +the steaming horses, which move feebly forward with a jerk. Thus the +coach slowly traverses the whole length of the piazza, the wheels +rumbling themselves into silence out in a long street leading to +another gate on the farther side of the town. + +Not another word more is said that night among the townsfolk; but +there is not a man at Corellia who does not curse the marchesa in +his heart. Ser Giacomo, the notary, folds up his newspaper in dead +silence, puts it into his pocket, and departs. The lights in the +dark _cafe_, which burn sometimes all day when it is cloudy, are +extinguished. The domino-players disappear. Oreste and Pilade shut up +their shop despondingly. The baker Pietro comes out no more to cool +at the door. Anyway, there must be bakers, he reflects, to bake +the bread; so Pietro retreats, comforted, to his oven, and works +frantically all night. He is safe, Pietro hopes, though he has paid no +rent for two whole years, and has sold some of the corn which ought to +have gone to the marchesa. + +Meanwhile the heavy carriage, with its huge leather hood and double +rumble, swaying dangerously to and fro, descends a steep and rugged +road embowered in forest, leading to a narrow ledge upon the summit +of a line of cliffs. On the very edge of these cliffs, formed of a +dark-red basaltic stone, the marchesa's villa stands. A deep, dark +precipice drops down beneath. Opposite is a range of mountains, fair +and forest-spread on the lower flanks, rising above into wild crags, +and broken, blackened peaks, that mock the soft blue radiance of the +evening sky. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. + + +Silvestro, the steward, is a man "full of conscience," as people say, +deeply sensible of his responsibilities, and more in dread of the +marchesa than of the Church. It is this dread that makes him so +emaciated--hesitate when he speaks, and bend his back and shoulders +into a constant cringe. But for this dread, Silvestro would forgive +the poor people more. He sees such pinching misery every day--lives in +it--suffers from it; how can he ask those for money who have none? +It is like forcing blood out of a stone. He is not the man to do it. +Silvestro lives at hand; he hears the rattle of the hail that burns +the grapes up to a cinder--the terrible din of the thunder before the +forked lightning strikes the cattle; he sees with his own eyes the +griping want of bread in the savage winter-time; his own eyes behold +the little lambs, dead of hunger, lying by the road-side. Worse still, +he sees other lambs--human lambs with Christian souls--fade and pine +and shrink into a little grave, from failing of mother's milk, dried +up for want of proper food. He sees, too, the aged die before God +calls them, failing through lack of nourishment--a little wine, +perhaps, or a mouthful of soup; the young and strong grow old with +ceaseless striving. Poor Silvestro! he sees too much. He cannot be +severe. He is born merciful. Silvestro is honest as the day, but he +hides things from the marchesa; he is honest, but he cannot--no, he +cannot--grind and vex the poor, as she would have him do. Yet she has +no one to take his place in that God-forgotten town--so they pull on, +man and mistress--a truly ill-matched pair--pull on, year after +year. It is a weary life for him when the great lady comes up for her +villeggiatura--Silvestro, divided, cleft in twain, so to say, as he +is, between his awe and respect for the marchesa and her will, and his +terrible sympathy for all suffering creatures, man or beast. + +As to the marchesa, she despises Silvestro too profoundly to notice +his changing moods. It is not her habit to look for any thing but +obedience--absolute obedience--from those beneath her. A thousand +times she has told herself such a fool would ruin her; but, up to this +present time, she has borne with him, partly from convenience, and +partly because she fears to get a rogue in his place. She does not +guess how carefully Silvestro has hid the truth from her; she would +not give him credit for the power of concealing any thing. + +The sindaco having sent a boy up to Silvestro's house with the +marchesa's message, "that he is to attend her," the steward comes +hurrying down through the terraces cut in the steep ground behind the +villa--broad, stately terraces, with balustrades, and big empty vases, +and statues, and grand old lemon-trees set about. Great flights of +marble steps cross and recross, rest on a marble stage, and then +recross again. Here and there a pointed cypress-tree towers upward +like a green pyramid in a desert of azure sky. Bright-leaved autumn +flowers lie in masses on the rich brown earth, and dainty streamlets +come rushing downward in little sculptured troughs. + +What a dismal sigh Silvestro gave when he got the marchesa's message, +and knew that she had arrived! How he wrung his hands and looked +hopelessly upward to heaven with vacant, colorless eyes, the big +heat-drops gathering on his bald, wrinkled forehead! He has so much to +tell her!--It must be told too; he can hide the truth no longer. She +will be sure to ask to see the accounts. Alas! alas! what will his +mistress say? For a moment Silvestro gazes wistfully at the mountains +all around with a vacant stare. Oh, that the mountains would +cover him! Anyway, there are caves and holes, he thinks, where the +marchesa's wrath would never reach him; caves and holes where he might +live hidden for years, cared for by those who love him. Shall he flee, +and never see his mistress's dark, dreadful eyes again? Folly! + +Silvestro rouses himself. He resolves to meet his fate like a man, +whatever that may be. He will not forsake his duty.--So Silvestro +comes hurrying down by the terraces, upon which the shadows fall, to +the house--a gray mediaeval tower, machicolated and turreted--the only +remains of a strong fortress that in feudal times guarded these passes +from Modena into Tuscany. To this gray tower is attached a large +modern dwelling--a villa--painted of a dull-yellow color, with an +overlapping roof, the walls pierced full of windows. The tower, villa, +and the line of cliffs on which they stand, face east and west; on +one side the forest and Corellia crowning a rocky height, on the other +side mountains, with a deep abyss at the foot of the cliffs, yawning +between. It is the marchesa's pleasure to inhabit the old tower rather +than the pleasant villa, with its big windows and large, cheerful +rooms. + +Being tall and spare, Silvestro stoops under the low, arched doorway, +heavily clamped with iron and nails, leading into the tower; then he +mounts very slowly a winding stair of stone to the second story. The +sound of his footsteps brings a whole pack of dogs rushing out upon +the gravel. + +(On the gravel before the house there is a fountain springing up out +of a marble basin full of gold-fish. Pots are set round the edge with +the sweetest-smelling flowers--tuberoses, heliotropes, and gardenias.) +The dogs, barking loudly, run round the basin and upset some of the +pots. One noble mastiff, with long white hair and strong straight +limbs--the leader of the pack--pursues Silvestro up the dark, tiring +stairs. When the mastiff has reached him and smelt at him he stands +still, wags his tail, and thrusts his nose into Silvestro's hand. + +"Poor Argo!" says the steward, meekly. "Don't bark at me; I cannot +bear it now." + +Argo gives a friendly sniff, and leaves him. + +At a door on the right, Silvestro stops short, to collect his thoughts +and his breath. He has not seen his mistress for a year. His soul +sinks at the thought of what he must tell her now. "Can she punish +me?" he asks himself, vaguely. Perhaps. He must bear it if she does. +He has done all he can. Consoled by this reflection, he knocks. A +well-known voice answers, "Come in." Silvestro's clammy hand is on the +lock--a worm-eaten door creaks on its hinges--he enters. + +The marchesa nods to Silvestro without speaking. She is seated before +a high desk of carved walnut-wood, facing the door. The desk is +covered with papers. A file of papers is in her hand; others lie upon +her lap. All round there are cupboards, shelves, and drawers, piled +with papers and documents, most of them yellow with age. These consist +of old leases, contracts, copies of various lawsuits with her tenants, +appeals to Barga, mortgages, accounts. The room is low, and rounded to +the shape of the tower. Naked joists and rafters of black wood support +the ceiling. The light comes in through some loop-holes, high up, cut +in the thickness of the wall. Some tall, high-backed chairs, covered +with strips of faded satin, stand near the chimney. A wooden bedstead, +without curtains, is partly concealed behind a painted screen, covered +with gods and goddesses, much consumed and discolored from the damp. +As the room had felt a little chilly from want of use, a large fire of +unbarked wood had been kindled. The fire blazes fiercely on the flat +stones within an open hearth, unguarded by a grate. + +Having nodded to Silvestro, the marchesa takes no further notice +of him. From time to time she flings a loose paper from those lying +before her--over her shoulder toward the fire, which is at her back. +Of these papers some reach the fire; others, but half consumed, fall +back upon the floor. The flames of the wood-fire leap out and seize +the papers--now one by one--now as they lie in little heaps. The +flames leap up; the burning papers crumple along the floor, in little +streaks of fire, catching others that lie, still farther on in the +room, still unconsumed. Ere these papers have sunk into ashes, a fresh +supply, thrown over her shoulder by the marchesa, have caught the +flames. All the space behind her chair is covered with smouldering +papers. A stack of wood, placed near to replenish the fire, has +caught, and is smouldering also. The fire, too, on the hearth is +burning fiercely; it crackles up the wide open chimney in a mass of +smoke and sparks. + +The marchesa is far too much absorbed to notice this. Silvestro, +standing near the door--the high desk and the marchesa's tall figure +between him and the hearth--does not perceive it either. Still the +marchesa bends over her papers, reading some and throwing others over +her shoulders into the flames behind. + +Silvestro, who had grown hot and cold twenty times in a minute, +standing before her, his book under his arm--thinking she had +forgotten him--addresses her at last. + +"How does madama feel?" Silvestro asks most humbly, turning his +lack-lustre eyes upon her, "Well," is the marchesa's brief reply. She +signs to him to lay his book upon her desk. She takes it in her hand. +She turns over the pages, following line after line with the tip of +her long, white forefinger. + +"There seems very little, Silvestro," she says, running her eyes up +and down each page as she turns it slowly over. Her brow knits until +her dark eyebrows almost meet--"very little. Has the corn brought in +so small a sum, and the olives, and the grapes?" + +"Madama," begins Silvestro, and he bends his head and shoulders, +and squeezes his skinny hands together, in a desperate effort to +obliterate himself altogether, if possible, in the face of such +mishaps--"madama will condescend to remember the late spring frosts. +There is no corn anywhere. Upon the lowlands the frost was most +severe; in April, too, when the grain was forward. The olives bore a +little last season, but Corellia is a cold place--too cold for olives; +the trees, too, are very old. This year there will be no crop at all. +As for the grapes--" + +"_Accidente_ to the grapes!" interrupts the marchesa, reddening. "The +grapes always fail. Every thing fails under you." + +Silvestro shrinks back in terror at the sound of her harsh voice. Oh, +that those purple mountains around would cover him! The moment of her +wrath is come. What will she say to him? + +"I wish I had not an acre of vineyard," the marchesa continues. +"Disease, or hail, or drought, or rain, it is always the same--the +grapes always fail." + +"The peasants are starving, madama," Silvestro takes courage to say, +but his voice is low and muffled. + +"They have chestnuts," she answers quickly, "let them live on +chestnuts." + +Silvestro starts violently. He draws back a step or two nearer the +door. + +"Let the gracious madama consider, many have not even a patch of +chestnuts. There is great misery, madama--indeed, there is great +misery." Silvestro goes on to say. He must speak now or never. +"Madama"--and he holds up his bony hands--"you will have no rent at +all from the peasants. They must be kept all the winter." + +"Silvestro, you are a fool," cries the marchesa, eying him +contemptuously, as she would a troublesome child--"a fool; pray how am +I to keep the peasants, and pay the taxes? I must live." + +"Doubtless, excellent madama." Silvestro was infinitely relieved at +the calmness with which the marchesa received his announcement. He +could not have believed it. He feels most grateful to her. "But, if +madama will speak with Fra Pacifico, he will tell her how bitter the +distress must be this winter. The Town Council"--Silvestro, deceived +by her apparent calmness, has made a mistake in naming the Town +Council. It is too late. The words have been spoken. Knowing his +mistress's temper, Silvestro imperceptibly glides toward the door as +he mentions that body--"The Town Council has decreed--" His words die +away in his throat at her aspect. + +"Santo dei Santi!" she screams, boiling over with rage, "I forbid you +to talk to me of the Town Council!" + +Silvestro's hand is upon the lock to insure escape. + +"Madama--consider," pleads Silvestro, wellnigh desperate. "The Town +Council might appeal to Barga," Silvestro almost whispers now. + +"Let them--let them; it is just what I should like. Let them appeal. +I will fight them at law, and beat them in full court--the ruffians!" +She gives a short, scornful laugh. "Yes, we will fight it out at +Barga." + +Suddenly the marchesa stops. Her eyes have now reached the +balance-sheet on the last page. She draws a long breath. + +"Why, there is nothing!" she exclaims, placing her forefinger on +the total, then raising her head and fixing her eyes on +Silvestro--"nothing!" + +Silvestro shrinks, as it were, into himself. He silently bows his head +in terrified acquiescence. + +"A thousand francs! How am I to live on a thousand francs!" + +Silvestro shakes from head to foot. One hand slides from the lock; he +joins it to the other, clasps them both together, and sways himself to +and fro as a man in bodily anguish. + +At the sight of the balance-sheet a kind of horror has come over the +marchesa. So intense is this feeling, she absolutely forgets to +abuse Silvestro. All she desires is to get rid of him before she has +betrayed her alarm. + +"I shall call a council," she says, collecting herself; "I shall take +the chair. I shall find funds to meet these wants. Give the sindaco +and Ser Giacomo notice of this, Silvestro, immediately." + +The steward stares at his mistress in mute amazement. He inclines his +head, and turns to go; better ask her no questions and escape. + +"Silvestro!"--the marchesa calls after him imperiously--"come here." +(She is resolved that he, a menial, shall see no change in her.) "At +this season the woods are full of game. I will have no poachers, mind. +Let notices be posted up at the town-gate and at the church-door--do +you hear? No one shall carry a gun within my woods." + +Silvestro's lips form to two single words, and these come very faint: +"The poor!" Then he holds himself together, terrified. + +"The poor!" retorts the marchesa, defiantly--"the poor! For shame, +Silvestro! They shall not overrun my woods and break through my +vineyards--they shall not! You hear?" Her shrill voice rings round the +low room, "No poachers--no trespassers, remember that; I shall tell +Adamo the same. Now go, and, as you pass, tell Fra Pacifico I want him +to-morrow." ("He must help me with Enrica," was her thought.) + +When Silvestro was gone, a haggard look came over the marchesa's pale +face. One by one she turned over the leaves of the rental lying before +her, glanced at them, then laid the book down upon the desk. She +leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and fell into a fit of +musing--the burning papers on the hearth, and those also smouldering +on the floor, lighting up every grain in the wood-work of the +cupboards at her back. + +This was ruin--absolute ruin! The broad lands that spread wellnigh for +forty miles in the mountains and along the river Serchio--the feudal +tower in which she sat, over which still floated, on festivals, the +banner of the Guinigi (crosses of gold on a red field--borne at +the Crusades); the stately palace at Lucca--its precious +heirlooms--strangers must have it all! + +She had so fortified herself against all signs of outward emotion, +other than she chose to show, that even in solitude she was composed; +but the veins swelled in her forehead, and she turned very white. Yet +there had been a way. "Enrica"--her name escaped the marchesa's thin +lips unwittingly. "Enrica."--The sound of her own voice startled +her. (Enrica was now alone, shut up by her aunt's order in her +little chamber on the third floor over her own. On their arrival, the +marchesa had sternly dismissed her without a word.) + +"Enrica."--With that name rose up within her a thousand conflicting +thoughts. She had severed herself from Enrica. But for Cavaliere +Trenta she would have driven her from the palace. She had not cared +whether Enrica lived or died--indeed, she had wished her dead. Yet +Enrica could save the land--the palace--make the great name live! Had +she but known all this at Lucca! Was it too late? Trenta had urged the +marriage with Count Nobili. But Trenta urged every marriage. Could she +consent to such a marriage? Own herself ruined--wrong?--Feel Nobili's +foot upon her neck?--Impossible! Her obstinacy was so great, that she +could not bring herself to yield, though all that made life dear was +slipping from her grasp. + +Yes--yes, it was too late.--The thing was done. She must stand to +her own words. Tortures would not have wrung it from her--but in the +solitude of that bare room the marchesa felt she had gone too far. +The landmark of her life, her pride, broke down; her stout heart +failed--tears stood in her dark eyes. + +At this moment the report of a gun was heard ringing out from the +mountains opposite. It echoed along the cliffs and died away into +the abyss below. The marchesa was instantly leaning out of the lowest +loop-hole, and calling in a loud voice, "Adamo--Adamo--Angelo, where +are you?" (Adamo and Pipa his wife, and Angelo their son, were her +attendants.) + +Adamo, a stout, big-limbed man, bull-necked--with large lazy eyes and +a black beard as thick as horse-hair, a rifle slung by a leather strap +across his chest, answered out of the shrubs--now blackening in the +twilight: "I am here, padrona, command me." + +"Adamo, who is shooting on my land?" + +"Padrona, I do not know." + +"Where is Angelo?" + +"Here am I," answered a childish voice, and a ragged, loose-limbed +lad--a shock of chestnut hair, out of which the sun had taken all +the color, hanging over his face, from which his merry eyes +twinkle--leaped out on the gravel. + +"You do not know, Adamo? What does this mean? You ought to know. I am +but just come back, and there are strangers about already with guns. +Is this the way you serve me, Adamo?--and I pay you a crown a month. +You idle vagabond!" + +"Padrona," spoke Adamo in a deep voice--"I am here alone--this boy +helps me but little." + +"Alone, Adamo! you dare to say alone, and you have the dogs? Hear how +they bark--they have heard the shot too--good dogs, good dogs, they +are left me--alone.--Argo is stronger than three men; Argo knocks over +any one, and he is trained to follow on the scent like a bloodhound. +Adamo, you are an idiot!" Adamo hung his head, either in shame or +rage, but he dared not reply. + +"Now take the dogs out with you instantly--you hear, Adamo? Argo, and +Ponto the bull-dog, and Tuzzi and the others. Take them and go down at +once to the bottom of the cliffs. Search among the rocks everywhere. +Creep along the vines-terraces, and through the olive-grounds. Be sure +when you go down below the cliffs to search the mouth of the chasm. +Go at once. Set the dogs on all you find. Argo will pin them. He is a +brave dog. With Argo you are stronger than any one you will meet. If +you catch any men, take them at once to the municipality. Wretches, +they deserve it!--poaching in my woods! Listen--before you go, tell +Pipa to come to me soon." + +Pipa's footsteps came clattering up the stairs to the marchesa's room. +The light of the lamp she carried--for it was already dark within +the tower--caught the spray of the fountain outside as she passed the +narrow slits that served for windows. + +"Pipa," said the marchesa, as she stood before her in the doorway, a +broad smile on her merry brown face, "set that lamp on the desk here +before me. So--that will do. Now go up-stairs and tell the Signorina +Enrica that I bid her 'Good-night,' and that I will see her to-morrow +morning after breakfast. Then you may go to bed, Pipa. I am busy, +and shall sit up late." Pipa curtsied in silence, and closed the +marchesa's door. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCHESA'S PAPERS. + + +Midnight had struck from the church-clock at Corellia. The strokes +seemed to come slower by night than day, and sounded hollower. Hours +ago the last light had gone out. The moon had set behind the cleft +summits of La Pagna. Distant thunder had died away among the rocks. +The night was close and still. The villa lay in deep shadow, but the +outline of the turrets of the tower were clearly marked against the +starry sky. All slept, or seemed to sleep. + +A thin blue vapor curls out from the marchesa's casement. This vapor, +at first light as a fog-drift, winds itself upward, and settles into a +cloud, that hovers in the air. Each moment the cloud rises higher +and higher. Now it has grown into a lurid canopy, that overhangs the +tower. A sudden glow from an arched loop-hole on the second story +shows every bar of iron across it. This is caught up below in a broad +flash across the basin of the fountain. Within there is a crackling +as of dry leaves--a clinging, heavy smell of heated air. Another and +another flame curls round the narrow loop-hole, twisting upward on the +solid wall. + +At this instant there is a low growl, as from a kicked dog. A door +below is banged-to and locked. Then steps are heard upon the gravel. +It is Adamo. He had returned, as the marchesa bade him, and has come +to tell her he has searched everywhere--down even to the reeds by the +river Serchio (where he had discharged his gun at a water-hen), but +had found no one, though all the way the dogs had sniffed and whined. + +Adamo catches sight of the crimson glare reflected upon the fountain. +He looks up at the tower--he sees the flames. A look of horror comes +into his round black eyes. Then, with a twitch, settling his gun +firmly upon his shoulder, he rushes to the unlocked door and flings it +wide open. + +"Pipa! Wife! Angelo!" Adamo shouts down the stone passage connecting +the tower with the villa where they slept. "Wake up! The tower is on +fire! Fire! Fire!" + +As Adam opened his mouth, the rush of hot air, pent upon the winding +stair, drawn downward by the draught from the open door, catches +his breath. He staggers against the wall. Then the strong man shook +himself together--again he shouts, "Pipa! Pipa! rise!" + +Without waiting for an answer, putting his hand over his mouth, Adamo +charges up the stone stairs--up to the marchesa's door. Her room is on +fire. + +"I must save her! I must save her! I will think of Pipa and the +children afterward." + +Each step Adamo takes upward, the heat grows fiercer, the smoke that +pours down denser. Twice he had slipped and almost fallen, but he +battles bravely with the heat and blinding smoke, and keeps his +footing. + +Now Adamo is on the landing of the first floor--Adamo blinded, his +head reeling--but lifting his strong limbs, and firm broad feet, he +struggles upward. He has reached the marchesa's door. The place is +marked by a chink of fire underneath. Adamo passes his hand over the +panel; it is unconsumed, the fire drawing the other way out by the +window. + +"O God! if the door is bolted! I shall drop if I am not quick." +Adamo's fingers were on the lock. "The door is bolted! Blessed Virgin, +help me!" + +He unslings his unloaded gun--he had forgotten it till then--and, +tightly seizing it in his strong hands, he flings the butt end against +the lock. The wood is old, the bolt is loose. + +"Holy Jesus! It yields! It opens!" + +Overcome by the rush of fiery air, again Adamo staggers. As he lifts +his hands to raise the hair, which, moist from heat, clings to his +forehead, his fingers strike against a medal of the Virgin he wore +round his naked throat. + +"Mother of God, help me!" A desperate courage seizes him; he rushes +in--all before him swims in a red mist. "Help me, Madonna!" comes to +his parched lips. "O God, where is the marchesa?" + +A puff of wind from the open door for an instant raised the smoke +and sparks; in that instant Adamo sees a dark heap lying on the floor +close to the door. It is the marchesa. "Is she dead or alive?" He +cannot stop to tell. He raises her. She lay within his arms. Her dark +dress, though not consumed, strikes hot against his chest. Not an +instant is to be lost. The fresh rush of air up the stairs has fanned +the flames. Every moment they are rising higher. They redden on the +dark rafters of the ceiling. The sparks fly about in dazzling clouds. +Adamo is on the threshold. Outside it is now so dark that, spite of +danger, he has to pause and feel his way downward, or he might dash +his precious burden against the walls. In that pause a piercing +cry from above strikes upon his ear, but in the crackling of the +increasing flames and a fresh torrent of smoke and burning sparks +that burst out from the room, Adamo's brain--always of the dullest--is +deadened. He forgets that cry. All his thought is to save his +mistress. Even Pipa and Angelo and little Gigi are forgotten. + +Ere he reaches the level of the first story, the alarm-bell over his +head clangs out a goodly peal. A bound of joy within his honest heart +gives him fresh courage. + +"It is the Madonna! When I touched her image, I knew that she would +help me. Pipa has heard me. Pipa has pulled the bell. She is safe! And +Angelo--and little Gigi, safe! safe! Brave Pipa! How I love her!" + +Before a watch could tick twenty seconds, and while Adamo's foot was +still on the last round of the winding stair, the church-bells of +Corellia clash out in answer to the alarm-bell. + +Now Adamo has reached the outer door. He stands beneath the stars. His +face and hands are black, his hair is singed; his woolen clothes are +hot and burn upon him. The cool night air makes his skin smart with +pain. Already Pipa's arms are round him. Angelo, too, has caught him +by the legs, then leaps into the air with a wild hoot. Bewildered Pipa +cannot speak. No more can Adamo; but Pipa's clinging arms say more +than words. Tenderly Adamo lays the marchesa down beside the fountain. +He totters on a step or two, feeling suddenly giddy and strangely +weak. He stands still. The strain had been too much for the simple +soul, who led a quiet life with Pipa and the children. Tears rise in +his big black eyes. Greatly ashamed, and wondering what has come to +him, he sinks upon the ground. Pipa, watching him, again flings her +arms about him; but Adamo gave her a glance so fierce, as he points to +the marchesa lying helpless upon the ground, it sent her quickly from +him. With a smothered sob Pipa turns away to help her. + +(Ah! cruel Pipa, and is your heart so full that you have forgotten +Enrica, left helpless in the tower?--Yet so it was. Enrica is +forgotten. Cruel, cruel Pipa! And stupid Adamo, whose head turns round +so fast he must hold on by a tree not to fall again.) + +Silvestro and Fra Pacifico now rushed out of the darkness; Fra +Pacifico aroused out of his first sleep. He had not seen the marchesa +since her arrival. He did not know whether Enrica had come with her +from Lucca or not. Seeing Pipa busy about the fountain, the women, +thought Fra Pacifico, were safe; so Fra Pacifico strode off on his +strong legs to see what could be done to quench the fire, and save, +if possible, the more combustible villa. Surely the villa must be +consumed! The smoke now darkened the heavens. The flames belted the +thick tower-walls as with a burning girdle. Showers of sparks and +flames rose out from each aperture with sudden bursts, revealing every +detail on the gray old walls; moss and lichen, a trail of ivy that +had forced itself upward, long grass that floated in the hot air; a +crevice under the battlements where a bird had built its nest. Then +a swirl of smoke swooped down and smothered all, while overhead the +mighty company of constellations looked calmly down in their cold +brightness! + +A crowd of men now came running down from Corellia, roused by the +church-bells. Pietro, the baker, still hard at work, was the first to +hear the bell, to dash into the street, and shout, "Help! help! Fire! +fire! At the villa!" + +Oreste and Pilade heard him. They came tumbling out. Ser Giacomo +roused the sindaco--who in his turn woke his clerk; but when Mr. +Sindaco was fairly off down the hill, this much-injured and very weary +youth turned back and went to bed. + +Some bore lighted torches, others copper buckets. Pietro, the butcher, +brought the municipal ladder. These men promptly formed a line down +the hill, to carry the water from the willful mountain-stream that +fed the town fountain. Fra Pacifico took the lead. (He had heard the +alarm, and had rung the church-bells himself.) No one cared for the +marchesa; but a burning house was a fine sight, and where Fra Pacifico +went all Corellia followed. Adamo, recovered now, was soon upon the +ladder, receiving the buckets from below. Pipa beside the fountain +watched the marchesa, sprinkling water on her face. "Surely her +eyelids faintly quiver!" thinks Pipa.--Pipa watched the marchesa +speechless--watched her as birth and death are only watched! + +The marchesa's eyes had quivered; now they slowly unclose. Pipa, who, +next to the Virgin and the saints, worshiped her mistress--laughed +wildly--sobbed--then laughed again--kissed her hand, her +forehead--then pressed her in her arms. Supported by Pipa, the +marchesa sat up--she turned, and then she saw the mountains of smoke +bursting from the tower, forming into great clouds that rose over the +tree-tops, and shut out the stars. The marchesa glanced quickly round +with her keen, black eyes--she glanced as one searching for some thing +she cannot find; then her lips parted, and one word fell faintly from +them: "Enrica!" + +Pipa caught the half-uttered name, she echoed it with a scream. + +"Ahi! The signorina! The Signorina Enrica!" + +Pipa shouted to Adamo on the ladder. + +"Adamo! Adamo! where is the signorina?" + +Adamo's heart sank at her voice. On the instant he recalled that cry +he had heard upon the stairs. + +"Where did you see her last?" Adamo shouted back to Pipa out of the +din--his big stupid eyes looking down upon her face. "Up-stairs?" + +Pipa nodded. She could not speak, it was too horrible. + +"Santo Dio! I did not know it!" He struck upon his breast. "Assassin! +I have killed her! Assassin! Beast! what have I done?" + +Again the air rang with Pipa's shrill cries. The Corellia men, who +with eager hands pass the buckets down the hill, stop, and stare, and +wonder. Fra Pacifico, who had eyes and ears for every one, turned, and +ran forward to where Pipa sat wringing her hands upon the ground, the +marchesa leaning against her. + +"Is Enrica in the tower?" asked Fra Pacifico. + +"Yes, yes!" the marchesa answered feebly. "You must save her!" + +"Then follow me!" shouted the priest, swinging his strong arms above +his head. + +Adamo leaped from the ladder. Others--they were among the very +poorest--stepped out and joined him and the priest; but at the very +entrance they were met and buffeted by such a gust of fiery wind, such +sparks and choking smoke, that they all fell back aghast. Fra Pacifico +alone stood unmoved, his tall, burly figure dark against the glare. At +this instant a man wrapped in a cloak rushed out of the wood, crossed +the red circle reflected from the fire, and dashed into the archway. + +"Stop him! stop him!" shouted Adamo from behind. + +"You go to certain death!" cried Fra Pacifico, laying his hand upon +him. + +"I am prepared to die," the other answered, and pushed by him. + +Twice he essayed to mount the stairs. Twice he was driven back before +them all. See! He has covered his head with his cloak. He has set his +foot firmly upon the stone steps. Up, up he mounts--now he is gone! +Without there was a breathless silence. "Who is he?--Can he save +her?"--Words were not spoken, but every eye asked this question. The +men without are brave, ready to face danger in dark alley--by stream +or river--or on the mountain-side. Danger is pastime to them, but each +one feels in his own heart he is glad not to go. Fra Pacifico stands +motionless, a sad stern look upon his swarthy face. For the first time +in his life he has not been foremost in danger! + +By this time, Fra Pacifico thinks, unless choked, the stranger must be +near the upper story. + +The marchesa has now risen. She stands upright, her eyes riveted on +the tower. She knows there is a door that opens from the top of the +winding stair, on the highest story, next Enrica's room, a door out on +the battlements. Will the stranger see it? O God! will he see +it?--or is the smoke too thick?--or has he fainted ere he reached +so high?--or, if he has reached her, is Enrica dead? How heavy +the moments pass--weighted with life or death! Look, look! Surely +something moves between the turrets of the tower! Yes, something +moves. It rises--a muffled form between the turrets--the figure of a +man wrapped in a cloak--on the near side out of the smoke and flames. +Yes--it is the stranger--Enrica in his arms! All is clearly seen, +cut as it were against a crimson background. A shout rises from every +living man--a deep, full shout as out of bursting hearts that vent +themselves. Out of the shout the words ring out--"The steps!--the +steps!--There--to the right--cut in the battlements! The steps!--the +steps!--close by the flagstaff! Pass the steps down to the lower roof +of the villa" (The wind set on the other side, drawing the fire that +way. The villa was not touched.) + +The stranger heard and bowed his head. He has found the steps--he has +reached the lower roof of the villa--he is safe! + +No one below had moved. The hands by which the water was passed +were now laid upon the ladder. It was shifted over to the other side +against the villa walls. Adamo and Fra Pacifico stand upon the lower +rungs, to steady it. The stranger throws his cloak below, the better +to descend. + +"Who is he?" That strong, well-knit frame, those square shoulders, +that curly chestnut hair, the pleasant smile upon his glowing face, +proclaim him. It is Count Nobili! He has lands along the Serchio, +between Barga and Corellia, and was well known as a keen sportsman. + +"Bravo! bravo! Evviva! Count Nobili--evviva!" Caps were tossed into +the air, hands were wildly clapped, friendly arms are stretched out to +bear him up when he descends. Adamo is wildly excited; Adamo wants +to mount the ladder to help. The others pull him back. Fra Pacifico +stands ready to receive Enrica, a baffled look on his face. It is the +first time Fra Pacifico has stood by and seen another do his work. + +See, Count Nobili is on the ladder, Enrica in his arms! As his feet +touch the ground, again the people shout: "Bravo! Count Nobili! +Evviva!" Their hot southern blood is roused by the sight of such noble +daring. The people press upon him--they fold him in their arms--they +kiss his hands, his cheeks, even his very feet. + +Nobili's eyes flash. He, too, forgets all else, and, with a glance +that thrills Enrica from head to foot, he kisses her before them all. +The men circle round him. They shout louder than before. + +As the crowd parted, the dark figure of the marchesa, standing near +the fountain, was disclosed. Before she had time to stir, Count Nobili +had led Enrica to her. He knelt upon the ground, and, kissing Enrica's +hand, placed it within her own. Then he rose, and, with that grace +natural to him, bowed and stood aside, waiting for her to speak. + +The marchesa neither moved nor did she speak. When she felt the warm +touch of Enrica's hand within her own, it seemed to rouse her. She +drew her toward her and kissed her with more love than she had ever +shown before. + +"I thank you, Count Nobili," she said, in a strange, cold voice. Even +at that moment she could not bring herself to look him in the face. +"You have saved my niece's life." + +"Madame," replied Nobili, his sweet-toned voice trembling, "I have +saved my own. Had Enrica perished, I should not have lived." + +In these few words the chivalric nature of the man spoke out. The +marchesa waved her hand. She was stately even now. Nobili understood +her gesture, and, stung to the very soul, he drew back. + +"Permit me," he said, haughtily, before he turned away, "to add my +help to those who are laboring to save your house." + +The marchesa bowed her head in acquiescence; then, with unsteady +steps, she moved backward and seated herself upon the ground. + +Pipa, meanwhile, had flung her arms about Enrica, with such an energy +that she pinned her to the spot. Pipa pressed her hands about Enrica, +feeling every limb; Pipa turned Enrica's white face up ward to the +blaze; she stroked her long, fair hair that fell like a mantle round +her. + +"Blessed Mother!" she sobbed, drawing her coarse fingers through the +matted curls, "not a hair singed! Oh, the noble count! Oh, how I love +him--" + +"No, dear Pipa," Enrica answered, softly, "I am not hurt--only +frightened. The fire had but just reached the door when he came. He +was just in time." + +"To think we had forgotten her!" murmured Pipa, still holding her +tightly. + +"Who remembered me first?" asked Enrica, eagerly. + +"The marchesa, signorina, the marchesa. She remembered you. The +marchesa was brought down by Adamo. Your name was the first word she +uttered." + +Enrica's blue eyes glistened. In an instant she had disengaged herself +from Pipa, and was kneeling at the marchesa's feet. + +"Dear aunt, forgive me. Now that I am saved, forgive me! You must +forgive me, and forgive him, too!" + +These last words came faint and low. The marchesa put her finger on +her lip. + +"Not now, Enrica, not now. To-morrow we will speak." + +Meanwhile Count Nobili, Fra Pacifico, and the Corellia men, strove +what human strength could do to put the fire out. Even the +sindaco, forgetting the threats about his rent, labored hard and +willingly--only Silvestro did nothing. Silvestro seemed stunned; he +sat upon the ground staring, and crying like a child. + +To save the rooms within the tower was impossible. Every plank of wood +was burning. The ceilings had fallen in; only the blackened walls and +stone stairs remained. The villa was untouched--the wind, setting the +other way, and the thick walls of the tower, had saved it. + +Now every hand that could be spared was turned to bring beds from the +steward's for the marchesa and Enrica. They had gone into Pipa's +room until the villa was made ready. Pipa told Adamo, and he told the +others, that the marchesa had not seen the burning papers, and the +lighted pile of wood, until the flames rose high behind her back. She +had rushed forward, and fallen. + +When all was over, Count Nobili was carried up the hill back to +Corellia, in triumph, on the shoulders of Pietro the baker, and +Oreste, the strongest of the brothers. Every soul of the poor +townsfolk--women as well as men who had not gone down to help--had +risen, and was out. They had put lights into their windows. They +crowded the doorways. The market-place was full, and the church-porch. +The fame of Nobili's courage had already reached them. All bless him +as he passes--bless him louder when Nobili, all aglow with happiness, +empties his pockets of all the coin he has, and promises more +to-morrow. At this the women lay hold of him, and dance round him. It +was long before he was released. At last Fra Pacifico carried him off, +almost by force, to sleep at the curato. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE. + + +Fra Pacifico was a dark, burly man, with a large, weather-beaten +face, kind gray eyes under a pair of shaggy eyebrows, a resolute nose, +large, full-lipped mouth, and a clean-shaven double chin, that rested +comfortably upon his priestly stock. He was no longer young, but he +had a frame like iron, and in his time he had possessed a force of +arm and muscle enough to fell an ox. His strength and daring were +acknowledged by all the mountain-folks from Corellia to Barga, hardy +fellows, and judges of what a man can do. Moreover, Fra Pacifico +was more than six feet high--and who does not respect a man of such +inches? In fair fight he had killed his man--a brigand chief--who +prowled about the mountains toward Carrara. His band had fled and +never returned. + +Fra Pacifico had stood with his strong feet planted on the earth, +over the edge of a rocky precipice--by which the high-road passed--and +seized a furious horse dragging a cart holding six poor souls +below. Fra Pacifico had found a shepherd of Corellia--one of his +flock--struck down by fever on a rocky peak some twenty miles distant, +and he had carried him on his back, and laid him on his bed at home. +Every one had some story to tell of his prowess, coolness, and manly +daring. When he walked along the streets, the ragged children--as +black with sun and dirt as unfledged ravens--sidled up to him, and, +looking up into his gray eyes, ran between his firm-set legs, plucked +him by the cassock, and felt in his pockets for an apple or a cake. +Then the children held him tight until he had raised them up and +kissed them. + +Spite of the labors of the previous night (no one had worked harder), +Fra Pacifico had risen with daybreak. His office accustomed him to +little sleep. There was no time by day or night that he could call his +own. If any one was stricken with sickness in the night, or suddenly +seized for death in those pale hours when the day hovers, half-born, +over the slumbering earth, Fra Pacifico must rise and wake his +acolyte, the baker's boy, who, going late to bed, was hard to rouse. +Along with him he must grope up and down slippery steps, and along +dark alleys, bearing the Host under a red umbrella, until he had +placed it within the dying lips. If a baby was weakly, or born before +its time, and, having given one look at this sorrowful world, was +about to lose its eyes on it forever, Fra Pacifico must run out at any +moment to christen it. + +There was no doctor at Corellia, the people were too poor; so Fra +Pacifico was called upon to do a doctor's duty. He must draw the teeth +of such as needed it; bind up cuts and sores; set limbs; and give +such simple drugs as he knew the nature of. He must draw up papers for +those who could not afford to pay the notary; write letters for +those who could only make a cross; hear and conceal every secret that +reached him in the confessional or on the death-bed. He must be +at hand at any hour in the twenty-four--ready to counsel, soothe, +command, and reprimand; to bless, to curse, and, if need be, to +strike, when his righteous anger rose; to fetch and carry for all, +and, poor himself, to give out of his scanty store. These were his +priestly duties. + +Fra Pacifico lived at the back of the old Lombard church of Santa +Barbara, in a house overlooking a damp square, overgrown with moss +and weeds. Between the tower where the bells hung, and the body of the +church, an open loggia (balcony), roofed with wood and tiles, rested +on slender pillars. In the loggia, Fra Pacifico, when at leisure, +would sit and rest and read his breviary; sometimes smoke a solitary +pipe--stretching out his shapely legs in the luxury of doing nothing. +Behind the loggia were the priest's four rooms, bare even for the +bareness of that squalid place. He kept no servant, but it was counted +an honor to serve him, and the mothers of Corellia came by turns to +cook and wash for him. + +Fra Pacifico, as I have said, had risen at daybreak. Now he is +searching to find a messenger to send to Lucca, as the marchesa had +desired, to summon Cavaliere Trenta. That done, he takes a key out of +his pocket and unlocks the church-door. Here, kneeling at the altar, +he celebrates a private mass of thanksgiving for the marchesa and +Enrica. Then, with long strides, he descends the hill to see what is +doing at the villa. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"SAY NOT TOO MUCH." + + +The sun was streaming on mountain and forest before Count Nobili woke +from a deep sleep. As he cast his drowsy eyes around upon the homely +little room, the coarsely-painted frescoes on the walls--the gaudy +cups and plates arranged in a cupboard opposite the bed--and on a wax +Gesu Bambino, placed in state upon the mantel-piece, surrounded by a +flock of blue sheep, browsing on purple grass, he could not at first +remember where he was. The noises from the square below--the clink of +the donkey's hoofs upon the pavement as they struggled up the steep +alley laden with charcoal; the screams of children--the clamor of +women's voices moving to and fro with their wooden shoes--and the boom +of the church-bells sounding overhead for morning mass--came to him as +in a dream. + +As he raised his hand to push back the hair which fell over his +eyes, a sharp twitch of pain--for his hands were scorched and +blistered--brought all that had happened vividly before him. A warmth +of joy and love glowed at his heart. He had saved Enrica's life. +Henceforth that life was his. From that day they would never part. +From that day, forgetting all others, he would live for her alone. + +He must see her instantly--if possible, before his enemy, her aunt, +had risen--see Enrica, and speak to her, alone. Oh, the luxury of +that! How he longed to feast his eyes upon the softness of her beauty! +To fill his ears with the music of her voice! To touch her little +hand, and scent the fragrance of her breath upon his cheek! There was +no thought within Nobili but love and loyalty. At that moment Enrica +was the only woman in the world whom he loved, or ever could love! + +He dressed himself in haste, opened the door, and stepped out into +the loggia. Not finding Fra Pacifico there, or in the other rooms, he +passed down the stone steps into the little square, threading his way +beyond as he best could, through the tortuous little alleys toward the +gate. Most of the men had already gone to work; but such as lingered, +or whose business kept them at home, rose as he passed, and bared +their heads to him. The mothers and the girls stared at him and +smiled; troops of children followed at his heels through the town, +until he reached the gate. + +Without, the holiness of Nature was around. The morning air blew upon +him crisp and clear. The sky, blue as a turquoise, was unbroken by a +cloud. The trees were bathed in gold. The chain of Apennines rose up +before him in lines of dreamy loveliness, like another world, midway +toward heaven. A passing shower veiled the massive summits toward +Massa and Carrara, but the broad valley of the Serchio, mapped out in +smallest details, lay serenely luminous below. Beyond the gate there +was no certain road. It broke into little tracts and rocky paths +terracing downward. Following these, streams ran bubbling, sparkling +like gems as they dashed against the stones. No shadows rested upon +the grass, cooled by the dew and carpeted by flowers. The woods danced +in the October sunshine. Painted butterflies and gnats circled in the +warm air; green lizards gamboled among the rocks that cut the +turf. Flocks of autumn birds swooped round in rapid flight. Some +freshly-shorn sheep, led by a ragged child, cropped the short herbage +fragrant with strong herbs. A bristly pig carrying a bell about his +neck, ran wildly up and down the grassy slope in search of chestnuts. + +Through this sylvan wilderness Nobili came stepping downward by the +little paths, like a young god full of strength and love! + +The villa lay beneath him; the blackened ruins of the tower rose over +the chestnut-tops. These blackened ruins showed him which way to go. +As he set his foot upon the topmost terrace of the garden, his heart +beat fast. + +Enrica would be there, he knew it. Enrica would be waiting for him. +Could Nobili yearn so fondly for Enrica and she not know it? Could the +mystic bond that knit them together, from the first moment they had +met, leave her unconscious of his presence? No; that subtile charm +that draws lovers together, and breathes from heart to heart the +sacred fire, had warned her. She was standing there--there, beneath +him, under the shadow of a flowery thicket. Enrica was leaning against +the trunk of a magnolia-tree, the shining leaves framing her in a rich +canopy, through which a glint of sunshine pierced, falling upon her +light hair and the white dress she wore. + +Nobili paused to look at her. Miser-like, he would pause to gloat upon +his treasure! How well a golden glory would become that sunny head! +She only wanted wings, he thought, to make an angel of her. Enrica's +face was bent. Her thoughts, far away, were lost in a delicious world, +neither earth nor heaven--a world with Nobili! What mysteries were +there, what unknown joys, or sharper pains perchance, she neither knew +nor cared. She would share all with him! In a moment the place she +stood on was darkened. Something stood between her and the sun. She +looked up and gave a little cry, then stood motionless, the color +going and coming upon her cheek. One bound, and Nobili was beside her. +He strained her to him with a passion that robbed him of all words. +Scarcely knowing what he did, he grasped the tangled meshes of her +silken hair and covered them with kisses. Then he raised her soft face +in his hand, and gazed upon it long and fervently. + +Enrica's plaintive eyes melted as they met his. She quivered in his +embrace. Her whole soul went out to him as she lay within his arms. He +bent his head--their trembling lips clung together in one long kiss. +Then the little golden head drooped upon his breast, and nestled +there, as if at last at home. Never before had Enrica's dainty form +yielded beneath his touch. Before, he had but clasped her little hand, +or pressed her dress, or stolen a hasty kiss on those truant locks +of hers. Now Enrica was his own, his very own. The blood shot up like +fire over his face. His eyes devoured her. As she lay encircled in his +arms, a burning blush crimsoned her cheeks. She turned away her face, +and feebly tried to loosen herself from him. Nobili only pressed her +closer. He would not let her go. + +"Do not turn from me, Enrica," he softly murmured. "Would you rob me +of the rapture of my first embrace?" + +There was a passionate tremor in his voice that re vibrated within her +from head to foot. Her flushed cheek grew pale as she listened. + +"Heavens! how I have longed for you! How I have longed for you sitting +at home! And you so near!" + +"And I have longed for you," whispered Enrica, blushing again +redder than summer roses.--Enrica was too simple to dissemble.--"O +Nobili!"--and she raised her dreamy eyes upward to his, then dropped +them again before the fire of his glance--"you cannot tell how lonely +I have been. Oh! I have suffered so much; I thought I should have +died." + +"My own Enrica, that is gone and past. Now we shall never part. I have +won you for my wife. Even the marchesa must own this. Last night the +old life died out as the smoke from that old tower. To-day you have +waked to a new life with me." + +Again Nobili's arms stole round her; again he sealed the sacrament of +love with a fervid kiss. + +Enrica trembled from head to foot--a scared look came over her. The +rush of passionate joy, coming upon the terrors of the past night, was +more than she could bear. Nobili watched the change. + +"Forgive me, love," he said, "I will be calmer. Lay your dear head +against me. We will sit together here--under the trees." + +"Yes," said Enrica in a faltering voice; "I have so much to say." +Then, suddenly recalling the blessing of his presence, a smile stole +about her bloodless lips. She gave a happy sigh. "Yes, Nobili--we can +talk now without fear. But I can talk only of you. I have no thought +but you. I never dreamed of such happiness as this! O Nobili!" And she +hid her face in the strong arm entwined about her. + +"Speak to me, Enrica; I will listen to you forever." + +Enrica clasped his hand, looked at it, sighed, pressed it between both +of hers, sighed again, then raised it to her lips. + +"Dear hand," she said, "how it is burnt! But for this hand, I should +be nothing now but a little heap of ashes in the tower. Nobili"--her +tone suddenly changed--"Nobili, I will try to love life now that you +have given it to me." Her voice rang out like music, and her telltale +eyes caught his, with a glance as passionate as his own. "Count +Marescotti," she said, absently, as giving utterance to a passing +thought--"Count Marescotti told me, only a week ago, that I was born +to be unhappy. He said he read it in my eyes. I believed him then--not +now--not now." + +Why, she could not have explained, but, as the count's name passed +her lips, Enrica was sorry she had mentioned it. Nobili noted this. He +gave an imperceptible start, and drew back a little from her. + +"Do you know Count Marescotti?" Enrica asked him, timidly. + +"I know him by sight," was Nobili's reply. "He is a mad fellow--a +republican. Why does he come to Lucca?" + +Enrica shook her head. + +"I do not know," she answered, still confused. + +"Where did you meet him, Enrica?" + +She blushed, and dropped her eyes. As she gave him no answer, he asked +another question, gazing down upon her earnestly: + +"How did Count Marescotti come to know what your eyes said?" + +As Nobili spoke, his voice sounded changed. He waited for an answer +with a look as if he had been wronged. Enrica's answer did not come +immediately. She felt frightened. + +"Oh! why," she thought, "had she mentioned Marescotti's name?" Nobili +was angry with her--she was sure he was angry with her. + +"I met him at my aunt's one evening," she said at last, gathering +courage as she stole her little hand into one of his, and knit her +fingers tightly within his own. "We went up into the Guinigi Tower +together. There were dear old Trenta and Baldassare Lena with us." + +"Indeed!" replied Nobili, coldly. "I did not know that the Marchesa +Guinigi ever received young men." + +As Nobili said this he fixed his eyes upon Enrica's face. What could +he read there but assurance of the perfect innocence within? Yet +the name of Count Marescotti had grated upon his ear like a discord +clashing among sweet sounds. He shook the feeling off, however, for +the time. Again he was her gracious lover. + +"Tell me, love," he said, drawing Enrica to him, "did you hear my +signal last night?--the shot I fired below, out of the woods?" + +"Yes, I heard a shot. Something told me it must be you. I thought I +should have died when I heard my aunt order Adamo to unloose those +dreadful dogs. How did you escape them?" + +"The cunning beasts! They were upon my track. How I did it in the +darkness I cannot tell, but I managed to scramble down the cliff and +to reach the opposite mountain. The chasm was then between us. So the +dogs lost the scent upon the rocks, and missed me. I left Lucca almost +as soon as you. Trenta told me that the marchesa had brought you here +because you would not give me up. Dear heart, how I grieved that I had +brought suffering on you!" + +He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, then continued: + +"As long as it was day, I prowled about under the cliffs in the shadow +of the chasm. I watched the stars come out. There was one star that +shone brightly above the tower; to me that star was you, Enrica. I +could have knelt to it." + +"Dear Nobili!" murmured Enrica, softly. + +"As I waited there, I saw a great red vapor gather over the +battlements. The alarm-bell sounded. I climbed up through the wood, +where the rocks are lower, and watched among the shrubs. I saw the +marchesa carried out in Adamo's arms. I heard your name, dear love, +passed from mouth to mouth. I looked around--you were not there. I +understood it all; I rushed to save you." + +Again Nobili wound his arms round Enrica and drew her to him with +passionate ardor. The thought of Count Marescotti had faded out like a +bad dream at daylight. + +Enrica's blue eyes dimmed with tears. + +"Oh, do not weep, Enrica!" he cried. "Let the past go, love. Did the +marchesa think that bolts and bars, and Adamo, and watch-dogs, would +keep Nobili from you?" He gave a merry laugh. "I shall not leave +Corellia until we are affianced. Fra Pacifico knows it--I told him so +last night. Cavaliere Trenta is expected to-day from Lucca. Both will +speak to your aunt. One may have done so already, for what I know, +for Fra Pacifico had left his house before I rose. He must be here. Is +this a time to weep, Enrica?" he asked her tenderly. How comely Nobili +looked! What life and joy sparkled in his bright eyes! + +"I am very foolish--I hope you will forgive me," was Enrica's answer, +spoken a little sadly. Her confidence in herself was shaken, since +Count Marescotti's name had jarred between them. "Let us walk a little +in the shade." + +"Yes. Lean on me, dearest; the morning is delicious. But remember, +Enrica, I will have smiles--nothing but smiles." + +As Nobili bore her up on his strong arm, pacing up and down among the +flowering trees that, bowing in the light breeze, shed gaudy petals at +their feet--Nobili looked so strong, and resolute, and bold--his eyes +had such a power in them as he gazed down proudly upon her--that +the tears which trembled upon Enrica's eyelids disappeared. Nobili's +strength came to her as her own strength. She, who had been so crushed +and wounded, brought so near to death, needed this to raise her up to +life. And now it came--came as she gazed at him. + +Yes, she would live--live a new life with him. And Nobili had done +it--done it unconsciously, as the sun unfolds the bosom of the rose, +and from the delicate bud creates the perfect flower. + +Something Nobili understood of what was passing within her, but not +all. He had yet to learn the treasures of faith and love shut up in +the bosom of that silent girl--to learn how much she loved him--only +_him_. (A new lesson for one who had trifled with so many, and given +and taken such facile oaths!) + +Neither spoke, but wandered up and down in vague delight. + +Why was it that at this moment Nobili's thoughts strayed to Lucca, and +to Nera Boccarini?--Nera rose before him, glowing and velvet-eyed, +as on that night she had so tempted him. He drove her image from him. +Nera was dead to him. Dead?--Fool!--And did he think that any thing +can die? Do not our very thoughts rise up and haunt us in some subtile +consequence of after-life? Nothing dies--nothing is isolated. Each act +of daily intercourse--the merest trifle, as the gravest issue--makes +up the chain of life. Link by link that chain draws on, weighted with +good or ill, and clings about us to the very grave. + +Thinking of Nera, Nobili's color changed--a dark look clouded his +ready smile. Enrica asked, "What pains you?" + +"Nothing, love, nothing," Nobili answered vaguely, "only I fear I am +not worthy of you." + +Enrica raised her eyes to his. Such a depth of tenderness and purity +beamed from them, that Nobili asked himself with shame, how he could +have forgotten her. With this blue-eyed angel by his side it seemed +impossible, and yet-- + +Pressing Enrica's hand more tightly, he placed it fondly on his own. +"So small, so true," he murmured, gazing at it as it lay on his broad +palm. + +"Yes, Nobili, true to death," she answered, with a sigh. + +Still holding her hand, "Enrica," he said, solemnly, "I swear to love +you and no other, while I live. God is my witness!" + +As he lifted up his head in the earnestness with which he spoke, the +sunshine, streaming downward, shone full upon his face. + +Enrica trembled. "Oh! do not say too much," she cried, gazing up at +him entranced. + +With that sun-ray upon his face, Nobili seemed to her, at that moment, +more than mortal! + +"Angel!" exclaimed Count Nobili, wrought up to sudden passion, "can +you doubt me?" + +Before Enrica could reply, a snake, warmed by the hot sun, curled +upward from the terraced wall behind them, where it had basked, and +glided swiftly between them. Nobili's heel was on it; in an instant +he had crushed its head. But there between them lay the quivering +reptile, its speckled scales catching the light. Enrica shrieked and +started back. + +"O God! what an evil omen!" She said no more, only her shifting color +and uneasy eyes told what she felt. + +"An evil omen, love!" and Nobili brushed away the snake with his foot +into the underwood, and laughed. "Not so. It is an omen that I shall +crush all who would part us. That is how I read it." + +Enrica shook her head. That snake crawling between them was the first +warning to her that she was still on earth. Till then it had seemed to +her that Nobili's presence must be like paradise. Now for a moment a +terrible doubt crept over her. Could happiness be sad? It must be so, +for now she could not tell whether she was sad or happy. + +"Oh! do not say too much, dear Nobili," she repeated almost to +herself, "or--" Her voice dropped. She looked toward the spot where +the snake had fallen, and shuddered. + +Nobili did not then reply, but, taking Enrica by the hand, he led her +up a flight of steps to a higher terrace, where a cypress avenue threw +long shadows across the marble pavement. + +"You are mine," he whispered, "mine--as by a miracle!" + +There was such rapture in his voice that heaven came down into her +heart, and every doubt was stilled. + +At this moment Fra Pacifico's towering figure appeared ascending a +lower flight of steps toward them, coming from the house. He trod with +that firm, grand step churchmen have in common with actors--only the +stage upon which each treads is different. Behind Fra Pacifico was +the short, plump figure and the white hat of Cavaliere Trenta (a dwarf +beside the priest), his rosy face rosier than ever from the rapid +drive from Lucca. Trenta's kind eyes twinkled under his white eyebrows +as he spied Enrica above, standing side by side with Nobili. How +different the dear child looked from that last time he had seen her at +Lucca! + +Enrica flew down the steps to meet him. She threw her arms round his +neck. Count Nobili followed her; he shook hands with the cavaliere and +Fra Pacifico. + +"His reverence and I thought we should find you two together," said +Cavaliere Trenta, with a chuckle. "Count Nobili, I wish you joy." + +His voice faltered a little, and a spotless handkerchief was drawn +out and called into service. Nobili reddened, then bowed with formal +courtesy. + +"It is all come right, I see."--Trenta gave a sly glance from one to +the other, though the tears were in his eyes.--"I shall live to open +the marriage-ball on the first floor of the palace yet. Bagatella! I +would have tried to give the dear child to you myself, had I known how +much she loved you--but you have taken her. Well, well--possession is +better than gift." + +"She gave herself to me, cavaliere. Last night's work only made the +gift public," was Nobili's reply. + +There was a tone of triumph in Nobili's voice as he said this. He +stooped and pressed his lips to Enrica's hand. Enrica stood by with +downcast eyes--a spray of pink oleander swaying from the terrace-wall +in the light breeze above her head, for background. + +The old cavaliere nodded his head, round which the little curls set +faultlessly under his white hat. + +"My dear Count Nobili, permit me to offer my advice. You must settle +this matter at once--at once, I say;" and Trenta struck his stick upon +the marble balustrade for greater emphasis. + +"I quite agree with you," put in Fra Pacifico in his deep voice. "The +impression made by your courage last night must not be lost by delay. +I never saw an act of greater daring. Had you not come, I should have +tried to save Enrica, but I am past my prime; I should have failed." + +"You cannot count on the marchesa's gratitude," continued Trenta; "an +excellent lady, and my oldest friend, but proud and capricious. You +must take her like the wind when it blows--ha! ha! like the wind. I am +come here to help you both." + +"Cavaliere," said Nobili, turning toward him (his vagrant eyes had +wandered off to Enrica, so charming, with the pink oleander and its +dark-green leaves waving above her blond head), "do me the favor to +ask the Marchesa Guinigi at what hour she will admit me to sign the +marriage-contract. I have pressing business that calls me back to +Lucca to-day." + +"So soon, dear Nobili?" a soft voice whispered at his ear, "so soon?" +And then there was a sigh. Surely her paradise was very brief! Enrica +had thought in her simplicity that, once met, they two never should +part again, but spend the live-long days together side by side among +the woods, lingering by flowing streams; or in the rich shade of +purple vine-bowers; or in mossy caves, shaded by tall ferns, hid on +the mountain-side, and let time and the world roll by. This was the +life she dreamed of. Could any grief be there? + +"Yes, love," Nobili answered to her question. "I must return to Lucca +to-night. I started on the instant, as the cavaliere knows. Before I +go, however, all must be settled about our marriage, and the contract +signed. I will take no denial." + +Nobili spoke with the determination that was in him. Enrica's heart +gave a bound. "The contract!" She had never thought of that. "The +contract and the marriage!"--"Both close at hand!--Then the life she +dreamed of must come true in very earnest!" + +The cavaliere looked doubtingly at Fra Pacifico. Fra Pacifico shrugged +his big shoulders, looked back again at Cavaliere Trenta, and smiled +rather grimly. There was always a sense of suppressed power, moral and +physical, about Fra Pacifico. In conversation he had a way of leaving +the burden of small talk to others, and of reserving himself for +special occasions; but when he spoke he must be listened to. + +"Quick work, my dear count," was all the priest said to Nobili in +answer. "Do you think you can insure the marchesa's consent?" Now he +addressed the cavaliere. + +"Oh, my friend will be reasonable, no doubt. After last night, +she must consent." The cavaliere was always ready to put the best +construction upon every thing. "If she raises any obstacles, I think I +shall be able to remove them." + +"Consent!" cried Nobili, fiercely echoing back the word, "she must +consent--she will be mad to refuse." + +"Well--well--we shall see.--You, Count Nobili, have done all to make +it sure. The terms of the contract (I have heard of them from Fra +Pacifico) are princely." A look from Count Nobili stopped Trenta from +saying more. + +"Now, Enrica," and the cavaliere turned and took her arm, "come in and +give me some breakfast. An old man of eighty must eat, if he means to +dance at weddings." + +"You, Nobili, must come with me," said Fra Pacifico, laying his hand +on the count's shoulder. "We will wait the cavaliere's summons to +return here over a bottle of the marchesa's best vintage, and a cutlet +cooked by Maria. She is my best cook; I have one for every day in the +week." + +So they parted--Trenta with Enrica descending flight after flight +of steps, leading from terrace to terrace, down to the villa; Nobili +mounting upward to the forest with Fra Pacifico toward Corellia, to +await the marchesa's answer. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE CONTRACT. + + +Fra Pacifico, with Adamo and Pipa, had labored ever since-daybreak +to arrange the rooms at the villa before the marchesa rose. Pipa had +freely used the broom and many pails of water. All the windows were +thrown open, and clouds of invisible incense from the flowers without +sweetened the fusty rooms. + +The villa had not been inhabited for nearly fifty years. It was +scantily provided with furniture, but there were chairs and tables +and beds, and all the rough necessaries of life. To make all straight, +whole generations of beetles had been swept away; and patriarchal +spiders, which clung tenaciously to the damp spots on the walls. A +scorpion or two had been found, which, firmly resisting to quit the +chinks where they had grown and multiplied, had died by decapitation. +Fra Pacifico would not have owned it, but he had discovered and killed +a nest of black adders that lay concealed, curled up in a curtain. + +He had with his own hands, in the early morning, carefully fashioned +the spacious sala on the ground-floor to the marchesa's liking. A huge +sofa, with a faded amber cover, had been drawn out of a recess, and +so placed that the light should fall at her back.--She objected to the +sunshine, with true Italian perverseness. Some arm-chairs, once gilt, +and still bearing a coronet, were placed in a semicircle opposite. The +windows of the sala, and two glass doors of the same size and make, +looked east and west; toward the terraces and the garden on one side, +and over the cliffs and the chasm to the opposite mountains on the +other. The walls were broken by doors of varnished pine-wood. These +doors led, on the right, to the chapel, Enrica's bedroom, and many +empty apartments; on the left, to the marchesa's suite of rooms, the +offices, and the stone corridor which communicated with the now ruined +tower. High up on the walls of the sala, two large and roughly-painted +frescoes decorated the empty spaces. A Dutch seaport on one side, with +sloping roofs and tall gables, bordering a broad river, upon which +ships sailed vaguely away into a yellow haze. (Not more vaguely +sailing, perhaps, than many human ships, with life-sails set to +catch the wind of fortune--ships which never make more way than +these painted emblems!) Opposite, a hunting-party of the olden time +picnicked in a forest-glade; a brown and red palace in the background, +in front lords and ladies lounging on the grass--bundles of +satin, velvet, powder, ribbons, feathers, shoulder-knots, ruffles, +long-tailed coats, and trains. + +A door to the left opened. There was a sound of voices talking. + +"My honored marchesa," the cavaliere was heard to say in his most +dulcet tones, "in the state of your affairs, you cannot refuse. Why +then delay? The day is passing by; Count Nobili is impatient. Let me +implore you to lose no more time." + +While he was speaking the marchesa entered the sala, passing close +under the fresco of the vaguely-sailing ships upon the wall.--Can the +marchesa tell whither she is drifting more than these?--She glanced +round approvingly, then seated herself upon the sofa. Trenta +obsequiously placed a footstool at her feet, a cushion at her back. +Even the tempered light, which had been carefully prepared for her by +closing the outer wooden shutters, could not conceal how sallow and +worn she looked, nor the black circles that had gathered round her +eyes. Her dark dress hung about her as if she had suddenly grown thin; +her white hands fell listlessly at her side. The marchesa knew that +she must consent to Count Nobili's conditions. She knew she must +consent this very day. But such a struggle as this knowledge cost her, +coming so close upon the agitation of the previous night, was more +than even her iron nerves could bear. As she leaned back upon the +sofa, shading her eyes with her hand, as was her habit, she felt she +could not frame the words with which to answer the cavaliere, were it +to save her life. + +As for the cavaliere, who had seated himself opposite, his plump +little person was so engulfed in an arm-chair, that nothing but +his snowy head was visible. This he waved up and down reflectively, +rattled his stick upon the floor, and glanced indignantly from time to +time at the marchesa. Why would she not answer him? + +Meanwhile a little color had risen upon her cheeks. She forced herself +to sit erect, arranged the folds of her dark dress, then, in a kind of +stately silence, seemed to lend herself to listen to what Trenta might +have to urge, as though it concerned her as little as that rose-leaf +which comes floating in from the open door and drops at her feet. + +"Well, marchesa, well--what is your answer?" asked Trenta, much +nettled at her assumed indifference. "Remember that Count Nobili and +Fra Pacifico have been waiting for some hours." + +"Let Nobili wait," answered the marchesa, a sudden glare darting into +her dark eyes; "he is born to wait for such as I." + +"Still"--Trenta was both tired and angry, but he dared not show it; +only he rattled his stick louder on the floor, and from time to time +aimed a savage blow with it against the carved legs of a neighboring +table--"still, why do the thing ungraciously? The count's offers are +magnificent. Surely in the face of absolute ruin--Fra Pacifico assures +me--" + +"Let Fra Pacifico mind his own business," was the marchesa's answer. + +"Nobili saved Enrica's life last night; that cannot be denied." + +"Yes--last night, last night; and I am to be forced and fettered +because I set myself on fire! I wish I had perished, and Enrica too!" + +A gesture of horror from the cavaliere recalled the marchesa to a +sense of what she had uttered. + +"And do you deem it nothing, Cesare Trenta, after a life spent in +building up the ancient name I bear, that I should be brought to sign +a marriage-contract with a peddler's son?" She trembled with passion. + +"Yet it must be done," answered Trenta. + +"Must be done! Must be done! I would rather die! Mark my words, +Cesare. No good will come of this marriage. That young man is weak and +dissolute. He is mad with wealth, and the vulgar influence that +comes with wealth. As a man, he is unworthy of my niece, who, I must +confess, has the temper of an angel." + +"I believe that you are wrong, marchesa; Count Nobili is much beloved +in Lucca. Fra Pacifico has known him from boyhood. He praises him +greatly. I also like him." + +"Like him!--Yes, Cesare, you are such an easy fool you like every one. +First Marescotti, then Nobili. Marescotti was a gentleman, but this +fellow--" She left the sentence incomplete. "Remember my words--you +are deceived in him." + +"At all events," retorted the cavaliere, "it is too late to discuss +these matters now. Time presses. Enrica loves him. He insists on +marrying her. You have no money, and cannot give her a portion. My +respected marchesa, I have often ventured to represent to you what +those lawsuits would entail! Per Bacco! There must be an end of all +things--may I call them in?" + +The poor old chamberlain was completely exhausted. He had spent four +hours in reasoning with his friend. The marchesa turned her head +away and shuddered; she could not bring herself to speak the word of +bidding. The cavaliere accepted this silence for consent. He struggled +out of the ponderous arm-chair, and went out into the garden. There +(leaning over the balustrade of the lowest terrace, under the +willful branches of a big nonia-tree, weighted with fronds of scarlet +trumpet-flowers, that hung out lazily from the wall, to which the +stem was nailed) Cavaliere Trenta found Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico +awaiting the marchesa's summons. Behind them, at a respectful +distance, stood Ser Giacomo, the notary from Corellia. Streamlets pure +as crystal ran bubbling down beside them in marble runnels; statues +of gods and goddesses balanced each other, on pedestals, at the angles +where the steps turned. In front, on the gravel, a pair of peacocks +strutted, spreading their gaudy tails in the sunshine. + +As the four men entered the sala, they seemed to bring the evening +shadows with them. These suddenly slanted across the floor like +pointed arrows, darkening the places where the sun had shone. Was it +fancy, or did the sparkling fountain at the door, as it fell backward +into the marble basin, murmur with a sound like human sighs? + +Count Nobili walked first. He was grave and pale. Having made a formal +obeisance to the marchesa, his quick eye traveled round in search of +Enrica. Not finding her, it settled again upon her aunt. As Nobili +entered, she raised her smooth, snake-like head, and met his gaze in +silence. She had scarcely bowed, in recognition of his salute. Now, +with the slightest possible inclination of her head, she signed to him +to take his place on one of the chairs before her. + +Fra Pacifico, his full, broad face perfectly unmoved, and Cavaliere +Trenta, who watched the scene nervously with troubled, twinkling eyes, +placed themselves on either side of Count Nobili. Ser Giacomo had +already slipped round behind the sofa, and seated himself at a table +placed against the wall, the marriage-contract spread out before +him. There was an awkward pause. Then Count Nobili rose, and, in that +sweet-toned voice which had fallen like a charm on many a woman's ear, +addressed the marchesa. + +"Marchesa Guinigi, hereditary Governess of Lucca, and Countess of +the Garfagnana, I am come to ask in marriage the hand of your niece, +Enrica Guinigi. I desire no portion with her. The lady herself is a +portion more than enough for me." + +As Nobili ceased speaking, the ruddy color shot across his brow and +cheeks, and his eyes glistened. His generous nature spoke in those few +words. + +"Count Nobili," replied the marchesa, carefully avoiding his eye, +which eagerly sought hers--"am I correct in addressing you as Count +Nobili?--Pardon me if I am wrong." Here she paused, and affected to +hesitate. "Do you bear any other name? I am really quite ignorant of +the new titles." + +This question was asked with outward courtesy, but there was such a +twang of scorn in the marchesa's tone, such an expression of contempt +upon her lip, that the old chamberlain trembled on his chair. Even at +this last moment it was possible that her infernal pride might scatter +every thing to the winds. + +"Call me Mario Nobili--that will do," answered the count, reddening to +the roots of his chestnut curls. + +The marchesa inclined her head, and smiled a sarcastic smile, as if +rejoicing to acquaint herself with a fact before unknown. Then she +resumed: + +"Mario Nobili--you saved my niece's life last night. I am advised that +I cannot refuse you her hand in marriage, although--" + +Such a black frown clouded Nobili's countenance under the sting of her +covert insults that Trenta hastily interposed. + +"Permit me to remind you, Marchesa Guinigi, that, subject to your +approval, the conditions of the marriage have been already arranged +by me and Fra Pacifico, before you consented to meet Count Nobili. The +present interview is purely formal. We are met in order to sign the +marriage-contract. The notary, I see, is ready. The contract lies +before him. May I be permitted to call in the lady?" + +"One moment, Cavaliere Trenta," interposed Nobili, who was still +standing, holding up his hand to stop him--"one moment. I must request +permission to repeat myself the terms of the contract to the Marchesa +Guinigi before I presume to receive the honor of her assent." + +It was now the marchesa's turn to be discomfited. This was the avowal +of an open bargain between Count Nobili and herself. A common exchange +of value for value; such as low creatures barter for with each other +in the exchange. She felt this, and hated Nobili more keenly for +having had the wit to wound her. + +"I bind myself, immediately on the signing of the contract, to +discharge every mortgage, debt, and incumbrance on these feudal lands +of Corellia in the Garfagnana; also any debts in and about the Guinigi +Palace and lands, within and without the walls of Lucca. I take upon +myself every incumbrance," Nobili repeated emphatically, raising his +voice. "My purpose is fully noted in that contract, hastily drawn up +at my desire. I also bestow on the marchesa's niece the Guinigi Palace +I bought at Lucca--to the marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi, and her +heirs forever; also a dowry of fifty thousand francs a year, should +she survive me." + +What is it about gold that invests its possessor with such instant +power? Is knowledge power?--or does gold weigh more than brains? I +think so. Gold-pieces and Genius weighed in scales would send poor +Genius kicking! + +From the moment Count Nobili had made apparent the wealth which +he possessed, he was master of the situation. The marchesa's quick +perception told her so. While he was accepting all her debts, with the +superb indifference of a millionaire, she grew cold all over. + +"Tell the notary," she said, endeavoring to maintain her usual haughty +manner, "to put down that, at my death, I bequeath to my niece all of +which I die possessed--the palace at Lucca, and the heirlooms, +plate, jewels, armor, and the picture of my great ancestor Castruccio +Castracani, to be kept hanging in the place where it now is, opposite +the seigneurial throne in the presence-chamber." + +Here she paused. The hasty scratch of Ser Giacomo's pen was heard upon +the parchment. Spite of her efforts to control her feelings, an ashy +pallor spread over the marchesa's face. She grasped her two hands +together so tightly that the finger-tips grew crimson; a nervous +quiver shook her from head to foot. Cavaliere Trenta, who read the +marchesa like a book, watched her in perfect agony. What was going to +happen? Would she faint? + +"I also bequeath," continued the marchesa, rising from her seat with +solemn action, and speaking in a low, hushed voice, her eyes fixed on +the floor--"I also bequeath the great Guinigi name and our ancestral +honors to my niece--to bear them after my death, together with her +husband, then to pass to her eldest child. And may that great name be +honored!" + +The marchesa reseated herself, raised her thin white hands, and threw +up her eyes to heaven. The sacrifice was made! + +"May I call in the lady?" again asked the cavaliere, addressing no one +in particular. + +"I will fetch her in," replied Fra Pacifico, rising from his chair. +"She is my spiritual daughter." + +No one moved while Fra Pacifico was absent. Ser Giacomo, the notary, +dressed in his Sunday suit of black, remained, pen in hand, staring +at the wall. Never in his humble life had he formed one of such a +distinguished company. All his life Ser Giacomo had heard of the +Marchesa Guinigi as a most awful lady. If Fra Pacifico had not caught +him within his little office near the _cafe_, rather than have faced +her, Ser Giacomo would have run away. + +The door opened, and Enrica stood upon the threshold. There was an +air of innocent triumph about her. She had bound a blue ribbon in her +golden curls, and placed a rose in the band that encircled her slight +waist. Enrica was, in truth, but a common mortal, but she looked so +fresh, and bright, and young, with such tender, trusting eyes--there +was such an aureole of purity about her, she might have passed for a +virgin saint. + +As he caught sight of Enrica, the moody expression on Count Nobili's +face changed, and broke into a smile. In her presence he forgot the +marchesa. Was not such a prize worthy of any battle? What did +it signify to him if Enrica were called Guinigi? And as to those +tumbledown palaces and heirlooms--what of them? He could buy scores +of old palaces any day if he chose. Quickly he stepped forward to meet +her as she entered. Fra Pacifico rose, and with great solemnity signed +them both with a thrice-repeated cross, then he placed Enrica's hand +in Nobili's. The count raised it to his lips, and kissed it fervently. + +"My Enrica," he whispered, "this is a glorious day!" + +"Oh, it is heavenly!" she answered back, softly. + +The marchesa's white face darkened as she looked at Enrica. How dared +Enrica be so happy? But she repressed the reproaches that rose to +her lips, though her heart swelled to bursting, and the veins in her +forehead distended with rage. + +"Can Enrica be of my flesh and blood?" exclaimed the marchesa in a low +voice to the cavaliere who now stood at her side. "Fool! she believes +in her lover! It is a horrible sacrifice! Mark my words--a horrible +sacrifice!" + +Nobili and Enrica had taken their places behind the notary. The +slanting shadows from the open door struck upon them with deeper +gloom, and the low murmur of the fountain seemed now to form itself +into a moan. + +"Do I sign here?" asked Count Nobili. + +Ser Giacomo trembled like a leaf. + +"Yes, excellency, you sign here," he stammered, pointing to the +precise spot; but Ser Giacomo looked so terrified that Nobili, +forgetting where he was, laughed out loud and turned to Enrica, who +laughed also. + +"Stop that unseemly mirth," called out the marchesa from the sofa; +"it is most indecent. Let the act that buries a great name at least be +conducted with decorum." + +"That great name shall not die," spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico +from the background; "I call a blessing upon it, and upon the present +act. The name shall live. When we are dead and rotting in our +graves, a race shall rise from them"--and he pointed to Nobili and +Enrica--"that shall recall the great legends of the past among the +citizens of Lucca." + +Fearful of what the marchesa might be moved to reply (even the +marchesa, however, had a certain dread of Fra Pacifico when he assumed +the dignity of his priestly office), Trenta hurried forward and +offered his arm to lead her to the table. She rose slowly to her feet, +and cast her eyes round at the group of happy faces about her; all +happy save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of sweat +were standing. + +"Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, "fear not to +sign the marriage-contract. Think of the blessings it will bring to +hundreds of miserable peasants, who are suffering from your want of +means to help them!" + +"Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able to control +herself, "I respect your office, but this is still my house, and I +order you to be silent. Where am I to sign?"--she addressed herself to +Ser Giacomo. + +"Here, madame," answered the almost inaudible voice of the notary. + +The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand wrote her full +name and titles. She took a malicious pleasure in spreading them out +over the page. + +Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after her aunt's. +Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. Cavaliere Trenta and +the priest were the witnesses. + +"There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili said, addressing +her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact day you may please to name; +but, madame"--and with a lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced +nearer to where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to touch +her--"I beg you not to keep me waiting long." + +The marchesa drew back, and contemplated him with a haughty stare. +His manner and his request were both alike offensive to her. She would +have Count Nobili to understand that she would admit no shadow of +familiarity; that her will had been forced, but that in all else she +regarded him with the same animosity as before. + +Nobili had understood her action and her meaning. "Devil!" he muttered +between his clinched teeth. He hated himself for having been betrayed +into the smallest warmth. With a flashing eye he turned from the +marchesa to Enrica, and whispered in her ear, "My only love, this is +more than I can bear!" + +Enrica had heard nothing. She had been lost in happy thoughts. In her +mind a vision was passing. She was in the close street of San Simone, +within its deep shadows that fell so early in the afternoon. Before +her stood the two grim palaces, the cavernous doorways and the +sculptured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both: one, her old home; +the other, that was to be her home. She saw herself go in here, cross +the pillared court and mount upward. It was neither day nor night, but +all shone with crystal brightness. Then Nobili's voice came to her, +and she roused herself. + +"My love," he repeated, "I must go--I must go! I cannot trust myself a +moment longer with--" + +What he had on his lips need not be written. "That lady," he added, +hastily correcting himself, and he pointed to the marchesa, who, led +by the cavaliere, had reseated herself upon the sofa, looking defiance +at everybody. + +"I have borne it all for your sake, Enrica." As Nobili spoke, he led +her aside to one of the windows. "Now, good-by," and his eyes gathered +upon her with passionate fondness; "think of me day and night." + +Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first entered, except +to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her head dropped on her breast. A +dread--a horror came suddenly upon her. "O Nobili, why must we part?" + +"Scarcely to part," he answered, pressing her hand--"only for a few +days; then always to be together." + +Enrica tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it firmly. +Then she turned away her head, and big tears rolled down her cheeks. +When at last Nobili tore himself from her, Enrica followed him to the +door, and, regardless of her aunt's furious glances, she kissed her +hand, and waved it after him. There was a world of love in the action. + +Spite of his indignation, Count Nobili did not fail duly to make his +salutation to the marchesa. + +The cavaliere and Fra Pacifico followed him out. Twilight now darkened +the garden. The fragrance of the flowers was oppressive in the still +air. A star or two had come out, and twinkled faintly on the broad +expanse of deep-blue sky. The fountain murmured hollow in the silence +of coming night. + +"Good-by," said Cavaliere Trenta to Nobili, in his thin voice. +"I deeply regret the marchesa's rudeness. She is unhinged--quite +unhinged; but her heart is excellent, believe me, most excellent." + +"Do not talk of the marchesa," exclaimed Nobili, as he rapidly +ascended flight after flight of the terraces. "Let me forget her, or I +shall never return to Corellia. Dio Sagrato!" and Nobili clinched his +fist. "The marchesa is the most cursed thing God ever created!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE CLUB AT LUCCA. + + +The piazza at Lucca is surrounded by four avenues of plane-trees. In +the centre stands the colossal statue of a Bourbon with disheveled +hair, a cornucopia at her feet. Facing the west is the ducal palace, +a spacious modern building, in which the sovereigns of Lucca kept a +splendid court. Here Cesare Trenta had flourished. Opposite the palace +is the Hotel of the Universo, where, as we know, Count Marescotti +lodged at No. 4, on the second story. Midway in the piazza a deep +and narrow street dives into the body of the city--a street of many +colors, with houses red, gray, brown, and tawny, mellowed and tempered +by the hand of Time into rich tints that melt into warm shadows. In +the background rise domes, and towers, and mediaeval church-fronts, +galleried and fretted with arches, pillars, and statues. Here a +golden mosaic blazes in the sun, yonder a brazen San Michele with +outstretched arms rises against the sky; and, scattered up and down, +many a grand old palace-roof uprears its venerable front, with open +pillared belvedere, adorned with ancient frescoes. A dull, sleepy old +city, Lucca, but full of beauty! + +On the opposite side of the piazza, behind the plane-trees, stand two +separate buildings, of no particular pretension, other than that both +are of marble. One is the theatre, the other is the club. About the +club there is some attempt at ornamentation. A wide portico, raised +on broad steps, runs along the entire front, supported by Corinthian +columns. Under this portico there are orange-trees in green stands, +rows of chairs, and tables laid with white table-cloths, plates, and +napkins, ready for an _al-fresco_ meal. + +It is five o'clock in the afternoon of a splendid day early in +October--the next day, in fact, after the contract was signed at +Corellia. The hour for the drive upon the ramparts at Lucca is not +till six. This, therefore, is the favorite moment for a lounge at the +club. The portico is dotted with black coats and hats. Baldassare lay +asleep between two chairs. He had arranged himself so as not to crease +a pair of new trousers--all'Inglese--not that any Englishman would +have worn such garments--they were too conspicuous; but his tailor +tells him they are English, and Baldassare willingly believes him. + +Baldassare is not a member, but he was admitted to the club by the +influence of his patron, the old chamberlain; not without protest, +however, with the paternal shop close by. Being there, Baldassare +stands his ground in a sullen, silent way. He has much jewelry about +him, and wears many showy rings. Trenta says publicly that these rings +are false; but Trenta is not at the club to-day. + +Lolling back in a chair near Baldassare, with his short legs crossed, +and his thumbs stuck into the arm-holes of his coat, is Count Orsetti, +smiling, fat, and innocuous. His mother has not yet decided when he is +to speak the irrevocable words to Teresa Ottolini. Orsetti is far too +dutiful a son to do so before she gives him permission. His mother +might change her mind at the last moment; then Orsetti would change +his mind, too, and burn incense on other altars. Orsetti has a +meerschaum between his teeth, from which he is puffing out columns of +smoke. With his head thrown back, he is watching it as it curls upward +into the vaulted portico. The languid young man, Orazio Franchi, +supported by a stick, is at this moment ascending the steps. To +see him drag one leg after the other, one would think his days were +numbered. Not at all. Franchi is strong and healthy, but he cultivates +languor as an accomplishment. Everybody at Lucca is idle, but +nobody is languid, so Franchi has thought fit to adopt that line of +distinction. His thin, lanky arms, stooping figure, and a head set on +a long neck that droops upon his chest, as well as a certain indolent +grace, suit the _role_. When Franchi had mounted the steps he stood +still, heaved an audible sigh of infinite relief, then he sank into a +chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. Count Malatesta, who was near, +leaning against the wall behind, took his cigar from his mouth and +laughed. + +"Su!--Via!--A little courage to bear the burden of a weary life. What +has tired you, Orazio?" + +"I have walked from the gate here," answered Orazio, without unclosing +his eyes. + +"Go on, go on," is Malatesta's reply, "nothing like perseverance. You +will lose the use of your limbs in time. It is this cursed air. Per +Bacco! it will infect me. Why, oh! why, my penates, was I born at +Lucca? It is the dullest place. No one ever draws a knife, or fights a +duel, or runs away with his neighbor's wife. Why don't they? It would +be excitement. Cospetto! we marry, and are given in marriage, and +breed like pigeons in our own holes.--Come, Franchi, have you no news? +Wake up, man! You are full of wickedness, spite of your laziness." + +Franchi opened his eyes, stretched himself, then yawned, and leaned +his head upon his arm that rested on one of the small tables near. + +"News?--oh!--ah! There is plenty of news, but I am too tired to tell +it." + +"News! and I not know it!" cried Count Malatesta. + +Several others spoke, then all gathered round Franchi. Count Malatesta +slapped Franchi on the back. + +"Come, my Trojan, speak. I insist upon it," said Orsetti, rising. + +Franchi looked up at him. There was a French cook at Palazzo Orsetti. +No one had such Chateau Lafitte. Orazio is far from insensible to +these blessings. + +"Well, listen. Old Sansovino has returned to his villa at Riparata. +His wife is with him." + +"His wife?" shouted Orsetti. "Che, che! Any woman but his wife, and +I'll believe you. Why, she has lived for the last fifteen years +with Duke Bartolo at Venice. Sansovino did not mind the duke, but he +charged her with forgery. You remember? About her dower. There was a +lawsuit, I think. No, no--not his wife." + +"Yes, his wife," answered Franchi, crossing his arms with great +deliberation. "The Countess Sansovino was received by her attached +husband with bouquets, and a band of music. She drove up to the +front-door in gala--in a four-in-hand, _a la Daumont_. All the +tenantry were in waiting--her children too (each by a different +father)--to receive her. It was most touching. Old Sansovino did it +very well, they tell me. He clasped her to his heart, and melted into +tears like a _pere noble_" + +"O Bello!" exclaimed Orsetti, "if old Sansovino cried, it must have +been with shame. After this, I will believe any thing." + +"The Countess Sansovino is very rich," a voice remarked from the +background. + +"Well, if she forges, I suppose so," another answered. + +"O Marriage! large are the folds of thy ample mantle!" cried Count +Malatesta. "Who shall say we are not free in Italy? Now, why do they +not do this kind of thing in Lucca? Will any one tell me?--I want to +know." + +There was a general laugh. "Well, they may possibly do worse," said +Franchi, languidly. + +"What do you mean?" asked Malatesta, sharply. "Is there more scandal?" + +Franchi nodded. A crowd collected round him. + +"How the devil, Franchi, do you know so much? Out with it! You must +tell us." + +"Give me time!--give me time!" was Franchi's answer. He raised his +head, and eyed them all with a look of feigned surprise. "Is it +possible no one has heard it?" + +He was answered by a general protest that nothing had been heard. + +"Nobody knows what has happened at the Universo?" Franchi asked with +unusual energy. + +"No, no!" burst forth from Malatesta and Orsetti. "No, no!" sounded +from behind. + +"That is quite possible," continued Orazio, with a cynical smile. "To +tell you the truth, I did not think you had heard it. It only happened +half an hour ago." + +"What happened?" asked Count Orsetti. + +"A secret commission has been sent from Rome." There was a breathless +silence. "The government is alarmed. A secret commission to examine +Count Marescotti's papers, and to imprison him." + +"That's his uncle's doing--the Jesuit!" cried Malatesta. "This is the +second time. Marescotti will be shut up for life." + +"Did they catch him?" asked Orsetti. + +"No; he got out of an upper window, and escaped across the roof. He +had taken all the upper floor of the Universo for his accomplices, who +were expected from Paris." + +"Honor to Lucca!" Malatesta put in. "We are progressing." + +"He's gone," continued Orazio, falling back exhausted on his chair, +"but his papers--" Here Franchi thought it right to pause and faintly +wink. "I'll tell you the rest when I have smoked a cigar. Give me a +light." + +"No, no, you must smoke afterward," said Orsetti, rapping him smartly +on the back. "Go on--what about Marescotti's papers?" + +"Compromising--very," murmured Franchi, feebly, leaning back out of +the range of Orsetti's arm. + +"The Red count was a communist, we all know," observed Malatesta. + +"_Mon cher_! he was a poet also," responded Orazio. Orazio's languor +never interfered with his love of scandal. "When any lady struck his +fancy, Marescotti made a sonnet--a damaging practice. These sonnets +are a diary of his life. The police were much diverted, I assure +you, and so was I. I was in the hotel; I gave them the key to all the +ladies." + +"You might have done better than waste your fine energies in making +ladies names public town-talk," said Orsetti, frowning. + +"Well, that's a matter of opinion," replied Orazio, with a certain +calm insolence peculiar to him. "I have no ladylove in Lucca." + +"Delicious!" broke in Malatesta, brightening up all over. "Don't +quarrel over a choice bone.--Who is compromised the most? I'll have +her name placarded. Some one must make a row." + +"Enrica Guinigi is the most compromised," answered Orazio, striking +a match to light his cigar. "Marescotti celebrates her as the young +Madonna before the archangel Gabriel visited her. Ha! ha!" + +Malatesta gave a low whistle. + +"Enrica Guinigi! Is not that the marchesa's niece?" asked Orsetti; "a +pretty, fair-faced girl I see driving with her aunt on the ramparts +sometimes?" + +"The same," answered Malatesta. "But what, in the name of all the +devils, could Marescotti know of her? No one has ever spoken to her." + +Baldassare now leaned forward and listened; the name of Enrica woke +him from his sleep. He hardly dared to join the circle formed round +Franchi, for Franchi always snubbed him, and called him "Young +Galipots," when Trenta was absent. + +"Perhaps Marescotti was the archangel Gabriel himself," said +Malatesta, with a leer. + +"But answer my question," insisted Orsetti, who, as an avowed suitor +of Lucca maidens had their honor and good name at heart. "Don't be +a fool, but tell me what you know. This idle story, involving the +reputation of a young girl, is shameful. I protest against it!" + +"Do you?" sneered Orazio, leaning back, and pulling at his sandy +mustache. "That is because you know nothing about it. This _Sainte +Vierge_ has already been much talked about--first, with Nobili, who +lives opposite--when _ma tante_ was sleeping. Then she spent a day +with several men upon the Guinigi Tower, an elegant retirement among +the crows. After that old Trenta offered her formally in marriage to +Marescotti." + +"What!--After the Guinigi Tower?" put in Malatesta. "Of course +Marescotti refused her?" + +"'Refused her, of course, with thanks.' So says the sonnet." Orazio +went on to say all this in a calm, tranquil way, casting the bread +of scandal on social waters as he puffed at his cigar. "It is very +prettily rhymed--the sonnet--I have read it. The young Madonna is +warmly painted. _Now, why did Marescotti refuse to marry her?_ That is +what I want to know." And Franchi looked round upon his audience with +a glance of gratified malice. + +"Even in Lucca!--even in Lucca!" Malatesta clapped his hands +and chuckled until he almost choked. "Laus Veneri!--the mighty +goddess!--She has reared an altar even here in this benighted city. I +was a skeptic, but a Paphian miracle has converted me. I must drink a +punch in honor of the great goddess." + +Here Baldassare rose and leaned over from behind. + +"I went up the Guinigi Tower with the party," he ventured to say. +"There were four of us. The Cavaliere Trenta told me in the street +just before that it was all right, and that the lady had agreed to +marry Count Marescotti. There can be no secret about it now that every +one knows it. Count Marescotti raved so about the Signorina Enrica, +that he nearly jumped over the parapet." + +"Better for her if you had helped him over," muttered Orazio, with a +sarcastic stare. "The sonnet would not then have been written." + +But Baldassare, conscious that he had intelligence that would make +him welcome, stood his ground. "You do not seem to know what has +happened," he continued. + +"More news!" cried Malatesta. "Gracious heavens! Wave after wave it +comes!--a mighty sea. I hear the distant roar--it dashes high!--It +breaks!--Speak, oh, speak, Adonis!" + +"The Marchesa Guinigi has left Lucca suddenly." + +"Who cares? Do you, Pietrino?" asked Franchi of Orsetti, with a +contemptuous glance at Baldassare. + +"Let him speak," cried Malatesta; "Baldassare is an oracle." + +"The marchesa left Lucca suddenly," persisted Baldassare, not daring +to notice Orsetti's insolence. "She took her niece with her." + +"Have it cried about the streets," interrupted Orazio, opening his +eyes. + +"Yesterday morning an express came down for Cavaliere Trenta. The +ancient tower of Corellia has been entirely burnt. The marchesa was +rescued." + +"And the niece--is the niece gone to glory on the funeral-pyre?" + +"No," answered Baldassare, helplessly, settling his stupid eyes on +Orazio, whose thrusts he could not parry. "She was saved by Count +Nobili, who was accidentally shooting on the mountains near." + +"Oh, bah!" cried Malatesta, with a knowing grin; "I never believe in +accidents. There is a ruling power. That power is love--love--love." + +"The cavaliere is not yet returned." + +"This is a strange story," said Orsetti, gravely. "Nobili too, and +Marescotti. She must be a lively damsel. What will Nera Boccarini say +to her truant knight, who rescues maidens _accidentally_ on distant +mountains? What had Nobili to do in the Garfagnana?" + +"Ask him," lisped Orazio; "it will save more talking. I wish Nobili +joy of his bargain," he added, turning to Malatesta. + +"I wonder that he cares to take up with Marescotti's leavings." + +"Here's Ruspoli, crossing the square. Perhaps he can throw some light +on this strange story," said Orsetti. + +Prince Ruspoli, still at Lucca, is on a visit to some relatives. He +is, as I have said, decidedly horsey, and is much looked up to by the +"golden youths," his companions, in consequence. As a gentleman rider +at races and steeple-chases, as a hunter on the Roman Campagna, and +the driver of a "stage" on the Corso, Ruspoli is unrivaled. He breeds +racers, and he has an English stud-groom, who has taught him to speak +English with a drawl, enlivened by stable-slang. He is slim, fair, and +singularly awkward, and of a uniform pale yellow--yellow complexion, +yellow hair, and yellow eyebrows. Poole's clothes never fit him, and +he walks, as he dances, with his legs far apart, as if a horse +were under him. He carries a hunting-whip in his hand spite of the +month--October (these little anomalies are undetected in New Italy, +where there is so much to learn). Prince Ruspoli swings round this +whip as he mounts the steps of the club. The others, who are watching +his approach, are secretly devoured with envy. + +"Wall, Pietrino--wall, Beppo," said Ruspoli, shaking hands with +Orsetti and Malatesta, and nodding to Orazio, out of whose sails he +took the wind by force of stolid indifference (Baldassare he ignored, +or mistook him for a waiter, if he saw him at all), "you are all +discussing the news, of course. Lucca's lively to-day. You'll all +do in time, even to steeple-chases. We must run one down on the low +grounds in the spring. Dick, my English groom, is always plaguing me +about it." + +Then Prince Ruspoli pulled himself together with a jerk, as a man does +stiff from the saddle, laid his hunting-whip upon a table, stuffed his +hands into his pockets, and looked round. + +"What news have you heard?" asked Beppo Malatesta. "There's such a +lot." + +"Wall, the news I have heard is, that Count Nobili is engaged to marry +the Marchesa Guinigi's little niece. Dear little thing, they say--like +an English '_mees_'--fair, with red hair." + +"Is that your style of beauty?" lisped Orazio, looking hard at him. +But Ruspoli did not notice him. + +"But that's not half," cried Malatesta. "You are an innocent, Ruspoli. +Let me baptize you with scandal." + +"Don't, don't, I hate scandal," said Ruspoli, taking one of his hands +out of his pocket for a moment, and holding it up in remonstrance. +"There is nothing but scandal in these small Italian towns. Take to +hunting, that's the cure. Nobili is to marry the little girl, that's +certain. He's to pay off all the marchesa's debts, that's certain too. +He's rich, she's poor. He wants blood, she has got it." + +"I do not believe in this marriage," said Orazio, measuring Prince +Ruspoli as he stood erect, his slits of eyes without a shadow of +expression. "You remember the ballroom, prince? And the Boccarini +family grouped--and Nobili crying in a corner? Nobili will marry the +Boccarini. She is a stunner." + +After Orazio had ventured this observation about Nera Boccarini, +Prince Ruspoli brought his small, steely eyes to bear upon him with a +fixed stare. + +Orazio affected total unconsciousness, but he quailed inwardly. The +others silently watched Ruspoli. He took up his hunting-whip and +whirled it in the air dangerously near Orazio's head, eying him all +the while as a dog eyes a rat he means to crunch between his teeth. + +"Whoever says that Count Nobili will marry the Boccarini, is a liar!" +Prince Ruspoli spoke with perfect composure, still whirling his whip. +"I shall be happy to explain my reason anywhere, out of the city, on +the shortest notice." + +Orazio started up. "Prince Ruspoli, do you call me a liar?" + +"I beg your pardon," replied Ruspoli, quite unmoved, making Orazio a +mock bow. "Did you say whom Count Nobili would marry? If you did, will +you favor me by repeating it?" + +"I only report town-talk," Franchi answered, sullenly. "I am not +answerable for town-talk." + +Ruspoli was a dead-shot; Orazio only fought with swords. + +"Then I am satisfied," replied Ruspoli, quiet defiance in his look and +tone. "I accuse you, Signore Orazio Franchi, of nothing. I only warn +you." + +"I don't see why we should quarrel about Nobili's marriage. He will +be here himself presently, to explain which of the ladies he prefers," +observed the peaceable Orsetti. + +"I don't know which lady Count Nobili prefers," retorted Ruspoli, +doggedly. "But I tell you the name of the lady he is to marry. It is +Enrica Guinigi." + +"Why, there is Count Nobili!" cried Baldassare, quite loud--"there, +under the plane-trees." + +"Bravo, Adonis!" cried Beppo; "your eyes are as sharp as your feet are +swift." + +Nobili crossed the square; he was coming toward the club. Every face +was turned toward him. He had come down to Lucca like one maddened +by the breath of love. All along the road he had felt drunk with +happiness. To him love was everywhere--in the deep gloom of the +mountain-forests, in the flowing river, diamonded with light under the +pale moonbeams; in the splendor of the starry sky, in midnight dreams +of bliss, and in the awakening of glorious morning. The two old +palaces were full of love--the Moorish garden; the magnolias that +overtopped the wall, and the soft, creamy perfume that wafted from +them; the very street through which he should lead her home; every one +he saw; all he said, thought, or did--it was all love and Enrica! + +Now, having with lover's haste made good progress with all he had +to do, Nobili has come down to the club to meet his friends, and to +receive their congratulations. Every hand is stretched out toward him. +Even Ruspoli, spite of obvious jealousy, liked him. Nobili's face +is lit up with its sunniest smile. Having shaken hands with him, an +ominous silence ensues. Orsetti and Malatesta suddenly find that their +cigars want relighting, and turn aside. Orazio seats himself at a +distance, and scowls at Prince Ruspoli. Nobili gives a quick glance +round. An instant tells him that something is wrong. + +Prince Ruspoli breaks the awkward silence. He walks up, looks at +Nobili with immovable gravity, then slaps him on the shoulder. + +"I congratulate you, Nobili. I hear you are to marry the Marchesa +Guinigi's niece." + +"Balduccio, I thank you. Within a week I hope to bring her home to +Lucca. There will then be but one Guinigi home in the two palaces. The +marchesa makes her heiress of all she possesses." + +Prince Ruspoli is satisfied. Now he will back Count Nobili to any +odds. He will name his next foal Mario Nobili. + +Again Nobili glances round; this time there is the shadow of a frown +upon his smooth brow. Orsetti feels that he must speak. + +"Have you known the lady long?" Orsetti asks, with an embarrassment +foreign to him. + +"Yes, and no," answers Nobili, reddening, and scanning the veiled +expression on Orsetti's face with intense curiosity. "But the +matter has been brought to a crisis by the accidental burning of the +marchesa's house at Corellia. I was present--I saved her niece." + +"I thought it was rather sudden," says Orazio, from behind, in a tone +full of suggestion. "We were in doubt, before you came, to whom the +lady was engaged." + +Nobili starts. + +"What do you mean?" he asks, hastily. + +The color has left his cheeks; his blue eyes grow dark. + +"There has been some foolish gossip from persons who know nothing," +Orsetti answers, advancing to the front. "About some engagement with +another gentleman, whom she had accepted--" + +"Nonsense! Don't listen to him, my good fellow," breaks in Ruspoli. +"These lads have nothing to do but to breed scandal. They would +slander the Virgin; not for wickedness, but for idleness. I mean to +make them hunt. Hunting is the cure." + +Nobili stands as if turned to stone. + +"But I must listen," replies Nobili, fiercely, fire flaming in his +eyes. "This lady's honor is my own. Who has dared to couple her name +with any other man? Orsetti--Ruspoli"--and he turns to them in great +excitement--"you are my friends. What does this mean?" + +"Nothing," said Orsetti, trying to smile, but not succeeding. "I hear, +Nobili, you have behaved with extraordinary generosity," he adds, +fencing the question. + +"Yes, by Jove!" adds Prince Ruspoli. Ruspoli was leaning up against +a pillar, watching Orazio as he would a mischievous cur. "A most +suitable marriage. Not that I care a button for blood, except in +horses." + +Nobili has not moved, but, as each speaks, his eye shifts rapidly from +one to the other. His face from pale grows livid, and there is a throb +about his temples that sounds in his ears like a thousand hammers. + +"Orsetti," Nobili says, sternly, "I address myself to you. You are the +oldest here. You are the first man I knew after I came to Lucca. You +are all concealing something from me. I entreat you, Orsetti, as man +to man, tell me whose name has been coupled with that of my affianced +wife? That it is a lie I know beforehand--a base and palpable lie! She +has been reared at home in perfect solitude." + +Nobili spoke with passionate vehemence. The hot blood rushed over his +face and neck, and tingled to his very fingers. Now he glances from +man to man in an appeal defiant, yet pleading, pitiful to behold. +Every face grows grave. + +Orsetti is the first to reply. + +"I feel deeply for you, Nobili. We all love you." + +"Yes, all," responded Malatesta and Ruspoli, speaking together. + +"You must not attach too much importance to idle gossip," says +Orsetti. + +"No, no," cried Ruspoli, "don't. I will stand by you, Nobili. I know +the lady by sight--a little English beau" + +"Scandal! Who is the man? By God, I'll have his blood within this very +hour!" + +Nobili is now wrought up beyond all endurance. + +"You can't," says Orazio Franchi, tapping his heel upon the marble +pavement. "He's gone." + +"Gone! I'll follow him to hell!" roars Nobili "Who is he?" + +"Possibly he may find his own way there in time," answers Orazio, with +a sneer. He rises so as to increase the distance between himself and +Prince Ruspoli. "But as yet the wretch crawls on mother earth." + +"Silence, Orazio!" shouts Ruspoli, "or you may go there yourself +quicker than Marescotti." + +"Marescotti! Is that the name?" cries Nobili, with a hungry eye, that +seems to thirst for vengeance. "Who is Marescotti?" + +"This is some horrid fiction," Nobili mutters to himself. Stay!--Where +had he heard that name lately? He gnawed his fingers until the blood +came, and a crimson drop fell upon the marble floor. Suddenly an +icy chill rose at his heart. He could not breathe. He sank into a +chair--then rose again, and stood before Orsetti with a face out of +which ten years of youth had fled. Yes, Marescotti--that is the very +man Enrica had mentioned to him under the trees at Corellia. Each +letter of it blazes in fire before his eyes. Yes--she had said +Marescotti had read her eyes. "O God!" and Nobili groans aloud, and +buries his face within his hands. + +"You take this too much to heart, my dear Mario," Count Orsetti said; +"indeed you do, else I would not say so. Remember there is nothing +proved. Be careful," Orsetti whispered in the other's ear, glancing +round. Every eye was riveted on Nobili. + +Orsetti felt that Nobili had forgotten the public place and the others +present--such as Count Malatesta, Orazio Franchi, and Baldassare, who, +though they had not spoken, had devoured every word. + +"It is nothing but a sonnet found among Marescotti's papers." Orsetti +now was speaking. "Marescotti has fled from the police. Nothing but a +sonnet addressed to the lady--a poet's day-dream--untrue of course." + +"Will no one tell me what the sonnet said?" demanded Nobili. He had +mastered himself for the moment. + +"Stuff, stuff!" cried Ruspoli. "Every pretty woman has heaps of +sonnets and admirers. It is a brevet of beauty. After all this row, it +was only an offer of marriage made to Count Marescotti and refused by +him. Probably the lady never knew it." + +"Oh, yes, she did, she accepted him," sounded from behind. It was +Baldassare, whose vanity was piqued because no one had referred to him +for information. + +"Accepted! Refused by Count Marescotti!" Nobili caught and repeated +the words in a voice so strange, it sounded like the echo from a +vault. + +"Wall! by Jove! It's five o'clock!" exclaimed Prince Ruspoli, looking +at his watch. "My dear fellow," he said, addressing Nobili, "I have an +appointment on the ramparts; will you go with me?" He passed his arm +through that of Nobili. It was a painful scene, which Ruspoli desired +to end. Nobili shook his head. He was so stunned and dazed he could +not speak. + +"If it is five o'clock," said Malatesta, "I must go too." + +Malatesta drew Nobili a little apart. "Don't think too much of this, +Nobili. It will all blow over and be forgotten in a month. Take your +wife a trip to Paris or London. We shall hear no more of it, believe +me. Good-by." + +"Count Nobili," called out Franchi, from the other end of the portico, +making a languid bow, "after all that I have heard, I congratulate you +on your marriage most sincerely." + +Nobili did not hear him. All were gone. He was alone with Ruspoli. His +head had dropped upon his breast. There was the shadow of a tear in +Prince Ruspoli's steely eye. It was not enough to be brushed off, for +it absorbed itself and came to nothing, but it was there nevertheless. + +"Wall, Mario," he said, apparently unmoved, "it seems to me the club +is made too hot to hold you. Come home." + +Nobili nodded. He was so weak he had to hang heavily on Prince +Ruspoli's arm as they crossed the piazza. Prince Ruspoli did not leave +him until he saw him safe to his own door. + +"You will judge what is right to do," were Ruspoli's last words. "But +do not be guided by those young scamps. They live in mischief. If you +love the girl, marry her--that is my advice." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS. + + +I have seen a valley canopied by a sky of blue and opaline, girt in +by wooded heights, on which the sun poured down in mid-day splendor. +A broad river sparkled downward, giving back ray for ray. The forest +glowed without a shadow. Each little detail of leaf or stone, even a +blade of grass, was turned to flame. The corn lay smooth and golden. +The grapes and olives hung safe upon the branch. The flax--a goodly +crop--reached to the trees. The peasants labored in the rich brown +soil, singing to the oxen. The women sat spinning beside their doors. +A little maid led out her snowy lamb to graze among the woods, and +children played at "morra" beside the river, which ran at peace, +lapping the silver sand. + +A cloud gathers behind the mountains--yonder, where they come +interlacing down, narrowing the valley. It is a little cloud, no one +observes it; yet it gathers and spreads and blackens, until the sky is +veiled. The sun grows pale. A greenish light steals over the earth. In +the still air there is a sudden freshness. The tall canes growing in +the brakes among the vineyards rustle as if shaken by a spectral +hand. The white-leaved aspens quiver. An icy wind sweeps down the +mountain-sides. A flash of lightning shoots across the sky. Then the +storm bursts. Thunder rolls, and cracks, and crashes; as if the brazen +gates of heaven clashed to and fro. The peasants fly, driving their +cattle before them. The pig's run grunting homeward. The helpless lamb +is stricken where it stands, crouching in a deep gorge; the little +maid sits weeping by. Down beats the hail like pebbles. It strikes +upon the vines, scorches and blackens them. The wheat is leveled +to the ground. The river suddenly swells into a raging torrent. Its +turbid waters bear away the riches of the poor--the cow that served a +little household and followed the children, lowing, to reedy meadows +bathed by limpid streams--a horse caught browsing in a peaceful vale, +thinking no ill--great trees hurling destruction with them. Rafters, +roofs of houses, sometimes a battered corpse, float by. + +The roads are broken up. The bridge is snapped. Years will not repair +the fearful ravage. The evening sun sets on a desolate waste. Men sit +along the road-side wringing their hands beside their ruined crops. +Children creep out upon their naked feet, and look and wonder. Where +is the little kid that ran before and licked their hands? Where is the +gray-skinned, soft-eyed cow that hardly needed a cord to lead her? The +shapely cob, so brave with its tinkling bells and crimson tassels? The +cob that daddy drove to market, and many merry fairs? Gone with the +storm! all gone! + + * * * * * + +Count Nobili was like the Italian climate--in extremes. Like his +native soil, he must live in the sunshine. His was not a nature to +endure a secret sorrow. He must be kissed, caressed, and smoothed by +tender hands and loving voices. He must have applause, approval, be +flattered, envied, and followed. Hitherto all this had come naturally +to him. His gracious temper, generous heart, and great wealth, had +made all bright about him. Now a sudden storm had swept over him and +brought despair into his heart. + +When Prince Ruspoli left him, Nobili felt as battered and sore as if a +whirlwind had caught him, then let him go, and he had dropped to earth +a broken man. Yet in the turmoil of his brain a pale, scared little +face, with wild, beseeching eyes, was ever before him. It would not +leave him. What was this horrible nightmare that had come over him in +the heyday of his joy? It was so vague, yet so tangible if judged by +its effect on others. Others held Enrica dishonored, that was clear. +Was she dishonored? He was bound to her by every tie of honor. He +loved her. She had a charm for him no other woman ever possessed, and +she loved him. A women's eye, he told himself, had never deceived him. +Yes, she loved him. Yet if Enrica were as guileless as she seemed, how +could she conceal from him she had another lover--less loved perhaps +than he--but still a lover? And this lover had refused to marry her? +That was the stab. That every one in Lucca should know his future +bride had been scouted by another man who had turned a rhyme upon her, +and left her! Could he bear this? + +What were Enrica's relations with Marescotti? Some one had said she +had accepted him. Nobili was sure he had heard this. He, Marescotti, +must have approached her nearly by her own confession. He had +celebrated her in sonnets, amorous sonnets--damnable thought!--gone +with her to the Guinigi Tower--then rejected her! A mist seemed to +gather about Nobili as he thought of this. He grew stupid in +long vistas of speculation. Had Enrica not dared to meet +him--Nobili--clandestinely? Was not this very act unmaidenly? (Such +are men: they urge the slip, the fall, then judge a woman by the +force of their own urging!) Had Enrica met Marescotti in secret also? +No--impossible! The scared, white face was before Nobili, now plainer +than ever. No--he hated himself for the very thought. All the chivalry +of his nature rose up to acquit her. + +Still there was a mystery. How far was Enrica concerned in it? Would +she have married Count Marescotti? Trenta was away, or he would +question him. _Had he better ask? What might he hear_? Some one had +deceived him grossly. The marchesa would stick at nothing; yet what +could the marchesa have done without Enrica? Nobili was perplexed +beyond expression. He buried his head within his arms, and leaned upon +a table in an agony of doubt. Then he paced up and down the splendid +room, painted with frescoed walls, and hung with rose and silver +draperies from Paris (it was to have been Enrica's boudoir), looking +south into a delicious town-garden, with statues, and flower-beds, +and terraces of marble diamonded in brilliant colors. To be so +cheated!--to be the laughing-stock of Lucca! Good God! how could he +bear it? To marry a wife who would be pointed at with whispered words! +Of all earthly things this was the bitterest! Could he bear it?--and +Enrica--would she not suffer? And if she did, what then? Why, she +deserved it--she must deserve it, else why was she accused? Enrica was +treacherous--the tool of her aunt. He could not doubt it. If she +cared for him at all, it was for the sake of his money--hateful +thought!--yet, having signed the contract, he supposed he _must_ +give her the name of wife. But the future mother of his children was +branded. + +Oh, the golden days at mountain-capped Corellia!--that watching in the +perfumed woods--that pleading with the stars that shone over Enrica +to bear her his love-sick sighs! Oh, the triumph of saving her dear +life!--the sweetness of her lips in that first embrace under the +magnolia-tree! Fra Pacifico too, with his honest, sturdy ways--and the +white-haired cavaliere, so wise and courteous. Cheats, cheats--all! +It made him sick to think how they must have laughed and jeered at him +when he was gone. Oh, it was damnable! + +His teeth were set. He started up as if he had been stung, and stamped +upon the floor. Then like a madman he rushed up and down the spacious +floor. After a time, brushing the drops of perspiration from his +forehead, Nobili grew calmer. He sat down to think. + +Must he marry Enrica?--he asked himself (he had come to that)--marry +the lady of the sonnet--Marescotti's love? He did not see how he could +help it. The contract was signed, and nothing proved against her. +Well--life was long, and the world wide, and full of pleasant things. +Well--he must bear it--unless there had been sin! Nobili did not see +it, nor did he hear it; but much that is never seen, nor heard, nor +known, is yet true--horribly true. He did see it, but as he thought +these cruel thoughts, and hardened himself in them, a pale, scared +face, with wild, pleading eyes, vanished with a shriek of anguish. + +Others had loved him well, Nobili reasoned--other women--"_Not so well +as I_" an inaudible voice would have whispered, but it was no longer +there to answer--others that had not been rejected--others fairer than +Enrica--Nera! + +With that name there came a world of comfort to him. Nera loved +him--she loved him! He had not seen Nera since that memorable night +she lay like one dead before him. Before he took a final resolve +(by-and-by he must investigate, inquire, know when, and how, and by +whom, all this talk had come), would it not be well to see Nera? It +was a duty, he told himself, he owed her; a duty delayed too long; +only Enrica had so absorbed him. Nera would have heard the town-talk. +How would she take it? Would she be glad, or sorry, he wondered? Then +came a longing upon Nobili he could not resist, to know if Nera still +loved him. If so, what constancy! It deserved reward. He had treated +her shamefully. How sweet her company would be if she would see him! +At all events, he could but try. At this point he rose and rang the +bell. + +When the servant came, Nobili ordered his dinner. He was hungry, he +said, and would eat at once. His carriage he should require later. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +NERA. + + +Close to the Church of San Michele, where a brazen archangel with +outstretched wings flaunts in the blue sky, is the narrow, crypt-like +street of San Salvador. Here stands the Boccarini Palace. It is an +ancient structure, square and large, with an overhanging roof and +open, pillared gallery. On the first floor there is a stone balcony. +Four rows of windows divide the front. The lower ones, barred with +iron, are dismal to the eye. Over the principal entrance are the +Boccarini arms, carved on a stone escutcheon, supported by two angels, +the whole so moss-eaten the details cannot be traced. Above is a +marquis's coronet in which a swallow has built its nest. Both in and +out it is a house where poverty has set its seal. The family is dying +out. When Marchesa Boccarini dies, the palace will be sold, and the +money divided among her daughters. + +As dusk was settling into night a carriage rattled along the deserted +street. The horses--a pair of splendid bays--struck sparks out of the +granite pavement. With a bang they draw up at the entrance, under an +archway, guarded by a _grille_ of rusty iron. A bell is rung; it only +echoes through the gloomy court. The bell was rung again, but no one +came. At last steps were heard, and a dried-up old man, with a face +like parchment, and little ferret eyes, appeared, hastily dragging his +arms into a coat much too large for him. + +He shuffled to the front and bowed. Taking a key from his pocket he +unlocked the iron gates, then planted himself on the threshold, and +turned his ear toward the well-appointed brougham, and Count Nobili +seated within. + +"Do the ladies receive?" Nobili called out. The old man nodded, +bringing his best ear and ferret eyes to bear upon him. + +"Yes, the ladies do receive. Will the excellency descend?" + +Count Nobili jumped out and hurried through the archway into a court +surrounded by a colonnade. + +It is very dark. The palace rises upward four lofty stories. Above is +a square patch of sky, on which a star trembles. The court is full +of damp, unwholesome odors. The foot slips upon the slimy pavement. +Nobili stopped. The old man came limping after, buttoning his coat +together. + +"Ah! poor me!--The excellency is young!" He spoke in the odd, muffled +voice, peculiar to the deaf. "The excellency goes so fast he will fall +if he does not mind. Our court-yard is very damp; the stairs are old." + +"Which is the way up-stairs?" Nobili asked, impatiently. "It is so +dark I have forgotten the turn." + +"Here, excellency--here to the right. By the Madonna there, in the +niche, with the light before it. A thousand excuses! The excellency +will excuse me, but I have not yet lit the lamp on the stairs. I +was resting. There are so many visitors to the Signora Marchesa. The +excellency will not tell the Signora Marchesa that it was dark upon +the stairs? Per pieta!" + +The shriveled old man placed himself full in Nobili's path, and held +out his hands like claws entreatingly. + +"A thousand devils!--no," was Nobili's irate reply, pushing him back. +"Let me go up; I shall say nothing. Cospetto! What is it to me?" + +"Thanks! thanks! The excellency is full of mercy to an old, overworked +servant. There was a time when the Boccarini--" + +Nobili did not wait to hear more, but strode through the darkness at +hazard, to find the stairs. + +"Stop! stop! the excellency will break his limbs against the wall!" +the old man shouted. + +He fumbled in his pocket, and drew out some matches. He struck one +against the wall, held it above his head, and pointed with his bony +finger to a broad stone stair under an inner arch. + +Nobili ascended rapidly; he was in no mood for delay. The old man, +standing at the foot, struck match after match to light him. + +"Above, excellency, you will find our usual lamps. You must go on to +the second story." + +On the landing at the first floor there was still a little daylight +from a window as big as if set in the tribune of a cathedral. Here a +lamp was placed on an old painted table. Some moth-eaten tapestry hung +from a mildewed wall. Here and there a rusty nail had given way, and +the stuff fell in downward folds. Nobili paused. His head was hot and +dizzy. He had dined well, and he had drunk freely. His eyes traveled +upward to the old tapestry--(it was the daughter of Herodias dancing +before Herod the cancan of the day). Something in the face and figure +of the girl recalled Nera to him, or he fancied it--his mind being +full of her. Nobili envied Herod in a dreamy way, who, with round, +leaden eyes, a crown upon his head--watched the dancing girl as she +flung about her lissome limbs. Nobili envied Herod--and the thought +came across him, how pleasant it would be to sit royally enthroned, +and see Nera gambol so! From that--quicker than I can write it--his +thoughts traveled backward to that night when he had danced with Nera +at the Orsetti ball. Again the refrain of that waltz buzzed in +his ear. Again the measure rose and fell in floods of luscious +sweetness--again Nera lay within his arms--her breath was on his +cheek--the perfume of the flowers in her flossy hair was wafted in the +air--the blood stirred in his veins. + +The old man said truly. All the way up the second stair was lit by +little lamps, fed by mouldy oil; and all the way up that waltz rang +in Nobili's ear. It mounted to his brain like fumes of new wine tapped +from the skin. A green door of faded baize faced him on the upper +landing, and another bell--a red tassel fastened to a bit of whipcord. +He rang it hastily. This time a servant came promptly. He carried in +his hand a lamp of brass. + +"Did the ladies receive?" + +"They did," was the answer; and the servant held the lamp aloft to +light Nobili into the anteroom. + +This anteroom was as naked as a barrack. The walls were painted in +a Raphaelesque pattern, the coronet and arms of the Boccarini in the +centre. + +Count Nobili and the servant passed through many lofty rooms of faded +splendor. Chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and reflected the +light of the brass lamp on a thousand crystal facets. The tall mirrors +in the antique frames repeated it. In a cavern-like saloon, hung with +rows of dark pictures upon amber satin, Nobili and the servant stopped +before a door. The servant knocked; A voice said, "Enter." It was the +voice of Marchesa Boccarini. She was sitting with her three daughters. +A lamp, with a colored shade, stood in the centre of a small room, +bearing some aspect of life and comfort. The marchesa and two of her +daughters were working at some mysterious garments, which rapidly +vanished out of sight. Nera was leaning back on a sofa, superbly +idle--staring idly at an opposite window, where the daylight still +lingered. When Count Nobili was announced, they all rose and spoke +together with the loud peacock voices, and the rapid utterance, which +in Italy are supposed to mark a special welcome. Strange that in +the land of song the talking voices of women should be so harsh and +strident! Yet so it is. + +"How long is it since we have seen you, Count Nobili?" It was the +sad-faced marchesa who spoke, and tried to smile a welcome to him. "I +have to thank you for many inquiries, and all sorts of luxuries sent +to my dear child. But we expected you. You never came." + +The two sisters echoed, "You never came." + +Nera did not speak then, but when they had finished, she rose from the +sofa and stood before Nobili drawn up to her full height, radiant +in sovereign beauty. "I have to thank you most." As Nera spoke, her +cheeks flushed, and she dropped her hand into his. It was a simple +act, but full of purpose as Nera did it. Nera intended it should be +so. She reseated herself. As his eye met hers, Nobili grew crimson. +The twilight and the shaded lamp hid this in part, but Nera observed +it, and noted it for future use. + +Count Nobili placed himself beside the marchesa. + +"I am overwhelmed with shame," he said. "What you say is too true. +I had intended coming. Indeed, I waited until your daughter"--and he +glanced at Nera--"could receive me, and satisfy me herself she was not +hurt. I longed to make my penitent excuses for the accident." + +"Oh! it was nothing," said Nera, with a smile, answering for her +mother. + +"What I suffered, no words can tell," continued, Nobili. "Even now I +shudder to think of it--to be the cause--" + +"No, not the cause," answered Marchesa Boccarini. + +The elder sisters echoed-- + +"Not the cause." + +"It was the ribbon," continued the marchesa. "Nera was entangled with +the ribbon when she rose; she did not know it." + +"I ought to have held her up," returned Nobili with a glance at Nera, +who, with a kind of queenly calm, looked him full in the face with her +bold, black eyes. + +"I assure you, marchesa, it was the horror of what I had done that +kept me from calling on you." + +This was not true, and Nera knew it was not true. Nobili had not come, +because he dreaded his weakness and her power. Nobili had not come, +because he doted on Enrica to that excess, a thought alien to her +seemed then to him a crime. What folly! Now he knew Enrica better! All +that was changed. + +"We have felt very grateful," went on to say the marchesa, "I assure +you, Count Nobili, very grateful." + +The poor lady was much exercised in spirit as to how she could frame +an available excuse for leaving the count alone with Nera. Had she +only known beforehand, she would have arranged a little plan to do +so, naturally. But it must be done, she knew. It must be done at any +price, or Nera would never forgive her. + +"You have been so agreeably occupied, too," Nera said, in a firm, full +voice. "No wonder, Count Nobili, you had no time to visit us." + +There was a mute reproach in these few words that made Nobili wince. + +"I have been absent," he replied, much confused. + +"Yes, absent in mind and body," and Nera laughed a cruel little laugh. +"You have been at Corellia, I believe?" she added, significantly, +fixing him with her lustrous eyes. + +"Yes, I have been at Corellia, shooting." Nobili shrank from shame +at the lack of courtesy on his part which had made these social lies +needful. How brilliant Nera was! + +A type of perfect womanhood. Fresh, and strong, and healthy--a mother +for heroes. + +"We have heard of you," went on Nera, throwing her grand head +backward, a quiet deliberation in each word, as if she were dropping +them out, word by word, like poison. "A case of Perseus and Andromeda, +only you rescued the lady from the flames. You half killed me, Count +Nobili, and _en revanche_ you have saved another lady. She must be +very grateful." + +"O Nera!" one of her sisters exclaimed, reproachfully. These innocent +sisters never could accommodate themselves to Nera's caustic tongue. + +Nera gave her sister a look. She rose at once; then the other sister +rose also. They both slipped out of the room. + +"Now," thought the marchesa, "I must go, too." + +"May I be permitted," she said, rising, "before I leave the room +to speak to my confessor, who is waiting for me, on a matter of +business"--this was an excellent sham, and sounded decorous and +natural--"may I be permitted, Count Nobili, to congratulate you on +your approaching marriage? I do not know Enrica Guinigi, but I hear +that she is lovely." + +Nobili bowed with evident constraint. + +"And I," said Nera, softly, directing a broadside upon him from her +brilliant eyes--"allow me to congratulate you also." + +"Thank you," murmured Nobili, scarcely able to form the words. + +"Excuse me," the marchesa said. She courtesied to Nobili and left the +room. + +Nobili and Nera were now alone. Nobili watched her under his eyelids. +Yes, she was splendid. A luxuriant form, a skin mellow and ruddy as a +ripe peach, and such eyes! + +Nera was silent. She guessed his thoughts. She knew men so well. Men +had been her special study. Nera was only twenty-four, but she was +clever, and would have excelled in any thing she pleased. To draw men +to her, as the magnet draws the needle, was the passion of her life; +whether she cared for them or not, to draw them. Not to succeed argued +a want of skill. That maddened her. She was keen and hot upon the +scent, knocking over her man as a sportsman does his bird, full in +the breast. Her aim was marriage. Count Nobili would have suited +her exactly. She had felt for him a warmth that rarely quickened her +pulses. Nobili had evaded her. But revenge is sweet. Now his hour is +come. + +"Count Nobili"--Nera's tempting looks spoke more than words--"come and +sit down by me." She signed to him to place himself upon the sofa. + +Nobili rose as she bade him. He came upon his fate without a word. +Seated so near to Nera, he gazed into her starry eyes, and felt it did +him good. + +"You look ill," Nera said, tuning her voice to a tone of tender pity; +"you have grown older too since I last saw you. Is it love, or grief, +or jealousy, or what?" + +Nobili heaved a deep sigh. His hand, which rested near hers, slipped +forward, and touched her fingers. Nera withdrew them to smooth +the braids of her glossy hair. While she did so she scanned Nobili +closely. "You are not a triumphant lover, certainly. What is the +matter?" + +"You are very good to care," answered Nobili, sighing again, gazing +into her face; "once I thought that my fate did touch you." + +"Yes, once," Nera rejoined. "Once--long ago." She gave an airy laugh +that grated on Nobili's ears. "But we meet so seldom." + +"True, true," he answered hurriedly, "too seldom." His manner was +most constrained. It was plain his mind was running upon some unspoken +thought. + +"Yes," Nera said. "Spite of your absence, however you make yourself +remembered. You give us so much to talk of! Such a succession of +surprises!" + +One by one Nera's phrases dropped out, suggesting so much behind. + +Nobili, greatly excited, felt he must speak or flee. + +"I must confess," she added, giving a stealthy glance out of the +corners of her eyes, "you have surprised me. When do you bring your +wife home, Count Nobili?" As Nera asked this question she bent over +Nobili, so that her breath just swept his heated cheek. + +"Never, perhaps!" cried Nobili, wildly. He could contain himself no +longer. His heart beat almost to bursting. A desperate seduction was +stealing over him. "Never, perhaps!" he repeated. + +Nera gave a little start; then she drew back and leaned against the +sofa, gazing at him. + +"I am come to you, Nera"--Nobili spoke in a hoarse voice--his features +worked with agitation--"I am come to tell you all; to ask you what I +shall do. I am distracted, heart-broken, degraded! Nera, dear Nera, +will you help me? In mercy say you will!" + +He had grasped her hand--he was covering it with hot kisses. He was +so heated with wine and beauty, and a sense of wrong, he had lost all +self-command. + +Nera did not withdraw her hand. Her eyelids dropped, and she replied, +softly: + +"Help you? Oh! so willingly. Could you see my heart you would +understand me." + +She stopped. + +"You can make all right," urged Nobili, maddened by her seductions. + +Again that waltz was buzzing in his ears. Nobili was about to clasp +her in his arms, and ask her he knew not what, when Nera rose, and +seated herself upon a chair opposite to him. + +"You leave me," cried Nobili, piteously, seizing her dress. "That is +not helping me." + +"I must know what you want," she answered, settling the folds of her +dress about her. "Of course, in making this marriage, you have weighed +all the consequences? I take that for granted." + +As Nera spoke she leaned her head upon her hand; the rich beauty of +her face was brought under the lamp's full light. + +"I thought I had," was Nobili's reply, recalled by her movement to +himself, and speaking with more composure--"I thought I had--but +within the last three hours every thing is changed. I have been +insulted at the club." + +"Ah!--you must expect that sort of thing if you marry Enrica Guinigi. +That is inevitable." + +Nobili knit his brows. This was hard from her. + +"What reason do you give for this?" he asked, trying to master his +feelings. "I came to ask you this." + +"Reason, my dear count?" and a smile parted Nera's lips. "A very +obvious reason. Why force me to name it? No one can respect you if you +make such a marriage. You will be always liked--you are so charming." +She paused to fling an amorous glance upon him. "Why did you select +the Guinigi girl?" The question was sharply put. "The marchesa would +never receive you. Why choose her niece?" + +"Because I liked her." Nobili was driven to bay. "A man chooses the +woman he likes." + +"How strange!" exclaimed Nera, throwing up her hands. "How strange!--A +pale-faced school-girl! But--ha! ha!"--(that discordant laugh almost +betrayed her)--"she is not so, it seems." + +Nobili changed color. With every word Nera uttered, he grew hot or +cold, soothed or wild, by turns. Nera watched it all. She read Nobili +like a book. + +"How cunning Enrica Guinigi must be!--very cunning!" Nera repeated as +if the idea had just struck her. "The marchesa's tool!--They are so +poor!--Her niece! Che vuole!--The family blood! Anyhow, Enrica has +caught you, Nobili." + +Nera leaned back, drew out a fan from behind a cushion, and swayed it +to and fro. + +"Not yet," gasped Nobili--"not yet." + +And Nobili had listened to Nera's cruel words, and had not risen up +and torn out the lying tongue that uttered them! He had sat and heard +Enrica torn to pieces as a panting dove is severed by a hawk limb by +limb! Even now Nobili's better nature, spite of the glamour of this +woman, told him he was a coward to listen to such words, but his good +angel had veiled her wings and fled. + +"I am glad you say 'not yet.' I hope you will take time to consider. +If I can help you, you may command me, Count Nobili." And Nera paused +and sighed. + +"Help me, Nera!--You can save me!" He started to his feet. "I am so +wretched--so wounded--so desperate!" + +"Sit down," she answered, pointing to the sofa. + +Mechanically he obeyed. + +"You are nothing of all this if you do not marry Enrica Guinigi; if +you do, you are all you say." + +"What am I to do?" exclaimed Nobili. "I have signed the contract." + +"Break it"--Nera spoke the words boldly out--"break it, or you will +be dishonored. Do you think you can live in Lucca with a wife that you +have bought?" + +Nobili bounded from his chair. + +"O God!" he said, and clinched his hands. + +"You must be calm," she said, hastily, "or my mother will hear you." +(All she can do, she thinks, is not worse than Nobili deserves, after +that ball.) "Bought!--Yes. Will any one believe the marchesa would +have given her niece to you otherwise?" + +Nobili was pale and silent now. Nera's words had called up long trains +of thought, opening out into horrible vistas. There was a dreadful +logic about all she said that brought instant conviction with it. All +the blood within him seemed whirling in his brain. + +"But Nera, how can I--in honor--break this marriage?" he urged. + +"Break it! well, by going away. No one can force you to marry a girl +who allowed herself to be hawked about here and there--offered to +Marescotti, and refused--to others probably." + +"She may not have known it," said Nobili, roused by her bitter words. + +"Oh, folly! Why come to me, Count Nobili? You are still in love with +her." + +At these words Nobili rose and approached Nera. Something in her +expression checked him; he drew back. With all her allurements, there +was a gulf between them Nobili dared not pass. + +"O Nera! do not drive me mad! Help me, or banish me." + +"I am helping you," she replied, with what seemed passionate +earnestness. "Have you seen the sonnet?" + +"No." + +"If you mean to marry her, do not. Take advice. My mother has seen +it," Nera added, with well-simulated horror. "She would not let me +read it." + +Now this was the sheerest malice. Madame Boccarini had never seen +the sonnet. But if she had, there was not one word in the sonnet that +might not have been addressed to the Blessed Virgin herself. + +"No, I will not see the sonnet," said Nobili, firmly. "Not that I +will marry her, but because I do not choose to see the woman I loved +befouled. If it is what you say--and I believe you implicitly--let it +lie like other dirt, I will not stir it." + +"A generous fellow!" thought Nera. "How I could have loved him! But +not now, not now." + +"You have been the object of a base fraud," continued Nera. Nera would +follow to the end artistically; not leave her work half done. + +"She has deceived me. I know she has deceived me," cried Nobili, with +a pang he could not hide. "She has deceived me, and I loved her!" + +His voice sounded like the cry of a hunted animal. + +Nera did not like this. Her work was not complete. Nobili's obstinate +clinging to Enrica chafed her. + +"Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to Count Marescotti?" +she asked. She grew impatient, and must probe the wound. + +"Never," he answered, shrinking back. + +"Heavens! What falseness! Why, she has passed days and days alone with +him." + +"No, not alone," interrupted Nobili, stung with a sense of his own +shame. + +"Oh, you excuse her!" Nera laughed bitterly. "Poor count, believe me. +I tell you what others conceal." + +Nobili shuddered. His face grew black as night. + +"Do not see that sonnet if you persist in marriage. If not, your +course is clear--fly. If Enrica Guinigi has the smallest sense of +decency, she cannot urge the marriage." + +And Nobili heard this in silence! Oh, shame, and weakness and passion +of hot blood; and women's eyes, and cruel, bitter tongues; and +jealousy, maddening jealousy, hideous, formless, vague, reaching he +knew not whither I Oh, shame! + +"Write to her, and say you have discovered that she was in league with +her aunt, and had other lovers. Every one knows it." + +"But, Nera, if I do, will you comfort me? I shall need it." Nobili +opened both his arms. His eyes clung wildly to hers. She was his only +hope. + +Nera did not move; only she turned her head away to hide her face from +him. She dared not let Nobili move her. Poor Nobili! She could have +loved him dearly! + +Seeing her thus, Nobili's arms dropped to his side hopelessly; a wan +look came over his face. + +"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me, Nera! I offer you a broken heart; have +pity on me! Say, can you love me, Nera? Only a little. Speak! tell +me!" + +Nobili was on his knees before her; every feature of his bright young +face formed into an agony of entreaty. + +There was a flash of triumph in Nera's black eyes as she bent them on +Nobili, that chilled him to the soul. Kneeling before her, he feels +it. He doubts her love, doubts all. She has wrought upon him until he +is desperate. + +"Rise, dear Nobili," Nera whispered softly, touching his lips with +hers, but so slightly. "To-morrow--come again to-morrow. I can +say nothing now." Her manner was constrained. She spoke in little +sentences. "It is late. Supper is ready. My mother waiting. +To-morrow." She pressed the hand he had laid imploringly upon her +knee. She touched the curls upon his brow with her light finger-tips; +but those fixed, despairing eyes beneath she dared not meet. + +"Not one word?" urged Nobili, in a faltering voice. "Send me away +without one word of hope? I shall struggle with horrible thoughts all +night. O Nera, speak one word--but one!" He clasped her hands, and +looked up into her face. He dared do no more. "Love me a little, +Nera," he pleaded, and he laid her warm, full hand upon his throbbing +heart. + +Nera trembled. She rose hastily from her chair, and raised Nobili up +also. + +"I--I--" (she hesitated, and avoided his passionate glance)--"I have +given you good advice. To-morrow I will tell you more about myself." + +"To-morrow, Nera! Why not to-night?" + +Spite of himself Nobili was shocked at her reserve. She was so +self-possessed. He had flung his all upon the die. + +"You have advised me," he answered, stung by her coldness. "You have +convinced me, I shall obey you. Now I must go, unless you bid me +stay." + +Again his eyes pleaded with hers; again found no response. Nera held +out her hand to him. + +"To-morrow," the full, ripe lips uttered--"to-morrow." + +Seeing that he hesitated, Nera pointed with a gesture toward the door, +and Nobili departed. + +When the door had closed, and the sound of his retreating footsteps +along the empty rooms had ceased, Nera raised her hand, then let it +fall heavily upon the table. + +"I have done it!" she exclaimed, triumphantly. "Now I can bear to +think of that Orsetti ball. Poor Nobili! if he had spoken then! But he +did not. It is his own fault." + +After standing a minute or two thinking, Nora uncovered the lamp. Then +she took it up in both her hands, stepped to a mirror that hung near, +and, turning the light hither and thither, looked at her blooming +face, in full and in profile. Then she replaced the lamp upon the +table, yawned, and left the room. + +Next morning a note was put into Count Nobili's hand at breakfast. It +bore the Boccarini arms and the initials of the marchesa. The contents +were these: + +MOST ESTEEMED COUNT: As a friend of our family, I have the honor of +informing you that the marriage of my dear daughter Nera with Prince +Ruspoli is arranged, and will take place in a week. I hope you will +be present. I have the honor to assure you of my most sincere and +distinguished sentiments. + +"MARCHESA AGNESA BOCCARINI." + +In the night train from Lucca that evening, Count Nobili was seated. +"He was about to travel," he had informed his household. "Later he +would send them his address." Before he left, he wrote a letter to +Enrica, and sent it to Corellia. + + + + +PART IV. + + + +CHAPTER I. + +WAITING AND LONGING. + + +It was the morning of the fourth day since Count Nobili had left +Corellia. All had been very quiet about the house. The marchesa +herself took little heed of any thing. She sat much in her own room. +She was silent and preoccupied; but she was not displeased. The one +dominant passion of her soul--the triumph of the Guinigi name--was +now attained. Now she could bear to think of the grand old palace at +Lucca, the seigneurial throne, the nuptial-chamber; now she could gaze +in peace on the countenance of the great Castruccio. No spoiler would +dare to tread these sacred floors. No irreverent hand would presume +to handle her ancestral treasures; no vulgar eye would rest on +the effigies of her race gathered on these walls. All would now be +safe--safe under the protection of wealth, enormous wealth--wealth to +guard, to preserve, to possess. + +Enrica had been the agent by which all this had been effected, +therefore she regarded Enrica at this time with more consideration +than she had ever done before. As to any real sentiments of affection, +the marchesa was incapable of them--a cold, hard woman from her youth, +now vindictive, as well as cold. + +The day after the signing of the contract she called Enrica to her. +Enrica trod lightly across the stuccoed floor to where her aunt was +standing; then she stopped and waited for her to address her. The +marchesa took Enrica's hand within her own for some minutes, and +silently stroked each rosy finger. + +"My child Enrica, are you content?" This question was accompanied by +an inquiring look, as if she would read Enrica through and through. A +sweet smile of ineffable happiness stole over Enrica's soft face. The +marchesa, still holding her hand, uttered something which might +almost be called a sigh. "I hope this will last, else--" She broke off +abruptly. + +Enrica, resenting the implied doubt, disengaged her hand, and drew +back from her. The marchesa, not appearing to observe this, continued: + +"I had other views for you, Enrica; but, before you knew any thing, +you chose a husband for yourself. What do you know about a husband? It +is a bad choice." + +Again Enrica drew back still farther from her aunt, and lifted up her +head as if in remonstrance. But the marchesa was not to be stopped. + +"I hate Count Nobili!" she burst out. "I have had my eye upon him ever +since he came to Lucca. I know him--you do not. It is possible he may +change, but if he does not--" + +For the second time the marchesa did not finish the sentence. + +"And do you think he loves you?" + +As she asked this question she seated herself, and contemplated Enrica +with a cynical smile. + +"Yes, he loves me. It is you who do not know him!" exclaimed Enrica. +"He is so good, so generous, so true; there is no one in the world +like him." + +How pure Enrica looked, pleading for her lover!--her face thrown out +in sharp profile against the dark wall; her short upper lip raised +by her eager speech; the dazzling fairness of her complexion; and her +soft hair hanging loose about her head and neck. + +"I think I do--I think I know him better than you do," the marchesa +answered, somewhat absently. + +She was struck by Enrica's exceeding beauty, which seemed within the +last few days to have suddenly developed and matured. + +"The young man appreciates you, too, I do not doubt. I am told he is a +lover of beauty." + +This was added with a sneer. Enrica grew crimson. + +"Well, well," the marchesa went on to say, "it is too late now--the +thing is done. But remember I have warned you. You chose Count Nobili, +not I. Enrica, I have done my duty to you and to my own name. Now go +and tell the cavaliere I want him." + +The marchesa was always wanting the cavaliere; she was closeted +with him for hours at a time. These conferences all ended in one +conclusion--that she was irretrievably ruined. No one knew this better +than the marchesa herself; but her haughty reluctance either to accept +Count Nobili's money, or to give up Enrica, was the cause of unknown +distress to Trenta. + +Meanwhile the prospect of the wedding had stirred up every one in the +house to a sort of aimless activity. Adamo strode about, his sad, lazy +eyes gazing nowhere in particular. Adamo affected to work hard, but +in reality he did nothing but sweep the leaves away from the border +of the fountain, and remove the _debris_ caused by the fire. Then he +would go down and feed the dogs, who, when at home, lived in a sort +of cave cut out of the cliff under the tower--Argo, the long-haired +mastiff, and Tootsey, the rat-terrier, and Juno, the lurcher, and the +useless bull-dog, who grinned horribly--Adamo fed them, then let them +out to run at will over the flowers, while he went to his mid-day +meal. + +Adamo had no soul for flowers, or he could not have done this; he +could not have seen a bright, many-eyed balsam, or an amber-leaved +zinnia with tufted yellow breast, die miserably on their earthy +beds, trampled under the dogs' feet. Even the marchesa, who concerned +herself so little with such things, had often hidden him for his +carelessness; but Adamo had a way of his own, and by that way he +abided, slowly returning to it, spite of argument or remonstrance. + +"Domine Dio orders the weather, not I," Adamo said in a grunt to Pipa +when his mistress had specially upbraided him for not watering the +lemon-trees ranged along the terraces. "Am I expected to give holy oil +to the plants as Fra Pacifico does to the sick? Che! che! what will be +will be!" + +So Adamo went to his dinner in all peace; and Argo and his friends +knocked down the flowers, and scratched deep holes in the gravel, +barking wildly all the time. + +The marchesa, sitting in grave confabulation with Cavaliere Trenta, +rubbed her white hands as she listened. + +There was neither portcullis, nor moat, nor drawbridge to her feudal +stronghold at Corellia, but there was big, white Argo. Argo alone +would pin any one to the earth. + +"Let out the dogs, Adamo," the marchesa would say. "I like to hear +them. They are my soldiers--they defend me." + +"Yes, padrona," Adamo would reply, stolidly. "Surely the Signora +Marchesa wants no other. Argo has the sense of a man when I discourse +to him." + +So Argo barked and yelped, and tore up and down undisturbed, followed +by the pack in full chase after imaginary enemies. Woe betide the +calves of any stranger arriving at that period of the day at the +villa! They might feel Argo's glistening teeth meeting in them, or +be hurled on the ground, for Argo had a nasty trick of clutching +stealthily from behind. Woe betide all but Fra Pacifico, who had so +often licked him in drawn battles, when the dog had leaped upon him, +that now Argo fled at sight of his priestly garments with a howl! + +Adamo, who, after his mid-day meal, required tobacco and repose, would +not move to save any one's soul, much less his body. + +"Argo is a lunatic without me," he would observe, blandly, to Pipa, if +roused by a special outburst of barking, the smoke of his pipe curling +round his bullet-head the while. "Lunatics, either among men or +beasts, are not worth attending to. A sweating horse, a crying woman, +and a yelping cur, heed not." + +Adamo added many more grave remarks between the puffs of his pipe, +turning to Pipa, who sat beside him, distaff in hand, the silver pins, +stuck into her glossy plaits, glistening in the sun. + +When Adamo ceased he nodded his head like an oracle that had spoken, +and dozed, leaning against the wall, until the sun had sunk to rest +into a bed of orange and saffron, and the air was cooled by evening +dews. Not till then did Adamo rise up to work. + +Pipa, who, next to Adamo and the marchesa, loved Enrica with all the +strength of her warm heart, sings all day those unwritten songs of +Tuscany that rise and fall with such spontaneous cadence among the +vineyards, and in the olive-grounds, that they seem bred in the +air--Pipa sings all day for gladness that the signorina is going +to marry a rich and handsome gentleman. Marriage, to Pipa's simple +mind--especially marriage with money--must bring certain blessings, +and crowds of children; she would as soon doubt the seven wounds of +the Madonna as doubt this. Pipa has seen Count Nobili. She approves +of him. His curly auburn hair, so short and crisp; his bold look and +gracious smile--not to speak of certain notes he slipped into her +hand--have quite conquered her. Besides, had Count Nobili not come +down, the noble gentleman, like San Michele, with golden wings behind +him, and a terrible lance in his hand, as set forth in a dingy fresco +in the church at Corellia--come down and rescued the dear signorina +when--oh, horrible!--she had been forgotten in the burning tower? +Pipa's joy develops itself in a vain endeavor to clean the entire +villa. With characteristic discernment, she has begun her labors in +the upper story, which, being unfurnished, no one ever enters. Pipa +has set open all the windows, and thrown back all the blinds; Pipa +sweeps and sprinkles, and sweeps again, combating with dust, and fleas +and insects innumerable, grown bold by a quiet tenancy of nearly fifty +years. While she sweeps, Pipa sings: + + "I'll build a house round, round, quite round, + For us to live at ease, all three; + Father and mother there shall dwell, + And my true love with me." + +Poor Pipa! It is so pleasant to hear her clear voice caroling overhead +like a bird from the open window, and to see her bright face looking +out now and then, her gold ear-rings bobbing to and fro--her black +rippling hair, and her merry eyes blinded with dust and flue--to +swallow a breath of air. Adamo does not work, but Pipa does. If she +goes on like this, Pipa may hope to clean the entire floor in a month; +of the great sala below, and the other rooms where people live, Pipa +does not think. It is not her way to think; she lives by happy, rosy +instinct. + +Pipa chatters much to Enrica about Count Nobili and her marriage when +she is not sweeping or spinning. Enrica continually catches sight of +her staring at her with open mouth and curious eyes, her head a little +on one side the better to observe her. + +"Sweet innocent! she knows nothing that is coming on her," Pipa is +thinking; and then Pipa winks, and laughs outright--laughs to the +empty walls, which echo the laugh back with a hollow sound. + +But if any thing lurks there that mocks Pipa's mirth, it is not +visible to Pipa's outward eye, so she continues addressing herself to +Enrica, who is utterly bewildered by her strange ways. + +Pipa cannot bear to think that Enrica never dressed for her betrothed. +"Poverina!" she says to her, "not dress--not dress! What degradation! +Why, when the Gobbina--a little starved hump-backed bastard--married +the blind beggar Gianni at Corellia, for the sake of the pence he got +sitting all day shaking his box by the _cafe_--even the Gobbina had +a white dress and a wreath--and you, beloved lady, not so much as to +care to change your clothes! What must the Signore Conte have thought? +Misera mia! We must all seem pagans to him!" And Pipa's heart smote +her sorely, remembering the notes. "Caro Gesu! When you are to be +married we must find you something to wear. To be sure, the marchesa's +luggage was chiefly burnt in the fire, but one box is left. Out of +that box something will come," Pipa feels sure (miracles are nothing +to Pipa, who believes in pilgrimages and the evil-eye); she feels sure +that it will be so. After much talk with Enrica, who only answers her +with a smile, and says absently, looking at the mountains which she +does not see-- + +"Dear Pipa, we will look in the box, as you say." + +"But when, signorina?" insists Pipa, and she kisses Enrica's hand, and +strokes her dress. "But when?" + +"To-morrow," says Enrica, absently. "To-morrow, dear Pipa, not +to-day." + +"Holy mother!" is Pipa's reply, "it has been 'to-morrow' for four +days." "Always to-morrow," mutters Pipa to herself, as she makes the +dust fly with her broom; "and the Signore Conte is to return in a +week! Always to-morrow. What can I do? Such a disgrace was never +known. No bridal dress. No veil. The signorina is too young to +understand such things, and the marchesa is not like other ladies, +or one might venture to speak to her about it. She would only give me +'accidenti' if I did, and that is so unlucky! To-morrow I must make +the signorina search that box. There will be a white dress and a +veil. I dreamed so. Good dreams come from heaven. I have had a candle +lighted for luck before the Santissima in the market-place, and fresh +flowers put into the pots. There will be sure to be a white dress and +a veil--the saints will send them to the signorina." + +Pipa sweeps and sings. Her children, Angelo and Gigi, are roasting +chestnuts under the window outside. + +This time she sings a nursery rhyme: + + "Little Trot, that trots so gayly, + And without legs can walk so bravely! + Trottolin! Trottolino!-- + Via! via!" + +Pipa, in her motherly heart looking out, blesses little Gigi--a chubby +child blackened by the sun--to see him sitting so meek and good beside +his brother. Angelo is a naughty boy. Pipa does not love him so well +as Gigi. Perhaps this is the reason Angelo is so ill-furnished in +point of clothes. His patched and ragged trousers are hitched on with +a piece of string. Shirt he has none; only a little dingy waistcoat +buttoned over his chest, on which lies a silver medal of the Madonna. +Angelo's arms are bare, his face mahogany-color, his head a hopeless +tangle of colorless hair. But Angelo has a pair of eyes that dance, +and a broad, red-lipped mouth, out of which two rows of white teeth +shine like pearls. Angelo has just burnt his fingers picking a +chestnut out of the ashes. He turns very red, but he is too proud to +cry. Angelo's hands and feet are so hard he does not feel the pointed +rocks that break the turf in the forest, nor does he fear the young +snakes, as plenty as lizards, in the warm nooks. All yesterday Angelo +had run up and down to look for chestnuts, on his naked feet. He dared +not mount into the trees, for that would be stealing; but he leaped, +and skipped, and slid when a russet-coated chestnut caught his eye. +Gigi was with him, trusted to his care by Pipa, with many abjurations +and terrible threats of future punishment should he ill-use him. + +Ah! if Pipa knew!--if Pipa had only seen little Gigi lonely in +the woods, and heard his roars for help! Angelo, having found Gigi +troublesome, had tied him by a twisted cord of grass to the trunk of +an ancient chestnut. Gigi was trepanned into this thralldom by a +heap of flowers artful Angelo had brought him--purple crocuses and +cyclamens, and Canterbury bells, and gaudy pea-stalks, all thrown +before the child. Gigi, in his little torn petticoat, had swallowed +the bait, and flung himself upon the bright blossoms, grasping them in +his dirty fingers. Presently the delighted babe turned his eyes upon +cunning Angelo standing behind him, showing his white teeth. Satisfied +that Angelo was there, Gigi buried himself among the flowers. He +crowed to them in his baby way, and flung them here and there. Gigi +would run and catch them, too; but suddenly he felt something which +stopped him. It was a grass cord which Angelo had secretly woven +standing behind Gigi--then had made it fast round Gigi's waist and +knotted it to a tree. A cloud came over Gigi's jolly little face--a +momentary cloud--when he found he could not run after the flowers. +But it soon passed away, and he squatted down upon the grass (the +inveigled child), and again clutched the tempting blossoms. Then his +little eyes peered round for Angelo to play with him. Alas!--Angelo +was gone! + +Gigi sobbed a little to himself silently, but the treacherous flowers +had still power to console him; at least, he could tear them to +pieces. But by-and-by when the sun mounted high over the tops of the +forest-clad mountains, and poured down its burning rays, swallowing up +all the shade and glittering like flame on every leaf, Gigi grew hot +and weary. He was very empty, too; it was just the time that Pipa fed +him. His stomach craved for food. He craved for Pipa, too, for home, +for the soft pressure of Pipa's ample bosom, where he lay so snug. + +Gigi looked round. He did not sob now, but set up a hideous roar, +the big tears coursing down his fat cheeks, marking their course by +furrows in the dirt and grime. The wood echoed to Gigi's roars. He +roared for mammy, for daddy (Angelo Gigi cannot say, it is too long +a word). He kicked away the flowers with his pretty dimpled feet, +the false flowers that had betrayed him. The babe cannot reason, but +instinct tells him that those painted leaves have wronged him. They +are faded now, and lie soiled and crumpled, the ghosts of what they +were. Again Gigi tries to rise and run, but he is drawn roughly down +by the grass rope. He tries to tear it asunder, in vain; Angelo had +taken care of that. At last, hoarse and weary, Gigi subsided into +terrible sobs, that heave his little breast. Sobbing thus, with +pouting lips and heavy eyes, he waits his fate. + +It comes with Angelo!--Angelo, leaping downward through the checkered +glades, his pockets stuffed with chestnuts. Like an angel with healing +in his wings, Angelo comes to Gigi. When he spies him out, Gigi rises, +unsteady on his little feet--rises up, forgetting all, and clasps his +hands. When Angelo comes near, and stands beside him, Gigi flings his +chubby arms about his neck, and nestles to him. + +Angelo, when he sees Gigi's disfigured face and sodden eyes, feels +his conscience prick him. With his pockets full of chestnuts he +pities Gigi; he kisses him, he takes him up, and bears him in his arms +quickly toward home. The happy child closes his weary eyes, and falls +asleep on Angelo's shoulder. Pipa, when she sees Angelo return--so +careful of his little brother--praises him, and gives him a new-baked +cake. Gigi can tell no tales, and Angelo is silent. + +While Pipa sweeps and sings, Angelo and Gigi are roasting these very +chestnuts on a heap of ashes under the window outside. Enrica sat near +them--a little apart--on a low wall, that bordered the summit of the +cliff. The zone of mighty mountains rose sharp and clear before her. +It seemed to her as if she had only to stretch out her hand to touch +them. The morning lights rested on them with a fresh glory; the crisp +air, laden with a scent of herbs, came circling round, and stirred the +curls upon her pretty head. Enrica wore the same quaintly-cut dress, +that swept upon the ground, as when Nobili was there. She had no +other. All had been burnt in the fire. Sitting there, she plucked the +moss that grew upon the wall, and watched it as it dropped into the +abyss. This was shrouded in deepest shadow. The rush of the distant +river in the valley below was audible. Enrica raised her head and +listened. That river flowed round the walls of Lucca. Nobili was +there. Happy river! Oh, that it would bear her to him on its frothy +current!--Surely her life-path lay straight before her now!--straight +into paradise! Not a stone is on that path; not a rise, not a fall. + +"In a week I will return," Nobili had said. In a week. And his eyes +had rested upon her as he spoke the words in a mist of love. Enrica's +face was pale and almost stern, and her blue eyes had strange lights +and shadows in them. How came it that, since he had left her, the +world had grown so old and gray?--that all the impulse of her nature, +the quick ebb and flow of youth and hope, was stilled and faded out, +and all her thoughts absorbed into a dreadful longing? She could not +tell, nor could she tell what ailed her; but she felt that she was +changed. She tried to listen to the prattle of the two children--to +Pipa singing above: + + "Come out! come out! + Never despair! + Father and mother and sweetheart, + All will be there!" + +Enrica could not listen. It was the dark abyss below that drew her +toward its silent bosom. She hung over the wall, her eyes measuring +its depths. What ailed her? Was she smitten mad by the wild tumult of +joy that had swept over her as she stood hand-in-hand with Nobili? Or +was she on the eve of some crisis?--a crisis of life and death? Oh! +why had Nobili left her? When would he return? She could not tell. All +she knew was, that in the streaming sunlight of this wondrous morning, +when earth and heaven were as fair as on the first creation-day, +without him all was dark, sad, and dreary. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A STORM AT THE VILLA. + + +A footstep was heard upon the gravel. The dogs shut up in the cave +scratched furiously, then barked loudly. Following the footsteps a +bareheaded peasant appeared, his red shirt open, showing his sunburnt +chest. He ran up to the open door, a letter in his hand. Seeing Enrica +sitting on the low wall, he stopped and made her a rustic bow. + +"Who are you?" Enrica asked, her heart beating wildly. + +"Illustrissima," and the man bowed again, "I am Giacomo--Giacomo +protected by his reverence Fra Pacifico. You have heard of Giacomo?" + +Enrica shook her head impatiently. + +"Surely you are the Signorina Enrica?" + +"Yes, I am." + +"Then this letter is for you." And Giacomo stepped up and gave it +into her outstretched hand. "I was to tell the illustrissima that the +letter had come express from Lucca to Fra Pacifico. Fra Pacifico could +not bring it down himself, because the wife of the baker Pietro is +ill, and he is nursing her." + +Enrica took the letter, then stared at Giacomo so fixedly, before he +turned to go, it haunted him many days after, for fear the signorina +had given him the evil-eye. + +Enrica held the letter in her hand. She gazed at it (standing on the +spot where she had taken it, midway between the door and the low wall, +a glint of sunshine striking upon her hair, turning it to threads of +gold) in silent ecstasy. It was Nobili's first letter to her. His name +was in the corner, his monogram on the seal. The letter came to her in +her loneliness like Nobili's visible presence. Ah! who does not recall +the rapture of a first love-letter!--the tangible assurance it brings +that our lover is still our own--the hungry eye that runs over every +line traced by that dear hand--the oft-repeated words his voice +has spoken stamped on the page--the hidden sense--the half-dropped +sentences--all echoing within us as note to note in chords of music! + +Enrica's eyes wandered over the address, "To the Noble Signorina +Enrica Guinigi, Corellia," as if each word had been some wonder. She +dwelt upon every crooked line and twist, each tail and flourish, that +Nobili's hand had traced. She pressed the letter to her lips, then +laid it upon her lap and gazed at it, eking out every second of +suspense to its utmost limit. Suddenly a burning curiosity possessed +her to know when he would come. With a gasp that almost stopped her +breath she tore the cover open. The paper shook so violently in her +unsteady hand that the lines seemed to run up and down and dance. +She could distinguish nothing. She pressed her hand to her forehead, +steadied herself, then read: + +ENRICA: When this comes to you I am gone from you forever. You have +betrayed me--how much I do not care to know. Perhaps I think you less +guilty than you are. Of all women, my heart clung to you. I loved you +as men only love once in their lives. For the sake of that love, I +will still screen you all I can. But it is known in Lucca that Count +Marescotti was your accepted lover when you promised yourself to me. +Also, that Count Marescotti refused to marry you when you were offered +by the Marchesa Guinigi. From this knowledge I cannot screen you. +God is my witness, I go, not desiring by my presence or my words to +reproach you further. But, as a man who prizes the honor of his house +and home, I cannot marry you. Tell the marchesa I shall keep my word +to her, although I break the marriage-contract. She will find the +money placed as she desired. + +MARIO NOBILI. + +"PALAZZO NOBILI, LUCCA." + + +Little by little Enrica read the whole, sentence by sentence. At first +the full horror of the words was veiled. They came to her in a dazed, +stupid way. A mist gathered about her. There was a buzzing in her ears +that deadened her brain. She forced herself to read over the letter +again. Then her heart stood still with terror--her cheeks burned--her +head reeled. A deadly cold came over her. Of all within that letter +she understood nothing but the words, "I am gone from you forever." +Gone!--Nobili gone! Never to speak to her again in that sweet +voice!--never to press his lips to hers!--never to gather her to him +in those firm, strong arms! O God! then she must die! If Nobili were +gone, she must die! A terrible pang shot through her; then a great +calmness came over her, and she was very still. "Die!--yes--why +not?--Die!" + +Clutching the letter in her icy hand, Enrica looked round with pale, +tremulous eyes, from which the light has faded. It could not be the +same world of an hour ago. Death had come into it--she is about to +die. Yet the sun shone fiercely upon her face as she turned it upward +and struck upon her eyes. The children laughed over the chestnuts +spluttering in the ashes. Pipa sang merrily above at the open window. +A bird--was it a raven?--poised itself in the air; the cattle grazed +peacefully on the green slopes of the opposite mountain, and a drove +of pigs ran downward to drink at a little pool. She alone has changed. + +A dull, dim consciousness drew her forward toward the low wall, and +the abyss that yawned beneath. There she should lie at peace. There +the stillness would quiet her heart that beat so hard against her +side--surely her heart must burst! She had a dumb instinct that she +should like to sleep; she was so weary. Stronger grew the passion of +her longing to cast herself on that cold bed--deep, deep below--to +rest forever. She tried to move, but could not. She tottered and +almost fell. Then all swam before her. She sank backward against the +door; with her two hands she clutched the post. Her white face was +set. But in her agony not a sound escaped her. Her secret--Nobili's +secret--must be kept, she told herself. No one must ever know that +Nobili had left her--that she was about to die--no one, no one! + +With a last effort she tried to rush forward to take that leap below +which would end all. In vain. All nature rushed in a wild whirlwind +around her! A deadly sickness seized her. Her eyes closed. She dropped +beside the door, a little ruffled heap upon the ground, Nobili's +letter clasped tightly in her hand. + + "My love he is to Lucca gone, + To Lucca fair, a lord to be, + And I would fain a message send, + But who will tell my tale for me?" + +Sang out Pipa from above. + + "All the folk say that I am brown; + The earth is brown, yet gives good corn; + The clove-pink, too, although 'tis brown, + In hands of gentlefolk is borne." + + "They say my love is brown; but he + Shines like an angel-form to me; + They say my love is dark as night, + To me he seems an angel bright!" + +Not hearing the children's voices, and fearing some trick of naughty +Angelo against the peace of her precious Gigi, Pipa leaned put over +the window-sill. "My babe, my babe, where art thou?" was on her lips +to cry; instead, Pipa gave a piercing scream. It broke the mid-day +silence. Argo barked loudly. + +"Dio Gesu!" Pipa cried wildly out. "The signorina, she is dead! Help! +help!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH + + +Many hours had passed. Enrica lay still unconscious upon her bed, her +face framed in her golden hair, her blue eyes open, her limbs stiff, +her body cold. Sometimes her lips parted, and a smile rippled over her +face; then she shuddered, and drew herself, as it were, together. All +this time Nobili's letter was within her hand; her fingers tightened +over it with a convulsive grasp. + +Pipa and the cavaliere were with her. They had done all they could +to revive her, but without effect. Trenta, sitting there, his hands +crossed upon his knees, his eyes fixed upon Enrica, looked suddenly +aged. How all this had come about he could not even guess. He had +heard Pipa's screams, and so had the marchesa, and he had come, and he +and Pipa together had raised her up and placed her on her bed; and the +marchesa had charged him to watch her, and let her know when she came +to her senses. Neither the cavaliere nor Pipa knew that Enrica had had +a letter from Nobili. Pipa noticed a paper in her hand, but did not +know what it was. The signorina had been struck down in a fit, was +Pipa's explanation. It was very terrible, but God or the devil--she +could not tell which--did send fits. They must be borne. An end would +come. She had done all she could. Seeing no present change, Trenta +rose to go to the marchesa. His joints were so stiff he could not move +at all without his stick, and the furrows which had deepened upon his +face were moistened with tears. + +"Is Enrica no better?" the marchesa asked him, in a voice she tried to +steady, but could not. She trembled all over. + +"Enrica is no better," he answered. + +"Will she die?" the marchesa asked again. + +"Who can tell? She is in the hands of God." + +As he spoke, Trenta shot an angry scowl at his friend--he knew her +so well. If Enrica died the Guinigi race was doomed--that made her +tremble, not affection for Enrica. A word more from the marchesa, and +Trenta would have told her this to her face. + +"We are all in the hands of God," the marchesa repeated, solemnly, and +crossed herself. "I believe little in doctors." + +"Still," said Trenta, "if there is no change, it is our duty to send +for one. Is there any doctor at Corellia?" + +"None nearer than Lucca," she replied. "Send for Fra Pacifico. If he +thinks it of any use, a man shall be dispatched to Lucca immediately." + +"Surely you will let Count Nobili know the danger Enrica is in?" + +"No, no!" cried the marchesa, fiercely. "Count Nobili comes back here +to marry Enrica or not at all. I will not have him on any other terms. +If the child dies, he will not come. That at least will be a gain." + +Even on the brink of death and ruin she could think of this! + +"Enrica will not die! she will not die!" sobbed the poor old +cavaliere, breaking down all at once. He sank upon a chair and covered +his face. + +The marchesa rose and placed her hand upon his shoulder. Her heart was +bleeding, too, but from another cause. She bore her wounds in silence. +To complain was not in the marchesa's nature. It would have increased +her suffering rather than have relieved it. Still she pitied her old +friend, although no word expressed it; nothing but the pressure of her +hand resting upon his shoulder. Trenta's sobs were the only sound that +broke the silence. + +"This is losing time," she said. "Send at once for Fra Pacifico. Until +he comes, we know nothing." + +When Fra Pacifico's rugged, mountainous figure entered Enrica's room, +he seemed to fill it. First, he blessed the sweet girl lying before +him with such a terrible mockery of life in her widely-opened eyes. +His deep voice shook and his grave face twitched as he pronounced the +"Beatus." Leaning over the bed, Fra Pacifico proceeded to examine her +in silence. He uncovered her feet, and felt her heart, her hands, +her forehead, lifting up the shining curls as he did so with a tender +touch, and laying them out upon the pillow, as reverently as he would +replace a relic. + +Cavaliere Trenta stood beside him in breathless silence. Was it life +or death? Looking into Fra Pacifico's motionless face, none could +tell. Pipa was kneeling in a corner, running her rosary between her +fingers; she was listening also, with mouth and eyes wide open. + +"Her pulse still beats," Fra Pacifico said at last, betraying no +outward emotion. "It beats, but very feebly. There is a little warmth +about her heart." + +"San Ricardo be thanked!" ejaculated Trenta, clasping his hands. + +With the mention of his ancestral saint, the cavaliere's thoughts ran +on to the Trenta chapel in the church of San Frediano, where they had +all stood so lately together, Enrica blooming in health and beauty at +his side. His sobs choked his voice. + +"Shall I send to Lucca for a doctor?" Trenta asked, as soon as he +could compose himself. + +"As you please. Her condition is very precarious; nothing can be done, +however, but to keep her warm. That I see has been attended to. She +could swallow nothing, therefore no doctor could help her. With such +a pulse, to bleed her would be madness. Her youth may save her. It +is plain to me some shock or horror must have struck her down and +paralyzed the vital powers. How could this have been?" + +The priest stood over her, lost in thought, his bushy eyebrows knit; +then he turned to Pipa. + +"Has any thing happened, Pipa," he asked, "to account for this?" + +"Nothing your reverence," she answered. "I saw the signorina, +and spoke to her, not ten minutes before I found her lying in the +doorway." + +"Had any one seen her?" + +"No one." + +"I sent a letter to her from Count Nobili. Did you see the messenger +arrive?" + +"No; I was cleaning in the upper story. He might have come and gone, +and I not seen him." + +"I heard of no letter," put in the bewildered Trenta. "What letter? No +one mentioned a letter." + +"Possibly," answered Fra Pacifico, in his quiet, impassible way, "but +there was a letter." He turned again to interrogate Pipa. "Then the +signorina must have taken the letter herself." Slightly raising his +eyebrows, a sudden light came into his eyes. "That letter has done +this. What can Nobili have said to her? Did you see any letter beside +her, Pipa, when she fell?" + +Pipa rose up from the corner where she had been kneeling, raised the +sheet, and pointed to a paper clasped in Enrica's hand. As she did so, +Pipa pressed her warm lips upon the colorless little hand. She would +have covered the hand again to keep it warm, but Fra Pacifico stopped +her. + +"We must see that letter; it is absolutely needful--I her confessor, +and you, cavaliere, Enrica's best friend; indeed, her only friend." + +At a touch of his strong hand the letter fell from Enrica's fingers, +though they clung to it convulsively. + +"Of course we must see the letter," the cavaliere responded with +emphasis, waking up from the apathy of grief into which he had been +plunged. + +Fra Pacifico, casting a look of unutterable pity on Enrica, whose +secret it seemed sacrilege to violate while she lay helpless before +them, unfolded the letter. He and the cavaliere, standing on tiptoe +at his side, his head hardly reaching the priest's elbow, read it +together. When Trenta had finished, an expression of horror and rage +came into his face. He threw his arms wildly above his head. + +"The villain!" he exclaimed, "'Gone forever!'--'You have betrayed +me!'--'Cannot marry you!'--'Marescotti!'" + +Here Trenta stopped, remembering suddenly what had passed between +himself and Count Marescotti at their interview, which he justly +considered as confidential. Trenta's first feeling was one of +amazement how Nobili had come to know it. Then he remembered what he +had said to Baldassare in the street, to quiet him, that "it was all +right, and that Enrica would consent to her aunt's commands, and to +his wishes." + +"Beast!" he muttered, "this is what I get by associating with one who +is no gentleman. I'll punish him!" + +A blank terror took possession of the cavaliere. He glanced at Enrica, +so life-like with her fixed, open eyes, and asked himself, if she +recovered, would she ever forgive him? + +"I did it for the best!" he murmured, shaking his white head. "God +knows I did it for the best!--the dear, blessed one!--to give her +a home, and a husband to protect her. I knew nothing about Count +Nobili.--Why did you not tell me, my sweetest?" he said, leaning over +the bed, and addressing Enrica in his bewilderment. + +Alas! the glassy blue eyes stared at him fixedly, the white lips were +motionless. + +The effect of all this on Fra Pacifico had been very different. Under +the strongest excitement, the long habit of his office had taught him +a certain outward composure. He was ignorant of much which was known +to the cavaliere. Fra Pacifico watched his excessive agitation with +grave curiosity. + +"What does this mean about Count Marescotti?" he asked, somewhat +sternly. "What has Count Marescotti to do with her?" + +As he asked this question he stretched his arm authoritatively over +Enrica. Protection to the weak was the first thought of the strong +man. His great bodily strength had been given him for that purpose, +Fra Pacifico always said. + +"I offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti," answered the +cavaliere, lifting up his aged head, and meeting the priest's +suspicious glance with a look of gentle reproach. "What do you think I +could have done but this?" + +"And Count Marescotti refused her?" + +"Yes, he refused her because he was a communist. Nothing passed +between them, nothing. They never met but twice, both times in my +presence." + +Fra Pacifico was satisfied. + +"God be praised!" he muttered to himself. + +Still holding the letter in his hand, the priest turned toward +Enrica. Again he felt her pulse, and passed his broad hand across her +forehead. + +"No change!" he said, sadly--"no change! Poor child, how she must +have suffered! And alone, too! There is some mistake--obviously some +mistake." + +"No mistake about the wretch having forsaken her," interrupted Trenta, +firing up at what he considered Fra Pacifico's ill-placed leniency. +"Domine Dio! No mistake about that." + +"Yes, but there must be," insisted the other. "I have known Nobili +from a boy. He is incapable of such villainy. I tell you, cavaliere, +Nobili is utterly incapable of it. He has been deceived. By-and-by he +will bitterly repent this," and Fra Pacifico held up the letter. + +"Yes," answered Trenta, bitterly--"yes, if she lives. If he has killed +her, what will his repentance matter?" + +"Better wait, however, until we know more. Nobili may be hot-headed, +vain, and credulous, but he is generous to a fault. If he cannot +justify himself, why, then"--the priest's voice changed, his swarthy +face flushed with a dark glow--"I am willing to give him the benefit +of the doubt--charity demands this--but if Nobili cannot justify +himself"--(the cavaliere made an indignant gesture)--"leave him to +me. You shall be satisfied, cavaliere. God deals with men's souls +hereafter, but he permits bodily punishment in this world. Nobili +shall have his, I promise you!" + +Fra Pacifico clinched his huge fist menacingly, and dealt a blow in +the air that would have felled a giant. + +Having given vent to his feelings, to the unmitigated delight of +the cavaliere, who nodded and smiled--for an instant forgetting his +sorrow, and Enrica lying there--Fra Pacifico composed himself. + +"The marchesa must see that letter," he said, in his usual manner. +"Take it to her, cavaliere. Hear what she says." + +The cavaliere took the letter in silence. Then he shrugged his +shoulders despairingly. + +"I must go now to Corellia. I will return soon. That Enrica still +lives is full of hope." Fra Pacifico said this, turning toward the +little bed with its modest shroud of white linen curtains. "But I can +do nothing. The feeble spark of life that still lingers in her frame +would fly forever if tormented by remedies. I have hope in God only." +And he gave a heavy sigh. + +Before Fra Pacifico departed, he took some holy water from a little +vessel near the bed, and sprinkled it upon Enrica. He ordered Pipa to +keep her very warm, and to watch every breath she drew. Then he glided +from the room with the light step of one well used to sickness. + +Cavaliere Trenta followed him slowly. He paused motionless in the +open doorway, his eyes, from which the tears were streaming, fixed on +Enrica--the fatal letter in his hand. At length he tore himself away, +closed the door, and, crossing the sala, knocked at the door of the +marchesa's apartment. + + * * * * * + +In the gray of the early morning of the second day, just as the sun +rose and cast a few straggling gleams into the room, Enrica called +faintly to Pipa. She knew Pipa when she came. It seemed as if +Enrica had waked out of a long, deep sleep. She felt no pain, but an +excessive weakness. She touched her forehead and her hair. She handled +the sheets--then extended both her hands to Pipa, as if she had been +buried and asked to be raised up again. She tried to sit up, but--she +fell back upon her pillow. Pipa's arms were round her in an instant. +She put back the long hair that fell upon Enrica's face, and poured +into her mouth a few drops of a cordial Fra Pacifico had left for her. +Pipa dared not speak--Pipa dared not breathe--so great was her joy. At +length she ventured to take one of Enrica's hands in hers, pressed it +gently and said to her in a low voice: + +"You must be very quiet. We are all here." + +Enrica looked up at Pipa, surprised and frightened; then her eyes +wandered round in search of something. She was evidently dwelling +upon some idea she could not express. She raised her hand, opened it +slowly, and gazed at it. Her hand was empty. + +"Where is--?" Enrica asked, in a voice like a sigh--then she stopped, +and gazed up again distressfully into Pipa's face. Pipa knew that +Count Nobili's letter had been taken by Fra Pacifico. Now she bent +over Enrica in an agony of fear lest, when her reason came and she +missed that letter, she should sink back again and die. + +With the sound of her own voice all came back to Enrica in an instant. +She closed her eyes, and longed never to open them again! "Gone! gone! +forever!" sounded in her ears like a rushing of great waters. Then she +lay for a long time quite still. She could not bear to speak to Pipa. +His name--Nobili's name--was sacred. If Pipa knew what Nobili had +done, she might speak ill of him. That Enrica could not bear. Yet she +should like to know who had taken his letter. + +Her brain was very weak, yet it worked incessantly. She asked herself +all manner of questions in a helpless way; but as her fluttering +pulses settled, and the blood returned to its accustomed +channels, faintly coloring her cheek, the truth came to her. +Insulted!--abandoned!--forgotten! She thought it all over bit by bit. +Each thought as it rose in her mind seemed to freeze the returning +warmth within her. That letter--oh, if she could only find that +letter! She tried to recall every phrase and put a sense to it. How +had she deceived him? What could Nobili mean? What had she done to +be talked of in Lucca? Marescotti--who was he? At first she was +so stunned she forgot his name; then it came to her. Yes, the +poet--Marescotti--Trenta's friend--who had raved on the Guinigi Tower. +What was he to her? Marry Marescotti! Oh! who could have said it? + +Gradually, as Enrica's mind became clearer, lying there so still with +no sound but Pipa's measured breathing, she felt to its full extent +how Nobili had wronged her. Why had he not come himself and asked her +if all this were true? To leave her thus forever! Without even asking +her--oh, how cruel! She believed in him, why did he not believe in +her? No one had ever yet told her a lie; within herself she felt +no power of deceit. She could not understand it in others, nor the +falseness of the world. Now she must learn it! Then a great longing +and tenderness came over her. She loved Nobili still. Even though +he had smitten her so sorely, she loved him--she loved him, and she +forgave him! But stronger and stronger grew the thought, even while +these longings swept over her like great waves, that Nobili was +unworthy of her. Should she love him less for that? Oh, no! He was +unworthy of her--yet she yearned after him. He had left her--but in +her heart Nobili should forever sit enthroned--and she would worship +him! + +And they had been so happy, so more than happy--from the first moment +they had met--and he had shattered it! Oh, his love for her was dead +and buried out of sight! What was life to her without Nobili? Oh, +those forebodings that had clung about her from the very moment he +had left Corellia! Now she could understand them. Never to see him +again!--was it possible? A great pity came upon her for herself. No +one, she was sure, could ever have suffered like her--no one--no one. +This thought for some time pursued her closely. There was a terrible +comfort in it. Alas! all her life would be suffering now! + +As Enrica lay there, her face turned toward the wall, and her eyes +closed (Pipa watching her, thinking she had dozed), suddenly her bosom +heaved. She gave a wild cry. The pent-up tears came pouring down her +cheeks, and sob after sob shook her from head to foot. + +This burst of grief saved her--Fra Pacifico said so when he came down +later. "Death had passed very near her," he said, "but now she would +recover." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA. + + +On the evening of that day the marchesa was in her own room, opening +from the sala. The little furniture the room contained was collected +around the marchesa, forming a species of oasis on the broad desert +of the scagliola floor. A brass lamp, placed on a table, formed the +centre of this habitable spot. The marchesa sat in deep shadow, but +in the outline of her tall, slight figure, and in the carriage of +her head and neck, there was the same indomitable pride, courage, and +energy, as before. A paper lay on the ground near her; it was Nobili's +letter. Fra Pacifico sat opposite to her. He was speaking. His +deep-set luminous eyes were fixed on the marchesa. His straight, +coarse hair was pushed up erect upon his brow; there was at all times +something of a mane about it. His cassock sat loosely about his big, +well-made limbs; his priestly stock was loosed, showing the dark skin +of his throat and chin. In the turn of his eye, in the expression of +his countenance, there were anxiety, restlessness, and distrust. + +"Yes--Enrica has recovered for the present," he was saying, "but such +an attack saps and weakens the very issues of life. Count Nobili, if +not brought to reason, would break her heart." She was obstinately +silent. The balance of her mind was partially upset. "'I shall never +see Nobili again,' was all she would say to me. It is a pity, I think, +that you sent the cavaliere away to Lucca. Enrica might have opened +her mind to him." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico crossed one of his legs over the other, and +arranged the heavy folds of his cassock over his knees. + +"And who says Enrica shall not see Nobili again?" asked the marchesa, +defiantly. "Holy saints! That is my affair. I want no advice. My honor +is now as much concerned in the completion of this marriage as it was +before to prevent it. The contract has been signed in my presence. +The money agreed upon has been paid over to me. The marriage must take +place. I have sent Trenta to Lucca to make preliminary arrangements." + +"I rejoice to hear it," answered Fra Pacifico, his countenance +brightening. "There must be some extraordinary mistake. The cavaliere +will explain it. Some enemies of your family must have misled Count +Nobili, especially as there was a certain appearance of concealment +respecting Count Marescotti. It will all come right. I only feared +lest the language of that letter would have, in your opinion, rendered +the marriage impossible." + +"That letter does not move me in the least," answered the marchesa +haughtily, speaking out of the shadow. She gave the letter a kick, +sending it farther from her. "I care neither for praise nor insult +from such a fellow. He is but an instrument in my hand. He has, +however, justified my bad opinion of him. I am glad of that. Do you +imagine, my father," she added, leaning forward, and bringing her head +for an instant within the circle of the light--"do you imagine any +thing but absolute necessity would have induced me to allow Count +Nobili ever to enter my presence?" + +"I am bound to tell you that your pride is un-Christian, my daughter." +Fra Pacifico spoke with warmth. "I cannot permit such language in my +presence." + +The marchesa waved her hand contemptuously, then contemplated him, a +smile upon her face. + +"I have long known Count Nobili. He has the faults of his age. He +is impulsive--vain, perhaps--but at the same time he is loyal and +generous. He was not himself when he wrote that letter. There is a +passionate sorrow about it that convinces me of this. He has been +misled. The offer you sanctioned of Enrica's hand to Count Marescotti, +has been misrepresented to him. Undoubtedly Nobili ought to have +sought an explanation before he left Lucca; but, the more he loved +Enrica, the more he must have suffered before he could so address +her." + +"You justify Count Nobili, then, my father, not only for abandoning +my niece, but for endeavoring to blast her character? Is this your +Christianity?" The marchesa asked this question with bitter scorn; +her keen eyes shone mockingly out of the darkness. "I told you what he +was, remember. I have some knowledge of him and of his father." + +"My daughter, I do not defend him. If need be, I have sworn to punish +him with my own hand. But, until I know all the circumstances, I pity +him; I repeat, I pity him. Some powerful influence must have been +brought to bear upon Nobili. It may have been a woman." + +"Ha! ha!" laughed the marchesa, contemptuously. "You admit, then, +Nobili has a taste for women?" + +Fra Pacifico rose suddenly from his chair. An expression of deep +displeasure was on his face, which had grown crimson under the +marchesa's taunts. + +"I desire no altercation, marchesa, nor will I permit you to address +such unseemly words to me. What I deem fitting I shall say, now and +always. It is my duty. You have called me here. What do you want? How +can I help you? In all things lawful I am ready to do so. Nay, I will +take the whole matter on myself if you desire." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico stooped and raised Nobili's crumpled letter +from the floor. He spread it out open on the table. The marchesa +motioned to him to reseat himself. He did so. + +"What I want?" she said, taking up the priest's words. "I will tell +you. When I bring Count Nobili here"--the marchesa spoke very slowly, +and stretched out her long fingers, as though she held him already in +her grasp--"when I bring Count Nobili here, I want you to perform +the marriage ceremony. It must take place immediately. Under the +circumstances the marriage had better be private." + +"I shall not perform the ceremony," answered Fra Pacifico, his full, +deep voice ringing through the room, "at your bidding only. Enrica +must also consent. Enrica must consent in my presence." + +As the light of the lamp struck upon Fra Pacifico, the lines about his +mouth deepened, and that look of courage and of command the people of +Corellia knew so well was marked upon his countenance. A rock might +have been moved, but not Fra Pacifico. + +"Enrica shall obey me!" cried the marchesa. Her temper was rising +beyond control at the idea of any opposition at such a critical +moment. She had made her plan, settled it with Trenta; her plan must +be carried out. "Enrica shall obey me," she repeated. "Enrica will +obey me unless instigated by you, Fra Pacifico." + +"My daughter," replied the priest, "if you forget the respect due to +my office, I shall leave you." + +"Pardon me, my father," and the marchesa bowed stiffly; "but I appeal +to your justice. Can I allow that reprobate to break my niece's +heart?--to tarnish her good name? If there were a single Guinigi left, +he would stab Nobili like a dog! Such a fellow is unworthy the name +of gentleman. Marriage alone can remove the stain he has cast upon +Enrica. It is no question of sentiment. The marriage is essential +to the honor of my house. Enrica must be _called_ Countess Nobili, +whether Nobili pleases it or not. Else how can I keep his money? And +without his money--" She paused suddenly. In the warmth of speech the +marchesa had been actually led into the confession that Nobili was +necessary to her "I have the contract," she added. "Thank Heaven, I +have the contract! Nobili is legally bound by the contract." + +"Yes, that may be," answered Fra Pacifico, reflectively, "if you +choose to force him. But I warn you that I will put no violence on +Enrica's feelings. She must decide for herself." + +"But if Enrica still loves him," urged the marchesa, determined if +possible to avoid an appeal to her niece--"if Enrica still loves him, +as you assure me she does, may we not look upon her acquiescence as +obtained?" + +Fra Pacifico shook his head. He was perfectly unmoved by the +marchesa's violence. + +"Life, honor, position, reputation, all rest on this marriage. I have +accepted Count Nobili's money; Count Nobili must accept my niece." + +"Your niece must nevertheless consent. I can permit no other +arrangement. Then you have to find Count Nobili. He must voluntarily +appear at the altar." + +Fra Pacifico turned his resolute face full upon the marchesa. Her +whole attitude betrayed intense excitement. + +"Your niece must consent, Count Nobili must appear voluntarily before +the altar, else the Church cannot sanction the union. It would be +sacrilege. How do you propose to overcome Count Nobili's refusal?" + +"By the law!" exclaimed the marchesa, imperiously. + +Fra Pacifico turned aside his head to conceal a smile. The law had not +hitherto favored the marchesa. Her constant appeal to the law had been +the principal cause of her present troubles. + +"By the law," the marchesa repeated. Her sallow face glowed for a +moment. "Surely, Fra Pacifico--surely you will not oppose me? You +talk of the Church. The Church, indeed! Did not the wretch sign the +marriage-contract in your presence? The Church must enable him to +complete his contract. In your presence too, as priest and civil +delegate; and you talk of sacrilege, my father! Che! che! Dio buono!" +she exclaimed, losing all self-control in the conviction her own +argument brought to her--"Fra Pacifico, you must be mad!" + +"I only ask for Enrica's consent," answered the priest. "That given, +if Count Nobili comes, I will consent to marry them." + +"Count Nobili--he shall come--never fear," and the marchesa gave a +short, scornful laugh. "After I have been to Lucca he will come. I +shall have done my duty. It is all very well," added the marchesa, +loftily, "for low people to pair like animals, from inclination. Such +vulgar motives have no place in the world in which I live. Persons +of my rank form alliances among themselves from more elevated +considerations; from political and prudential motives; for the sake +of great wealth when wealth is required; to shed fresh lustre on +an historic name by adding to it the splendor of another equally +illustrious. My own marriage was arranged for this end. Again I remind +you, my father, that nothing but necessity would have forced me to +permit a usurer's son to dare to aspire to the hand of my niece. It is +a horrible degradation--the first blot on a spotless escutcheon." + +"Again I warn you, my daughter, such pride is unseemly. Summon Enrica +at once. Let us hear what she says." + +The marchesa drew back into the shadow, and was silent. As long as she +could bring her battery of arguments against Fra Pacifico, she felt +safe. What Enrica might say, who could tell? One word from Enrica +might overturn all her subtle combinations. That Fra Pacifico should +assist her was indispensable. Another priest, less interested in +Enrica, might, under the circumstances, refuse to unite them. Even if +that difficulty could be got over, the marchesa was fully alive to the +fact that a painful scene would probably occur--such a scene as ought +not to be witnessed by a stranger. Hence her hesitation in calling +Enrica. + +During this pause Fra Pacifico crossed his arms upon his breast and +waited in silence. + +"Let Enrica come," said the marchesa at last; "I have no objection." +She threw herself back on her seat, and doggedly awaited the result. + +Fra Pacifico rose and opened a door on the other side of the room, +communicating with the vaulted passage which had connected the villa +with the tower. + +"Who is there?" he called. (Bells were a luxury unknown at Corellia.) + +"I," answered Angelo, running forward, his eyes gleaming like two +stars. Angelo sometimes acted as acolyte to Fra Pacifico. Angelo was +proud to show his alacrity to his reverence, who had often cuffed +him for his mischievous pranks; specially on one occasion, when Fra +Pacifico had found him in the act of pushing Gigi stealthily into the +marble basin of the fountain, to see if, being small, Gigi would swim +like the gold-fish. + +"Go to the Signorina Enrica, Angelo, and tell her that the marchesa +wants her." + +As long as Enrica was ill, Fra Pacifico went freely in and out of her +room; now that she was recovered, and had risen from her bed, it was +not suitable for him to seek her there himself. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? + + +When Angelo knocked at Enrica's door, Pipa, who was with her, opened +it, and gave her Fra Pacifico's message. The summons was so sudden +Enrica had no time to think, but a wild, unmeaning delight possessed +her. It was so rare for her aunt to send for her she must be going to +tell her something about Nobili. With his name upon her lips, Enrica +started up from the chair on which she had been half lying, and ran +toward the door. + +"Softly, softly, my blessed angel!" cried Pipa, following her with +outstretched arms as if she were a baby taking its first steps. "You +were all but dead this morning, and now you run like little Gigi when +I call to him." + +"I can walk very well, Pipa." Enrica opened the door with feverish +haste. "I must not keep my aunt waiting." + +"Let me put a shawl round you," insisted kind Pipa. "The evening is +fresh." + +She wrapped a large white shawl about her, that made Enrica look paler +and more ghost-like than before. + +"Nobody loves me like you, Pipa--nobody--dear Pipa!" + +Enrica threw her soft arms around Pipa as she said this. She felt so +lonely the tears came into her eyes, already swollen with excessive +weeping. + +"Who knows?" was Pipa's grave reply. "It is a strange world. You must +not judge a man always by what he does." + +Enrica gave a deep sigh. She had hurried out of her room into the sala +with a headlong impulse to rush to her aunt. Now she dreaded what her +aunt might have to say to her. The little strength she had suddenly +left her. The warm blood that had mounted to her head chilled within +her veins. For a few moments she leaned against Pipa, who watched her +with anxious eyes. Then, disengaging herself from her, she trod feebly +across the floor. The sala was in darkness. Enrica stretched out +her hands before her to feel for the door. When she had found it she +stopped terrified. What was she about to hear? The deep voice of Fra +Pacifico was audible from within. Enrica placed her hand upon the +handle of the door--then she withdrew it. Without the autumn wind +moaned round the corners of the house. How it must roar in the abyss +under the cliffs! Enrica thought. How dark it must be down there in +the blackness of the night! Like letters written in fire, Nobili's +words rose up before her--"I am gone from you forever!" Oh! why was +she not dead?--Why was she not lying deep below, buried among the cold +rocks?--Enrica felt very faint. A groan escaped her. + +Fra Pacifico, accustomed to listen to the almost inaudible sounds of +the sick and the dying, heard it. + +The door opened. Enrica found herself within the room. + +"Enrica," said the marchesa, addressing her blandly (did not all now +depend upon her?)--"Enrica, you look very pale." + +She made no reply, but looked round vacantly. The light of the lamp, +coming suddenly out of the darkness, the finding herself face to face +with the marchesa, dazzled and alarmed her. + +Fra Pacifico took both Enrica's hands in his, drew an arm-chair +forward, and placed her in it. + +"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question," the marchesa +spoke. + +At the sound of her aunt's voice, Enrica shuddered visibly. Was it +not, after all, the marchesa's fault that Nobili had left her? Why had +the marchesa thrown her into Count Marescotti's company? Why had the +marchesa offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti without telling +her? At this moment Enrica loathed her. Something of all this passed +over her pallid face as she turned her eyes beseechingly toward Fra +Pacifico. The marchesa watched her with secret rage. + +Was this silly, love-sick child about to annihilate the labors of her +life? Was this daughter of her husband's cousin, Antonio--a collateral +branch--about to consign the Guinigi name to the tomb? She could have +lifted up her voice and cursed her where she stood. + +"Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question." Spite of her +efforts to be calm, there was a strange ring in her voice that made +Enrica look up at her. "Enrica, do you still love Count Nobili?" + +"This is not a fair question," interrupted Fra Pacifico, coming to +the rescue of the distressed Enrica, who sat speechless before her +terrible aunt. "I know she still loves him. The love of a heart like +hers is not to be destroyed by such a letter as that, and the unjust +accusations it contains." + +Fra Pacifico pointed with his finger to Nobili's letter lying where he +had placed it on the table. Seeing the letter, Enrica started back and +shivered. + +"Is it not so, Enrica?" + +The little blond head and the sad blue eyes bowed themselves gently in +response. A faint smile flitted across Enrica's face. Fra Pacifico had +spoken all her mind, which she in her weakness could not have done, +especially with her aunt's dark eyes riveted upon her. + +"Then you still love Count Nobili?" The marchesa accentuated each word +with bitter emphasis. + +"I do," answered Enrica, faintly. + +"If Count Nobili returns here, will you marry him?" + +As the marchesa spoke, Enrica trembled like a leaf. "What was she +to answer?" The little composure she had been able to assume utterly +forsook her. She who had believed that nothing was left but to die, +was suddenly called upon to live! + +"O my aunt," Enrica cried, springing to her feet, "how can I look +Nobili in the face after that letter? He thinks I have deceived him." + +Enrica stopped; the words seemed to choke her. With an imploring look, +she turned toward Fra Pacifico. Without knowing what she did Enrica +flung herself on the floor at his feet; she clasped his knees--she +turned her beseeching eyes into his. + +"O my father, help me! Nobili is my very life. How can I refuse what +is my very life? When Nobili left me, my first thought was to die!" + +"Surely, my daughter, not by a violent death?" asked Fra Pacifico, +stooping over her. + +"Yes, yes," and Enrica wrung her hands, "yes, I would have done it--I +could not bear to live without him." + +A look of sorrow and reproach darkened Fra Pacifico's brow. He crossed +himself. "God be praised," he exclaimed, "you were saved from that +wickedness!" + +"My father"--Enrica extended her arms toward him--"I implore you, for +the love of Jesus, let me enter a convent!" + +In these few and simple words Enrica had tried all her powers of +persuasion. The words were addressed to the priest; but her blue eyes, +filled with tears, gathered themselves upon the marchesa imploringly. +Enrica awaited her fate in silence. The priest rose and gently +replaced her on her chair. All the benevolence of his manly nature +was called forth. He cast a searching glance at the marchesa. Nothing +betrayed her feelings. + +"Calm yourself, Enrica," Fra Pacifico said, soothingly. "No one seeks +to hurry or to force you. But I could not for a moment sanction your +entering a convent. In your present state of mind it would be an +unholy and an unnatural act." + +Although outwardly unmoved, never in her life had the marchesa felt +such exultation. Had Fra Pacifico seconded Enrica's proposal to enter +a convent, all would have been lost! Still nothing was absolutely +decided. It was possible Fra Pacifico might yet frustrate her plans. +She ventured another question. + +"If Count Nobili meets you at the altar, you will not then refuse to +marry him?" + +There was an imperceptible tremor in the marchesa's voice. The +suspense was becoming intolerable to her. + +"Refuse to marry him? Refuse Nobili? No, no, I can refuse Nobili +nothing," answered Enrica, dreamily. "But he will not come!--he is +gone forever!" + +"He will come," insisted the marchesa, pushing her advantage +skillfully. + +"But will he love me?" asked the tender young voice. "Will he believe +that I love him? Oh, tell me that!--Father Pacifico, help me! I cannot +think." Enrica pressed her hands to her forehead. She had suffered so +much, now that the crisis had come she was stunned, she had no power +to decide. "Dare I marry him?--Ought we to part forever?" A flush +gathered on her cheek, an ineffable longing shone from her eyes. +More than life was in the balance--not only to Enrica, but to +the marchesa--the marchesa, who, wrapped within the veil of her +impenetrable reserve, breathlessly awaited, an answer. + +Fra Pacifico showed unmistakable signs of agitation. He rose from his +chair, and for some minutes strode rapidly up and down the room, the +floor creaking under his heavy tread. The life of this fragile girl +lay in his hands. How could he resist that pleading look? Enrica had +done nothing wrong. Was Enrica to suffer--die, perhaps--because Nobili +had wrongfully accused her? Fra Pacifico passed his large, muscular +hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven chin, then stopped to gaze +upon her. Her lips were parted, her eyes dilated to their utmost +limit. + +"My child," he said at last, laying his hand upon her head with +fatherly tenderness--"my child, if Count Nobili returns here, you will +be justified in marrying him." + +Enrica sank back and closed her eyes. A great leap of joy overwhelmed +her. She dared not question her happiness. To behold Nobili once +more--only to behold him--filled her with rapture. + +"What is your answer, Enrica? I must hear your answer from yourself." + +The marchesa spoke out of the darkness. She shrank from allowing Fra +Pacifico to scrutinize the exultation marked on her every feature. + +"My aunt, if Nobili comes here to claim me, I will marry him," +answered Enrica, more firmly. "But stop"--her eye had meanwhile +traveled to the letter still lying on the table--a horrible doubt +crossed her mind. "Will Nobili know that I am not what he says +there--in that letter?" + +Enrica could bring herself to say no more. She longed to ask all that +had happened about Count Marescotti, and how her name had been mixed +up with his, but the words refused to come. + +"Leave that to me," answered the marchesa, imperiously. "If Count +Nobili comes to marry you, is not that proof enough that he is +satisfied?" + +Enrica felt that it must be so. A wild joy possessed her. This joy was +harder to bear than the pain. Enrica was actually sinking under the +hope that Nobili might return to her! + +Fra Pacifico noticed the gray shadow that was creeping over her face. + +"Enrica must go at once to her room," he said abruptly, "else I cannot +answer for the consequences. Her strength is overtaxed." + +As he spoke, Fra Pacifico hastily opened the door leading into the +sala. He took Enrica by the hand and raised her. She was perfectly +passive. The marchesa rose also; for the first time she came into +the full light of the lamp. Enrica stooped and kissed her hand +mechanically. + +"My niece, you may prepare for your approaching marriage. Count Nobili +will be here shortly--never fear." + +The marchesa's manner was strange, almost menacing. Fra Pacifico led +Enrica across the sala to her own door. When he returned, the marchesa +was again reading Count Nobili's letter. + +"A love-match in the Guinigi family!" She was laughing with derision. +"What are we coming to?" + +She tore the letter into innumerable fragments. + +"My father, I shall leave for Lucca early to-morrow. You must look +after Enrica. I am satisfied with what has passed." + +"God send we have done right!" answered the priest, gloomily. "Now at +least she has a chance of life." + +"Adieu, Fra Pacifico. When next we meet it will be at the marriage." + +Fra Pacifico withdrew. Had he done his duty?--Fra Pacifico dared not +ask himself the question. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. + + +Ten days after the departure of the marchesa, Fra Pacifico received +the following letter: + +REVEREND AND ESTEEMED FATHER: I have put the matter of Enrica's +marriage into the hands of the well-known advocate, Maestro Guglielmi, +of Lucca. He at once left for Rome. By extraordinary diligence he +procured a summons for Count Nobili to appear within fifteen +days before the tribunal, to answer in person for his breach of +marriage-contract--unless, before the expiration of that time, he +should make the contract good by marriage. The citation was left with +the secretary at Count Nobili's own house. Maestro Guglielmi also +informed the secretary, by my order, that, in default of his--Count +Nobili's--appearance, a detailed account of the whole transaction with +my niece, and of other transactions touching Count Nobili's father, +known to me--of which I have informed Maestro Guglielmi--would be +published--upon my authority--in every newspaper in all the cities +throughout Italy, with such explanations and particulars as I might +see fit to insert. Also that the name of Count Nobili, as a slanderer +and a perjurer, should be placarded on all the spare walls of +Lucca, at Florence, and throughout Tuscany. The secretary denies any +knowledge of his master's present address. He declared that he was +unable, therefore, to communicate with him. + +In the mean time a knowledge of the facts has spread through this +city. The public voice is with us to a man. Once more the citizens +have rallied round the great Guinigi name. Crowds assemble daily +before Count Nobili's palace. His name is loudly execrated by the +citizens. Stones have been thrown, and windows broken; indeed, +there are threats of burning the palace. The authorities have not +interfered. Count Nobili has now, I hear, returned privately to Lucca. +He dares not show himself, or he would be stabbed; but Count Nobili's +lawyer has had a conference with Maestro Guglielmi. Cavaliere Trenta +insisted upon being present. This was against my will. Cavaliere +Trenta always says too much. Maestro Guglielmi gave Count Nobili's +lawyer three days to decide. At the expiration of that time Signore +Guglielmi met him again. Count Nobili's lawyer declared that with the +utmost difficulty he had prevailed upon his client to make good +the contract by the religious ceremony of marriage. Let every thing +therefore be ready for the ceremony. This letter is private. You will +say nothing further to my niece than that Count Nobili will arrive +at Corellia at two o'clock the day after to-morrow to marry her. +Farewell. + +Your friend and well-wisher, + +"MARCHESA GUINIGI." + +The morning of the third day rose gray and chill at Corellia. Much +rain had fallen during the night, and a damp mist streamed up from the +valleys, shutting out the mighty range of mountains. In the plains of +Pisa and Florence the October sun still blazed glorious as ever on the +lush grass and flowery meadows--on the sluggish streams and the rich +blossoms. There, the trees still rustled in green luxuriance, to +soft breezes perfumed with orange-trees and roses. But in the +mountain-fastnesses of the Apennines autumn had come on apace. Such +faded leaves as clung to the shrubs about the villa were drooping +under the weight of the rain-drops, and a few autumnal flowers that +still lit up the broad borders lay prostrate on the earth. Each tiny +stream and brawling water-course--even mere little humble rills +that dried up in summer--now rushed downward over rocks and stones +blackened with moss, to pour themselves into the river Serchio. In the +forest the turf was carpeted with yellow leaves, carried hither and +thither by the winds. The stems and branches of the chestnuts ranged +themselves, tier above tier, like silver pillars, against the red +sandstone of the rocks. The year was dying out, and with the year all +Nature was dying out likewise. + +Within the villa a table was spread in the great sala, with wine and +such simple refreshments as the brief notice allowed. As the morning +advanced, clouds gathered more thickly over the heavens. The gloomy +daylight coming in at the doors, and through the many windows, caught +up no ray within. The vaguely-sailing ships painted upon the wall, +destined never to find a port in those unknown seas for which their +sails were set--and that exasperating company opposite, that +through all changes of weal or woe danced remorselessly under the +greenwood--were shrouded in misty shadows. + +Not a sound broke the silence--nothing save the striking of the clock +at Corellia, bringing with it visions of the dark old church--the +kneeling women--and the peace of God within. Even Argo and his +friends--Juno and Tuzzi, and the bull-dog--were mute. + +About twelve o'clock the marchesa arrived from Lucca. In her company +came the Cavaliere Trenta and Maestro Guglielmi. Fra Pacifico was in +waiting. He received them with grave courtesy. Adamo, arrayed by Pipa +in his Sunday clothes, with a flower behind his ear, and Silvestro, +stood uncovered at the entrance. Once, and once only, Silvestro +abstained from addressing his mistress with his usual question about +her health. + +Maestro Guglielmi was formally presented to Fra Pacifico by the +punctilious cavaliere, now restored to his usual health and spirits. +The cavaliere had arrayed himself in his official uniform--dark-purple +velvet embroidered with gold. Not having worn the uniform, however, +for more than twenty years, the coat was much too small for him. In +his hand he carried a white staff of office. This served him as a +stick. Coming up from Lucca, the cavaliere had reflected that on him +solely must rest the care of imparting some show of dignity to the +ceremony about to take place. He resolved that he would be equal to +the occasion, whatever might occur. + +There was a strange hush upon each one of the little group met in the +sala. Each was busy with his own thoughts. The marriage about to take +place was to the marchesa the resurrection of the Guinigi name. To +Fra Pacifico it was the possible rescue of Enrica from a life of +suffering, perhaps an early death. To Guglielmi it was the triumph of +the keen lawyer, who had tracked and pursued his prey until that prey +had yielded. To the cavaliere it was simply an act of justice which +Count Nobili owed to Enrica, after the explanations he (Trenta) had +given to him through his lawyer, respecting Count Marescotti--such an +act of justice as the paternal government of his master the Duke +of Lucca would have forced, upon the strength of his absolute +prerogative, irrespective of law. The only person not outwardly +affected was the marchesa. The marchesa had said nothing since her +arrival, but there was a haughty alacrity of step and movement, as she +walked down the sala toward the door of her own apartment, that spoke +more than words. + +No sooner had the sound of her closing door died away in the echoes of +the sala than Trenta, with forward bows both to Fra Pacifico and the +lawyer, requested permission to leave them, in order to visit Enrica. +Guglielmi and Fra Pacifico were now alone. Guglielmi gave a cautious +glance round, then walked up to the table, and poured out a tumbler +of wine, which he swallowed slowly. As he did so, he was engaged in +closely scrutinizing Fra Pacifico, who, full of anxiety as to what was +about to happen, stood lost in thought. + +Maestro Guglielmi, whose age might be about forty, was a man, once +seen, not easily forgotten--a tall, slight man of quick subtile +movements, that betrayed the devouring activity within. Maestro +Guglielmi had a perfectly colorless face, a prominent, eager nose, +thin lips, that perpetually unclosed to a ghostly smile in which the +other features took no part; a brow already knitted with those fine +wrinkles indicative of constant study, and overhanging eyebrows that +framed a pair of eyes that read you like a book. It would have been a +bold man who, with those eyes fixed on him, would have told a lie to +Maestro Guglielmi, advocate in the High Court of Lucca. If any man had +so lied, those eyes would have gathered up the light, and flashed it +forth again in lightnings that might consume him. That they were dark +and flaming, and greatly dreaded by all on whom Guglielmi fixed them +in opposition, was generally admitted by his legal compeers. + +"Reverend sir," began Maestro Guglielmi, blandly, stepping up to where +the priest stood a little apart, and speaking in a metallic voice +audible in any court of law, be it ever so closely packed--"it +gratifies me much that chance has so ordered it that we two are left +alone." Guglielmi took out his watch. "We have a good half-hour to +spare." + +Fra Pacifico turned, and for the first time contemplated the lawyer +attentively. As he did so, he noted with surprise the power of his +eyes. + +"I earnestly desire some conversation with you," continued Guglielmi, +the semblance of a smile flitting over his hard face. "Can we speak +here securely?" And the lawyer glanced round at the various doors, and +particularly to an open one, which led from the sala to the chapel, +at the farther end of the house. Fra Pacifico moved forward and closed +it. + +"You are quite safe--say what you please," he answered, bluntly. His +frank nature rose involuntarily against the cunning of Guglielmi's +look and manner. "We have no spies here." + +"Pardon me, I did not mean to insinuate that. But what I have to say +is strictly private." + +Fra Pacifico eyed Guglielmi with no friendly expression. + +"I know you well by repute, reverend sir"--with one comprehensive +glance Guglielmi seemed to take in Fra Pacifico mentally and +physically--"therefore it is that I address myself to you." + +The priest crossed his arms and bowed. + +"The marchesa has confided to me the charge of this most delicate +case. Hitherto I have conducted it with success. It is not my habit +to fail. I have succeeded in convincing Count Nobili's lawyer, and +through him Count Nobili himself, that it would be suicidal to his +interests should he not make good the marriage-contract with the +Marchesa Guinigi's niece. If Count Nobili refuses, he must leave +the country. He has established himself in Lucca, and desires, as I +understand, to remain there. My noble client has done me the honor +to inform me that she is acquainted with, and can prove, some act of +villainy committed by his father, who, though he ended his life as +an eminent banker at Florence, began it as a money-lender at Leghorn. +Count Nobili's father filled in a blank check which a client had +incautiously left in his hands, to an enormous amount, or something of +that kind, I believe. I refused to notice this circumstance legally, +feeling sure that we were strong enough without it. I was also sure +that giving publicity to such a fact would only prejudice the position +of the future husband of the marchesa's niece. To return. Fortunately, +Count Nobili's lawyer saw the case as I put it to him. Count-Nobili +will, undoubtedly, be here at two o'clock." Again the lawyer took out +his watch, looked at it, and replaced it with rapidity. "A good deal +of hard work is comprised in that sentence, 'Count Nobili will be +here!'" Again there was the ghost of a smile. "Lawyers must not +always be judged by the result. In this case, however, the result is +favorable, eminently favorable." + +Fra Pacifico's face deepened into a look of disgust, but he said +nothing. + +"Count Nobili once here and joined to the young lady by the Church, +_we must keep him_. The spouses must pass twenty-four hours under the +same roof to complete and legalize the marriage. I am here officially, +to see that Count Nobili attends at the time appointed for the +ceremony. In reality, I am here to see that Count Nobili remains. This +must be no formal union. They must be bound together irrevocably. You +must help me, reverend sir." + +Maestro Guglielmi turned quickly upon Fra Pacifico. His eyes ran all +over him. The priest drew back. + +"I have already stretched my conscience to the utmost for the sake of +the lady. I can do nothing more." + +"But, my father, it is surely to the lady's advantage that, if the +count marries her, they should live together, that heirs should be +born to them," pleaded Guglielmi in a most persuasive voice. "If the +count separates from his wife after the ceremony, how can this be? +We do not live in the days of miracles, though we have an infallible +pope. Eh, my father? Not in the days of miracles." Guglielmi gave an +ironical laugh, and his eyes twinkled. "Besides, there is the civil +ceremony." + +"The Sindaco of Corellia can be present, if you please, for the civil +marriage." + +"Unfortunately, there is no time to call the sindaco now," replied +Guglielmi. "If Count Nobili remains the night in company with his +bride, we shall have no difficulty about the civil marriage to-morrow. +Count Nobili will not object then. Not likely." + +The lawyer gave a harsh, cynical laugh that grated offensively upon +the priest's ear. Fra Pacifico began to think Maestro Guglielmi +intolerable. + +"That is your affair. I will undertake no further responsibility," +responded Fra Pacifico, doggedly. + +"You cannot mean, my father, that you will not help me?" And Guglielmi +contemplated Fra Pacifico fixedly with all the lightnings he could +bring to bear upon him. To his amazement, he produced no effect +whatever. Fra Pacifico remained silent. Altogether this was a priest +different from any he had ever met with--Guglielmi hated priests--he +began to be interested in Fra Pacifico. + +"Well, well," was Guglielmi's reply, with an aspect of intense +chagrin, "I had better hopes. Your position, Fra Pacifico, as a +peace-maker--as a friend of the family--however"--here the lawyer +shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes wandered restlessly up and down +the room--"however, at least permit me to tell you what I intend to +do." + +Fra Pacifico bowed coldly. + +"As you please," was his reply. + +Maestro Guglielmi advanced close to Fra Pacifico, and lowered his +voice almost to a whisper. + +"The circumstances attending this marriage are becoming very public. +My client, the Marchesa Guinigi, considers her position so exalted she +dares to court publicity. She forgets we are not in the middle ages. +Ha! ha!" and Guglielmi showed his teeth in a smile that was nothing +but a grin--"publicity will be fatal to the young lady. This the +marchesa fails to see; but I see it, and you see it, my father." + +Fra Pacifico shook himself all over as though silently rejecting any +possible participation in Maestro Guglielmi's arguments. Guglielmi +quite understood the gesture, but continued, perfectly at his ease: + +"The high rank of the young lady--the wealth of the count--a +marriage-contract broken--an illustrious name libeled--Count Nobili, +a well-known member of the Jockey Club, in concealment--the Lucchese +populace roused to fury--all these details have reached the capital. +A certain royal personage"--here Guglielmi drew himself up pompously, +and waved his hand, as was his wont in the fervor of a grand +peroration--"a certain royal personage, who has reasons of his own +for avoiding unnecessary scandal (possibly because the royal personage +causes so much himself, and considers scandal his own prerogative) +"--Guglielmi emphasized his joke with such scintillation as would +metaphorically have taken any other man than Fra Pacifico off his +legs--even Fra Pacifico stared at him with astonishment--"a certain +royal personage, I say--earnestly desires that this affair should +be amicably arranged--that the republican party should not have the +gratification of gloating over a sensational trial between two noble +families (the republicans would make terrible capital out of +it)--a certain personage desires, I say, that the affair should be +arranged--amicably arranged--not only by a formal marriage--the +formal marriage, of course, we positively insist on--but by a complete +reconciliation between the parties. If this should not be so, the +present ceremony will infallibly lead to a lawsuit respecting the +civil marriage--the domicile--and the cohabitation--which it is +distinctly understood that Count Nobili will refuse, and that +the Marchesa Guinigi, acting for her niece, will maintain. It is +essential, therefore, that more than the formal ceremony shall take +place. It is essential that the subsequent cohabitation--" + +"I see your drift," interrupted downright Fra Pacifico, in his blunt +way; "no need to go into further details." + +Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico had become interested in the narrative. +The cunning lawyer intended that Fra Pacifico should become so +interested. What was the strong-fisted, simple-hearted priest beside +such a sophist as Maestro Guglielmi! + +"The royal personage in question," continued Guglielmi, who read in +Fra Pacifico's frank countenance that he had conquered his repugnance, +"has done me the high honor of communicating to me his august +sentiments. I have pledged myself to do all I can to prevent the +catastrophe of law. My official capacity, however, ends with Count +Nobili's presence here at the appointed hour." + +At the word "hour" Guglielmi hastily pulled out his watch. + +"Only a few minutes more," he muttered. "But this is not all. Listen, +my father." + +He gave a hasty glance round, then put his lips close to the priest's +ear. + +"If I succeed--may I say _we_?" he added, insinuatingly--"if _we_ +succeed, a canonry will be offered to you, Fra Pacifico; and I" +(Guglielmi's speaking eyes became brilliantly emphatic now)--"I shall +be appointed judge of the tribunal at Lucca." + +"Pshaw!" cried Fra Pacifico, retreating from him with an expression +of blank disappointment. "I a canon at Lucca! If that is to be +the consequence of success, you must depend on yourself, Signore +Guglielmi. I decline to help you. I would not be a canon at Lucca if +the King of Italy asked me in person." + +Guglielmi, whose tactics were, if he failed, never to show it, smiled +his falsest smile. + +"Noble disinterestedness!" he exclaimed, drawing his delicate hand +across his brow. "Nothing could have raised your reverence higher in +my esteem than this refusal!" + +To conceal his real annoyance, Maestro Guglielmi turned away and +coughed. It was a diplomatic cough, ready on all emergencies. Again he +consulted his watch. + +"Five minutes more, then we must assemble at the altar. A fine will be +levied upon Count Nobili, if he is not punctual." + +"If it is so near the time, I must beg you to excuse me," said Fra +Pacifico, glad to escape. + +Fra Pacifico, walked rapidly toward the door opening into the corridor +leading to the chapel. His retreating figure was followed by +a succession of fireworks from Guglielmi's eyes, indicative of +indignation and contempt. + +"He who sleeps catches no fish," the lawyer muttered to himself, +biting his lips. "But the priest will help me--spite of himself, he +will help me. A health to Holy Mother Church! She would not do much if +all her ministers were like this country clod. He is without ambition. +He has quite fatigued me." + +Saying this, Maestro Guglielmi poured out another glass of wine. He +critically examined the wine in the light before putting it to his +lips; then he swallowed it with an expression of approbation. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE HOUR STRIKES. + + +The chapel was approached by a door communicating with the corridor. +(There was another entrance from the garden; at this entrance Adamo +was stationed.) It was narrow and lofty, more like a gallery than a +chapel, except that the double windows at either end were arched and +filled with stained glass. The altar was placed in a recess facing the +door opening from the corridor. It was of dark marble raised on +steps, and was backed by a painting too much blackened by smoke to +be distinguished. Within the rails stood Fra Pacifico, arrayed in +a vestment of white and gold. The grand outline of his tall figure +filled the front of the altar. No one would have recognized the parish +priest in the stately ecclesiastic who wore his robes with so much +dignity. Beside Fra Pacifico was Angelo transformed into an acolyte, +wearing a linen surplice--Angelo awed into perfect propriety--swinging +a silver censer, and only to be recognized by the twinkling of his +wicked eyes (not even Fra Pacifico could tame them). To the right of +the altar stood the marchesa. Maestro Guglielmi, tablets in hand, +was beside her. Behind, at a respectful distance, appeared Silvestro, +gathered up into the smallest possible compass. + +As the slow moments passed, all stood so motionless--all save Angelo, +swinging the silver censer--they might have passed for a sculptured +group upon a marble tomb. One--two--struck from the old clock in the +Lombard Tower at Corellia. At the last stroke the door from the garden +was thrown open. Count Nobili stood in the doorway. At the moment of +Count Nobili's appearance Maestro Guglielmi drew out his watch; +then he proceeded to note upon his tablets that Count Nobili, having +observed the appointed time, was not subject to a fine. + +Count Nobili paused on the threshold, then he advanced to the altar. +That he had come in haste was apparent. His dress was travel-stained +and dusty; the locks of his abundant chestnut hair matted and rough; +his whole appearance wild and disordered. All the outward polish of +the man was gone; the happy smile contagious in its brightness; the +pleasant curl of the upper lip raising the fair mustache; the kindling +eye so capable of tenderness. His expression was of a man undergoing a +terrible ordeal; defiance, shame, anger, contended on his face. + +There was something in the studied negligence of Count Nobili's +appearance that irritated the marchesa to the last degree of +endurance. She bridled with rage, and exchanged a significant glance +with Guglielmi. + +Footsteps were now heard coming from the sala. It was Enrica, led +by the cavaliere. Enrica was whiter than her bridal veil. She had +suffered Pipa to array her as she pleased, without a word. Her hair +was arranged in a coronet upon her head; a whole sheaf of golden curls +hung down from it behind. There were the exquisite symmetry of form, +the natural grace, the dreamy beauty--all the soft harmony of color +upon her oval face--but the freshness of girlhood was gone. Enrica had +made a desperate effort to be calm. Nobili was under the same roof--in +the same room--Nobili was beside her. Would he not show some sign +that he still loved her?--Else why had he come?--One glance at him was +enough. Oh! he was changed!--She could not bear it. Enrica would have +fled had not Trenta held her. The marchesa, too, advanced a step or +two, and cast upon her a look so menacing that it filled her with +terror. Trembling all over, Enrica clung to the cavaliere. He led her +gently forward, and placed her beside Count Nobili standing at the +altar. Thus unsupported, Enrica tottered--she seemed about to fall. No +hand was stretched out to help her. + +Nobili had turned visibly pale as Enrica entered. His face was +averted. The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, ranged themselves on +either side. The marchesa and Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the +altar. Angelo waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails. +Pipa peeped in at the open doorway. Her eyes were red with weeping. +Pipa looked round aghast. + +"What a marriage was this! More like a death than a marriage! She +would not have married so--not if it had cost her her life--no music, +no rose-leaves, no dance, no wine. None had even changed their clothes +but the cavaliere and the signorina. And a bridegroom like that!--a +statue--not a living man! And the signorina--poverina--hardly able to +stand upon her feet! The signorina would be sure to faint, she was so +weak." + +Pipa had to muffle her face in her handkerchief to drown her sobs. +Then Fra Pacifico's impressive voice broke the silence with the +opening words of exhortation. + +"Deus Israel sit vobiscum." + +"Gloria patri," was the response in Angelo's childish treble. + +Enrica and Nobili now knelt side by side. Two lighted tapers, typical +of chaste love, were placed on the floor beside them on either hand. +The image of the Virgin on the altar was uncovered. The tall candles +flickered, Enrica and Nobili knelt side by side--the man who had +ceased to love, and the woman who still loved, but who dared not +confess her love! + +As Fra Pacifico proceeded, Count Nobili's face hardened. Was not the +basilisk eye of the marchesa upon him? Her lawyer, too, taking notes +of every look and gesture? + +"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wife?" asked the +priest. Turning from the altar, Fra Pacifico faced Count Nobili as he +put this question. + +A hot flush overspread Nobili's face. He opened his lips to speak, but +no words were audible. Would the words not come, or would Nobili at +the last moment refuse to utter them? + +"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" +sternly repeated Fra Pacifico, fixing his dark eyes upon him. + +"I will," answered Nobili. Whatever his feelings were, Nobili had +mastered them. + +For an instant Nobili's eye met Enrica's. He turned hastily away. +Enrica sighed. Whatever hopes had buoyed her up were gone. Nobili had +turned away from her! + +Fra Pacifico placed Enrica's hand in that of Nobili. Poor little +hand--how it trembled! Ah! would Nobili not recall how fondly he had +clasped it? What kisses he had showered upon each rosy little finger! +So lately, too! No--Nobili is impassive; not a feature of his face +changes. But the contact of Nobili's beloved hand utterly overcame +Enrica. The limit of her endurance was reached. Again the shadow of +death was upon her--the shadow that had led her to the dark abyss. + +When Nobili dropped her hand; Enrica leaned forward upon the edge +of the marble rails. She hid her head upon her arms. Her long hair, +escaped from the fastening, shrouded her face. + +"Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus!" spoke the deep voice of Fra Pacifico. + +He made the sign of the cross. The address followed. The priest's last +words died away in sonorous echoes. It was done. They were man and +wife! + +Fra Pacifico had by no outward sign betrayed what he felt during the +discharge of his office; but his conscience sorely smote him. He asked +himself with dismay if, in helping Enrica, he had not committed a +mortal sin? Hitherto he had defended Count Nobili; now his whole soul +rose against him. "Would Nobili say nothing in justification?" +Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico's fists clinched themselves under his +vestments. + +But Nobili was about to speak. He gave a hurried glance round the +circle--upon Enrica kneeling at the altar; with the air of a man who +forces himself to do a hateful penance, he broke silence. + +"In the presence of the blessed sacrament"--his voice was thick and +hoarse--"I declare that, after the explanations given, I withdraw my +accusations. I hold that lady, now Countess Nobili"--and he pointed to +the motionless mass of white drapery kneeling beside him--"I hold +that lady innocent in thought and life. But I include her in the just +indignation with which I regard this house and its mistress, whose +agent she has made herself to deceive me." + +Count Nobili's kindling eye rested on the marchesa. She, in her turn, +shot a furious glance at the cavaliere. + +"'Explanations given!' Then Trenta had dared to exonerate Enrica! It +was degrading!" + +"This reparation made," continued Count Nobili--"my name and hand +given to her by the Church--honor is satisfied: I will never live with +her!" + +Was there no mercy in the man as he pronounced these last words? No +appeal? No mercy? Or had the marchesa driven him to bay? + +The marchesa!--Nobili's last words had shattered the whole fabric of +her ambition! Never for a moment had the marchesa doubted that, the +marriage once over, Nobili would have seriously refused the splendid +position she offered him. Look at her!--She cannot conceal her +consternation. + +"I invite you, therefore, Maestro Guglielmi"--the studied calmness of +Nobili's manner belied the agitation of his voice and aspect--"you, +Maestro Guglielmi, who have been called here expressly to insult me--I +invite you to advise the Marchesa Guinigi to accept what I am willing +to offer." + +"To insult you, Count Nobili?" exclaimed Guglielmi, looking round. +(Guglielmi had turned aside to write a few hurried words upon his +tablets, torn out the leaf, and slipped it into the marchesa's hand. +So rapidly was this done, no one had perceived it.) "To insult you? +Surely not to insult you! Allow me to explain." + +"Silence!" thundered Fra Pacifico standing before the altar. "In the +name of God, silence! Let those who desire to wrangle choose a fitter +place. There can be no contentions in the presence of the sacrament. +The declaration of Count Nobili's belief in the virtue of his wife +I permitted. I listened to what followed, praying that, if human +aid failed, God, hearing his blasphemy against the holy sacrament of +marriage, might touch his heart. In the hands of God I leave him!" + +Having thus spoken, Fra Pacifico replaced the Host in the ciborium, +and, assisted by Angelo, proceeded to divest himself of his robes, +which he laid one by one upon the altar. + +At this instant the marchesa rose and left the chapel. Count Nobili's +eyes followed her with a look of absolute loathing. Without one glance +at Enrica, still immovable, her head buried on her arms, Nobili left +the altar. He walked slowly to the window at the farther end of the +chapel. Turning his back upon all present, he took from his pocket a +parchment, which he perused with deep attention. + +All this time Cavaliere Trenta, radiant in his official costume, his +white staff of office in his right hand, had remained standing behind +Enrica. Each instant he expected to see her rise, when it would +devolve on him to lead her away; but she had not stirred. Now the +cavaliere felt that the fitting moment had fully come for Enrica to +withdraw. Indeed, he wondered within himself why she had remained so +long. + +"Enrica, rise, my child," he said, softly. "There is nothing more to +be done. The ceremony is over." + +Still Enrica did not move. Fra Pacifico leaned over the altar-rails, +and gently raised her head. It dropped back upon his hand--Enrica had +fainted. + +This discovery caused the most terrible commotion. Pipa, who had +watched every thing from the door, screamed and ran forward. Fra +Pacifico was bending over the prostrate girl, supported in the arms of +the cavaliere. + +"I feared this," Fra Pacifico whispered. "Thank God, I believe it is +only momentary! We must carry her instantly to her room. I will take +care of her." + +"Poor, broken flower!" cried Trenta, "who will raise thee up?" His +voice came thick, struggling with sobs. "Can you see that unmoved, +Count Nobili?" Trenta pointed to the retreating figure of Fra Pacifico +bearing Enrica in his arms. + +At the sound of Trenta's voice, Count Nobili started and turned +around. Enrica had already disappeared. + +"You will soon give her another bridegroom--he will not leave her +as you have done--that bridegroom will be Death! To-day it is the +bridal-veil--to-morrow it will be the shroud. Not a month ago she +lay upon what might have been her death-bed. Your infamous letter +did that!" The remembrance of that letter roused the cavaliere out of +himself; he cared not what he said. "That letter almost killed her. +Would to God she had died! What has she done? She is an angel! We were +all here when you signed the contract. Why did you break it?" Trenta's +shrill voice had risen into a kind of wail. "Do you mean to doubt what +I told you at Lucca? I swear to you that Enrica never knew that she +was offered in marriage to Count Marescotti--I swear it!--I did it--it +was my fault. I persuaded the marchesa. It was I. Enrica and Count +Marescotti never met but in my presence. And you revenge yourself on +her? If you had the heart of a man, you could not do it!" + +"It is because I have the heart of a man, I will not suffer +degradation!" cried Nobili. "It is because I have the heart of a man, +I will not sink into an unworthy tool! This is why I refuse to live +with her. She is one of a vile conspiracy. She has joined with the +marchesa against me. I have been forced to marry her. I will not live +with her!" + +Count Nobili stopped suddenly. An agonized expression came into his +face. + +"I screened her in the first fury of my anger--I screened her when +I believed her guilty. Now it is too late--God help her!" He turned +abruptly away. + +Cavaliere Trenta, whose vehemence had died away as suddenly as it had +risen, crept to the door. He threw up his hands in despair. There was +no help for Enrica! + +All this time Maestro Guglielmi's keen eyes had noted every thing. He +was on the lookout for evidence. Persons under strong emotions, as a +rule, commit themselves. Count Nobili was young and hot-headed. Count +Nobili would probably commit himself. Up to this time Count Nobili had +said nothing, however, that could be made use of. Guglielmi's ready +brain worked incessantly. If he could carry out the plan he had +formed, he might yet be a judge within the year. Already Guglielmi +feels the touch of the soft fur upon his official robes! + +After the cavaliere's departure, Guglielmi advanced. He had been +standing so entirely concealed in the shadow thrown by the altar, that +Nobili had forgotten his presence. Nobili now stared at him in angry +surprise. + +"With your permission," said the lawyer, with a low bow, accosting +Nobili, "I hope to convince you how much you have wronged me by your +accusation." + +"What accusation?" demanded the count, drawing back toward the window. +"I do not understand you." + +Guglielmi was the marchesa's adviser; Count Nobili hated him. + +"Your accusation that 'I am here to insult you.' If you will do me the +honor, Count Nobili, to speak to me in private"--Guglielmi glanced at +Silvestro, Adamo, and Angelo, peering out half hid by the altar--"if +you will do me this honor, I will prove to you that I am here to serve +you." + +"That is impossible," answered Nobili. "Nor do I care. I leave this +house immediately." + +"But allow me to observe, Count Nobili," and Maestro Guglielmi drew +himself up with an air of offended dignity, "you are bound as a +gentleman to retract those words, or to hear my explanation." (Delay +at any price was Guglielmi's object.) "Surely, Count Nobili, you +cannot refuse me this satisfaction?" + +Count Nobili hesitated. What could this strange man have to say to +him? + +Guglielmi watched him. + +"You will spare me half an hour?" he urged. "That will suffice." + +Count Nobili looked greatly embarrassed. + +"A thousand thanks!" exclaimed Guglielmi, accepting his silence for +consent. "I will not trespass needlessly on your time. Permit me to +find some one to conduct you to a room." + +Guglielmi looked round--Angelo came forward. + +"Conduct Count Nobili to the room prepared for him," said the lawyer. +"There, Count Nobili, I will attend you in a few minutes." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME. + + +When the marchesa entered the sala after she had left the chapel, her +steps were slow and measured. Count Nobili's words rang in her ear: "I +will not live with her." She could not put these words from her. For +the first time in her life the marchesa was shaken in the belief of +her mission. + +If Count Nobili refused to live with Enrica as his wife, all the law +in the world could not force him. If no heir was born to the Guinigi, +she had lived in vain. + +As the marchesa stood in the dull light of the misty afternoon, +leaning against the solid carved table on which refreshments were +spread, the old palace at Lucca rose up before her dyed with the ruddy +tints of summer sunsets. She trod again in thought those mysterious +rooms, shrouded in perpetual twilight. She gazed upon the faces of the +dead, looking down upon her from the walls. How could she answer +to those dead; for what had she done? That heroic face too with the +stern, soft eyes--how could she meet it? What was Count Nobili or his +wealth to her without an heir? By threats she had forced Nobili to +make Enrica his wife, but no threats could compel him to complete the +marriage. + +As she lingered in the sala, stunned by the blow that had fallen +upon her, the marchesa suddenly recollected the penciled lines which +Guglielmi had torn from his tablet and slipped into her hand. She drew +the paper from the folds of her dress and read these words: + + "_We are beaten if Count Nobili leaves the house to-night. + Keep him at all hazards_." + +A sudden revulsion seized her. She raised her head with that +snake-like action natural to her. The blood rushed to her face and +neck. Guglielmi then still had hope?--All was not lost. In an instant +her energy returned to her. What could she do to keep him? Would +Enrica--Enrica was still within the chapel. The marchesa heard the +murmur of voices coming through the corridor. No, though she worshiped +him, Enrica would never lend herself to tempt Nobili with the bait of +her beauty--no, even though she was his wife. It would be useless to +ask her. "Keep him--how?" the marchesa asked herself with feverish +impatience. Every moment was precious. She heard footsteps. They must +be leaving the chapel. Nobili, perhaps, was going. No. The door to the +garden, by which Nobili had entered the chapel, was now locked. Adamo +had given her the key. She must therefore see them when they passed +out through the sala. At this moment the howling of the dogs was +audible. They were chained up in the cave under the tower. Poor +beasts, they had been forgotten in the hurry of the day. The dogs +were hungry; were yelping for their food. Through the open door the +marchesa saw Adamo pass--a sudden thought struck her. + +"Adamo!" + +"Padrona." And Adamo's bullet-head and broad shoulders fill up the +doorway. + +"Where is Count Nobili?" + +"Along with the lawyer from Lucca." + +"He is safe, then, for the present," the marchesa told herself. + +Adamo could not speak for staring at his mistress as she stood +opposite to him full in the light. He had never seen such a look upon +her face all the years he had served her. + +She almost smiled at him. + +"Adamo," the marchesa addresses him eagerly, "come here. How many +years have you lived with me?" + +Adamo grins and shows two rows of white teeth. + +"Thirty years, padrona--I came when I was a little lad." + +"Have I treated you well, Adamo?" + +As she asks this question, the marchesa moves close to him. + +"Have I ever complained," is Adamo's answer, "that the marchesa asks +me?" + +"You saved my life, Adamo, not long ago, from the fire." The eager +look is growing intenser. "I have never thanked you. Adamo--" + +"Padrona"--he is more and more amazed at her--"she must be going to +die! Gesu mio! I wish she would swear at me," Adamo thought. "Padrona, +don't thank me--Domine Dio did it." + +"Take these"--and the marchesa puts her hand into her pocket and draws +out some notes--"take these, these are better than thanks." + +Adamo drew back much affronted. "Padrona, I don't want money." + +"Yes, yes, take them--for Pipa and the boys"--and she thrusts the +notes into his big red hands. + +"After all," thought Adamo to himself, "if the padrona is going to +die, I may as well have these notes as another." + +"I would save your life any day, padrona," Adamo says aloud. "It is a +pleasure." + +"Would you?" the marchesa fell into a muse. + +Again the dogs howled. Adamo makes a motion to go to them. + +"Were you going to feed the dogs when I called to you?" she asks. + +"Padrona, yes. I was going to feed them." + +"Are they very hungry?" + +"Very--poverini! they have had nothing since this morning. Now it is +five o'clock." + +"Don't feed them, Adamo, don't feed them." The marchesa is strangely +excited. She holds out her hand to detain him. + +Adamo stares at her in mute consternation. "The padrona is certainly +going mad before she dies," he mutters, trying to get away. + +"Adamo, come here!" He approaches her, secretly making horns against +the evil-eye with his fingers. "You saved my life, now you must save +my honor." + +The words came hissing into his ear. Adamo drew back a step or two. +"Blessed mother, what ails her?" But he held his tongue. + +The marchesa stands before him drawn up to her full height, every +nerve and muscle strained to the utmost. + +"Adamo, do you hear?--My honor, the honor of my name. Quick, quick!" + +She lays her hand on his rough jacket and grasps it. + +Adamo, struck with superstitious awe, cannot speak. He nods. + +"The dogs are hungry, you say. Let them loose without feeding. No one +must leave the house to-night. Do you understand? You must prevent it. +Let the dogs loose." + +Again Adamo nods. He is utterly bewildered. He will obey her, of +course, but what can she mean? + +"Is your gun loaded?" she asks, anxiously. + +"Yes, padrona." + +"That is well." A vindictive smile lights up her features. "No one +must leave the house to-night. You understand? The dogs will be +loose--the guns loaded.--Where is Pipa? Say nothing to Pipa. Do you +understand? Don't tell Pipa--" + +"Understand? No, diavalo! I don't understand," bursts out Adamo. "If +you want any one shot, tell me who it is, padrona, and I will do it." + +"That would be murder, Adamo." The marchesa is standing very near +him. Adamo sees the savage gleam that comes into her eyes. "If any one +leaves the house to-night except Fra Pacifico, stop him, Adamo, stop +him. You, or the dogs, or the gun--no matter. Stop him, I command you. +I have my reasons. If a life is lost I cannot help it--nor can you, +Adamo, eh?" + +She smiles grimly. Adamo smiles too, a stolid smile, and nods. He is +greatly relieved. The padrona is not mad, nor will she die. + +"You may sleep in peace, padrona." With the utmost respect Adamo +raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. "Next time ask Adamo to do +something more, and he will do it. Trust me, no one shall leave the +house to-night alive." + +The marchesa listens to Adamo breathlessly. "Go--go," she says; "we +must not be seen together." + +"The signora shall be obeyed," answers Adamo. He vanishes behind the +trees. + +"Now I can meet Guglielmi!" The marchesa rapidly crosses the sala to +the door of her own room, which she leaves ajar. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. + + +The room to which Angelo conducts Count Nobili is on the ground-floor, +in the same wing as the chapel. It is reached by the same corridor, +which traverses all that side of the house. Into this corridor many +other doors open. Pipa had chosen it because it was the best room in +the house. From the high ceiling, painted in gay frescoes, hangs a +large chandelier; the bed is covered with red damask curtains. Such +furniture as was available had been carried thither by Pipa and Adamo. +One large window, reaching to the ground, looks westward over the low +wall. + +The sun is setting. The mighty range of mountains are laced with gold; +light, fleecy cloudlets float across the sky. Behind rise banks of +deepest saffron. These shift and move at first in chaos; then they +take the form as of a fiery city. There are domes and towers and +pinnacles as of living flame, that burn and glisten. Another moment, +and the sun has sunk to rest. The phantom city fades; the ruddy +background melts into the gray mountain-side. Dim ghost-like streaks +linger about the double summits of La Pagna. They vanish. Nothing then +remains but masses of leaden clouds soon to darken into night. + +On entering the room, Count Nobili takes a long breath, gazes for a +moment on the mountains that rise before him, then turns toward +the door, awaiting the arrival of Guglielmi. His restless eye, his +shifting color, betray his agitation. The ordeal is not yet over; he +must hear what this man has to say. + +Maestro Guglielmi enters with a quick, brisk step and easy, confident +bearing; indeed, he is in the highest spirits. He had trembled lest +Nobili should have insisted upon leaving Corellia immediately after +the ceremony when it was still broad daylight. Several unforeseen +circumstances had prevented this--Enrica's fainting-fit; the +discussion that ensued upon it between Nobili and the old +chamberlain--all this had created delay, and afforded him an +appropriate opportunity of requesting a private interview. Besides, +the cunning lawyer had noted that, during that discussion in the +chapel with Cavaliere Trenta, Nobili had evinced indications of other +passions besides anger--indications of a certain tenderness in the +midst of his vehement sense of the wrong done him by the marchesa. +But, what was of far more consequence to Guglielmi was, that all +this had the effect of stopping Nobili's immediate departure. That +Guglielmi had prevailed upon Nobili to enter the room prepared for +him--that he had in so doing domiciled himself voluntarily under the +same roof as his wife--was an immense point gained. + +All this filled Maestro Guglielmi with the prescience of success. With +Nobili in the house, what might not the chapter of accidents produce? +All this had occurred, too, without taking into account what the +marchesa herself might have planned, when she had read the note of +instructions he had written upon a page of his tablets. Guglielmi +thought he knew his friend and client the Marchesa Guinigi but little, +if her fertile brain had not already created some complication that +would have the effect of preventing Count Nobili's departure that +night. The instant--the immediate instant--now lay with himself. He +was about to make the most of it. + +When Guglielmi entered the room, Count Nobili received him with an +expression of undisguised disgust. Summoned by Nobili in a peremptory +tone to say why he had brought him hither, Guglielmi broke forth with +extraordinary volubility. He had used, he declared, his influence with +the marchesa throughout for his (Count Nobili's) advantage--solely for +his advantage. One word from him, and the Marchesa Guinigi would +have availed herself of her legal claims in the most vindictive +manner--exposed family secrets--made the whole transaction of the +marriage public--and so revenged herself upon him that Count Nobili +would have no choice but to leave Lucca and Italy forever. + +"All this I have prevented," Guglielmi insisted emphatically. "How +could I serve you better?--Could a brother have guarded your honor +more jealously? You will come to see and acknowledge the obligation +in time--yes, Count Nobili--in time. Time brings all things to light. +Time will exhibit my integrity, my disinterested devotion to your +interests in their true aspect. All little difficulties settled with +my illustrious client, the Marchesa Guinigi (a high-minded and most +courageous lady of the heroic type), established in Lucca in the full +enjoyment of your enormous wealth--with the lovely lady I have just +seen by your side--the enlightened benefactor of the city--the patron +of art--the consoler of distress--a leader of the young generation +of nobles--the political head of the new Italian party--bearing the +grandest name (of course you will adopt that of Guinigi), adorning +that name with the example of noble actions--a splendid career opens +before you. Yes, Count Nobili--yes--a career worthy of the loftiest +ambition!" + +"All this I have been the happy means of procuring for you. Another +advocate might have exasperated the marchesa's passions for his own +purposes; it would have been most easy. But I," continued Guglielmi, +bringing his flaming eyes to bear upon Count Nobili, then raising them +from him outward toward the darkening mountains as though he would +call on the great Apennines to bear witness to his truth--"I have +scorned such base considerations. With unexampled magnanimity I have +brought about this marriage--all this I have done, actuated by the +purest, the most single-hearted motives. In return, Count Nobili, I +make one request--I entreat you to believe that I am your friend--" + +(Before the lawyer had concluded his peroration, professional zeal had +so far transported him that he had convinced himself all he said was +true--was he not indeed pleading for his judgeship?) + +Guglielmi extended his arms as if about to _embrace_ Count Nobili! + +All this time Nobili had stood as far removed from him as possible. +Nobili had neither moved nor raised his head once. He had listened +to Guglielmi, as the rocks listen to the splash of the seething waves +beating against their side. As the lawyer proceeded, a deep flush +gradually overspread his face--when he saw the lawyer's outstretched +arms, he retreated to the utmost limits of the room. Guglielmi's arms +fell to his side. + +"Whatever may be my opinion of you, Signore Avvocato," spoke the count +at length, contemplating Guglielmi fixedly, and speaking slowly, as +if exercising a strong control over himself--"whether I accept your +friendship, or whether I believe any one word you say, is immaterial. +It cannot affect in any way what is past. The declaration I made +before the altar is the declaration to which I adhere--I am not bound +to state my reasons. To me they are overwhelming. I must therefore +decline all discussion with you. It is for you to make such +arrangements with your client as will insure me a separation. That +done, our paths lie far apart." + +Who would have recognized the gracious, facile Count Nobili in these +hard words? The haughty tone in which they were uttered added to their +sting. + +We are at best the creatures of circumstances--circumstances had +entirely altered him. At that moment, Nobili was at war with all +the world. He hated himself--he hated and he mistrusted every one. +Guglielmi was not certainly adapted to restore faith in mankind. + +Legal habits had taught Maestro Guglielmi to shape his countenance +into a mask, fashioned to whatever expression he might desire to +assume. Never had the trick been so difficult! The intense rage +that possessed him was uncontrollable. For the first moment he stood +stolidly mute. Then he struck the heel of his boot loudly upon the +stuccoed floor--would he could crush Count Nobili thus!--crush him +and trample upon him--Nobili--the only obstacle to the high honors +awaiting him! The next instant Guglielmi was reproaching himself for +his want of control--the next instant he was conscious how needful it +was to dissemble. Was he--Guglielmi--who had flashed his sword in +a thousand battles, to be worsted by a stubborn boy? Outwitted by a +capricious lover? Never! + +"Excuse me, Count Nobili," he said, overmastering himself by a violent +effort--"it is a bitter pang to me, your devoted friend, to be asked +to become a party to an act fatal to your prospects. If you adhere +to your resolution, you can never return to Lucca--never inhabit the +palace your wealth has so superbly decorated. Public opinion would not +permit it. You, a stranger in the city, are held to have ill-used and +abandoned the niece of the Marchesa Guinigi." Nobili looked up; he +was about to reply. "Pardon me, count, I neither affirm nor deny this +accusation," continued Guglielmi, observing his movement; "I am giving +no opinion on the merits of the case. You have now espoused the lady. +If for a second time you abandon her, you will incur the increased +indignation of the public. Reconsider, I implore you, this last +resolve." + +The lawyer's metallic voice grew positively pathetic. + +"I will not reconsider it!" cried Count Nobili, indignantly. "I deny +your right to advise me. You have brought me into this room for no +purpose that I can comprehend. What have I in common with the advocate +of my enemy? I desire to leave Corellia. You are detaining me. Here +is the deed of separation "--Nobili drew from his breast-pocket the +parchment he had perused so attentively in the chapel--"it only needs +the lady's signature. Mine is already affixed. Let me tell you, and +through you the Marchesa Guinigi, without that deed--and my own free +will," he added in a lower tone, "neither you nor she would have +forced me here to this marriage; I came because I considered some +reparation was due to a young lady whose name has been cruelly +outraged. Else I would have died first! If the lady I have made my +wife desires, to make any amends to me for the insults that have +been heaped upon me through her, let her set me free from an odious +thralldom. I will not so much as look upon one who has permitted +herself to be made the tool of others to deceive me. She has been +treacherous to me in business--she has been treacherous to me in +love--no, I will never look upon her again! Live with her?--by God! +never!" + +The pent-up wrath within him, the maddening sense of wrong, blaze out. +Count Nobili is now striding up and down the room insensible to +any thing for the moment but the consciousness of his own outraged +feelings. + +As Count Nobili waxed furious, Maestro Guglielmi grew calm. His busy +brain was concocting all sorts of expedients. He leaned his chin +upon his hands. His false smile gave place to a sardonic grin, as +he watched Nobili--marked his well-set, muscular figure, his easy +movements, the graceful curve of his head and neck, his delicate, +regular features, his sunny complexion. But Nobili's face without a +smile was shorn of its chief charm: that smile, so bright in itself, +brought brightness to others. + +"A fine, generous fellow, a proper husband for any lady in Italy, +whoever she may be," was Guglielmi's reflection, as he watched him. +"The young countess has taste. He is not such a fool either, but +desperately provoking--like all boys with large fortunes, desperately +provoking--and dogged as a mule. But for all that he is a fine, +generous-hearted fellow. I like him--I like him for refusing to +be forced against his will. I would not live with an angel on such +terms." At this point Guglielmi's eyes exhibited a succession of +fireworks; his long teeth gleamed, and he smiled a stealthy smile. +"But he must be tamed, this youth--he must be tamed. Let me see, I +must take him on another tack--on the flank this time, and hit him +hard!" + +Nobili has now ceased striding up and down the room. He stands facing +the window. His ear has caught the barking of several dogs. A minute +after, one rushes past the window--raised only by a few stone steps +from the ground--formidable beast with long white hair, tail on end, +ears erect, open-mouthed, fiery-eyed--this is Argo--Argo let loose, +famished--maddened by Adamo's devices--Argo rushing at full speed and +tearing up a shower of gravel with his huge paws. Barking horribly, he +disappears into the shrubs. Argo's bark is taken up by the other dogs +from all round the house in various keys. Juno the lurcher gives a +short low yelp; the rat-terrier Tuzzi, a shrill, grating whine like +a rusty saw; the bull-terrier, a deep growl. In the solemn silence of +the untrodden Apennines that rise around, the loud voices of the dogs +echo from cliff to cliff boom down into the abyss, and rattle there +like thunder. The night-birds catch up the sound and screech; the +frightened bats circle round wildly. + +At this moment heavy footsteps creak upon the gravel under the shadow +of the wall. A low whistle passes through the air, and the dogs +disappear. + +"A savage pack, like their mistress," was Count Nobili's thought as +his eyes tried to pierce into the growing darkness. + +Night is coming on. Heavy vapors creep up from the earth and obscure +the air. Darker and denser clouds cover the heavens. Black shadows +gather within the room. The bed looms out from the lighter walls like +a funeral catafalque. + +A few pale gleams of light still linger on the horizon. These fall +upon Nobili's figure as he stands framed in the window. As the waning +light strikes upon his eyes, a presentiment of danger comes over him. +These dogs, these footsteps--what do they mean? + +Again a wild desire seizes him to be riding full speed on the +mountain-road to Lucca, to feel the fresh night air upon his heated +brow; the elastic spring of his good horse under him, each stride +bearing him farther from his enemies. He is about to leap out and +fly, when the warning hand of the lawyer is laid upon his arm. +Nobili shakes him off, but Guglielmi permits himself no indication +of offense. Dejection and grief are depicted on his countenance. He +shakes his head despondingly; his manner is dangerously fawning. He, +too, has heard the dogs, the footsteps, and the whistle. He has drawn +his own conclusions. + +"I perceive, Count Nobili," he says, "you are impatient." + +This was in response to a muttered curse from Nobili. + +"Let me go! A thousand devils! Let me go!" cried the count, putting +the lawyer back. "Impatient! I am maddened!" + +"But not before we have settled the matter in question. That is +impossible! Hear me, then. Count Nobili. With the deepest sorrow I +accept the separation you demand on the part of the marchesa; you +give me no choice. I venture no further remark," continues Guglielmi +meekly, drilling his eyes to a subdued expression. + +(His eyes are a continual curse to him; sometimes they will tell the +truth.) + +"But there is one point, my dear count, upon which we must understand +each other." + +In order to detain Nobili, Guglielmi is about to commit himself to a +deliberate lie. Lying is not his practice; not on principle, for +he has none. Expediency is his faith, pliancy his creed; lying is +inartistic, also dangerous. A lie may grow into a spectre, and haunt +you to your grave, perhaps beyond it. + +Guglielmi felt he must do something decisive, or that exalted +personage who desired to avoid all scandal not connected with himself +would be irretrievably offended, and he, Guglielmi, would never sit +on the judicial bench. Yet, unscrupulous as he was, the trickster +shuddered at the thought of what that lie might cost him. + +"It is my duty to inform you, Count Nobili"--Guglielmi is speaking +with pompous earnestness--he anxiously notes the effect his words +produce upon Count Nobili--"that, unless you remain under the same +roof with your wife to-night, the marriage will not be completed; +therefore no separation between you will be legal." + +Nobili turned pale. He struck his fist violently on the table. + +"What! a new difficulty? When will this torture end?" + +"It will end to-morrow morning, Count Nobili. To-morrow morning I +shall have the honor of waiting upon you, in company with the Mayor +of Corellia, for the civil marriage. Every requisition of the law will +then have been complied with." + +Maestro Guglielmi bows and moves toward the door. If by this means the +civil marriage can be brought about, Guglielmi will have clinched a +doubtful act into a legal certainty. + +"A moment, Signore Avvocato "--and Nobili is following Guglielmi to +the door, consternation and amazement depicted upon his countenance, +"Is this indeed so?" + +Nobili's manner indicates suspicion. + +"Absolutely so," answers the mendacious one. "To-morrow morning, +after the civil marriage, we shall be in readiness to sign the deed of +separation. Allow me in the mean time to peruse it." + +He holds out his hand. If all fails, he determines to destroy that +deed, and protest that he has lost it. + +"Dio Santo!" ejaculates Nobili, giving the deed to him--"twenty-four +hours at Corellia!" + +"Not twenty-four," suggests Guglielmi, blandly, putting the deed into +his pocket and taking out his watch with extraordinary rapidity, then +replacing it as rapidly; "it is now seven o'clock. At nine o'clock +to-morrow morning the deed of separation shall be signed, and you, +Count Nobili, will be free." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE LAWYER BAFFLED. + + +At that moment Fra Pacifico's tall figure barred the doorway. He +seemed to have risen suddenly out of the darkness. Nobili started back +and changed color. Of all living men, he most dreaded the priest at +that particular moment. The priest was now before him, stern, grave, +authoritative; searching him with those earnest eyes--the priest--a +living protest against all he had done, against all he was about to +do! + +The agile lawyer darted forward. He was about to speak. Fra Pacifico +waved him into silence. + +"Maestro Guglielmi," he said, with that sonorous voice which lent +importance to his slightest utterances, "I am glad to find you here. +You represent the marchesa.--My son," he continued, addressing Count +Nobili (as he did so, his face darkened into a look of mingled pain +and displeasure), "I come from your wife." + +At that word Fra Pacifico paused. Count Nobili reddened. His eyes fell +upon the floor; he dared not meet the reproving glance he felt was +upon him. + +"My son, I come from your wife," repeated Fra Pacifico. + +There was a dead silence. + +"You saw your wife borne from the altar fainting. She was mercifully +spared, therefore, hearing from your own lips that you repudiated her. +She has since been informed by Cavaliere Trenta that you did so. I am +here as her messenger. Your wife accepts the separation you desire." + +As each sentence fell from the priest's lips his countenance grew +sterner. + +"Accepts the separation! Gives me up!" exclaimed Nobili, quite taken +aback. "So much the better. We are both of the same mind." + +But, spite his words, there were irritation and surprise in Nobili's +manner. That Enrica herself should have consented to part from him was +altogether an astonishment! + +"If Countess Nobili accepts the separation"--and he turned sharply +upon Guglielmi--"nothing need detain you here, Signore Avvocato. You +hear what Fra Pacifico says. You have only, therefore, to inform the +Marchesa Guinigi. Probably her niece has already done so. We know that +they act in concert." Count Nobili laughed bitterly. + +"The marchesa is not even aware that I am here," interposed Fra +Pacifico. "Enrica is now married--she acts for herself. Her first act, +Count Nobili, is one of obedience--she sacrifices herself to you." + +Again the priest's deep-set eyes turned reprovingly upon Count Nobili. +Dare the headstrong boy affect to misunderstand that he had driven +Enrica to renounce him? Guglielmi remained standing near the +door--self-possessed, indeed, as usual, but utterly crestfallen. His +very soul sank within him as he listened to Fra Pacifico. Every thing +was going wrong, the judgeship in imminent peril, and this devil of a +priest, who ought to know better, doing every thing to divide them! + +"Signore Guglielmi," said Nobili, with a significant glance at the +open door, "allow me to repeat--we need not detain you. We shall now +act for ourselves. Without reference to the difficulties you have +raised--" + +"The difficulties I have raised have been for your own good, Count +Nobili," was Guglielmi's indignant reply. "Had I been supported +by"--and he glanced at Fra Pacifico--"by those whose duty teaches +them obedience to the ordinances of the Church, you would have saved +yourself and others the spectacle of a matrimonial scandal that will +degrade you before the eyes of all Italy." + +Count Nobili was rushing forward, with some undefined purpose of +chastising Guglielmi, when Fra Pacifico interposed. A quiet smile +parted his well-formed mouth; he shrugged his shoulders as he eyed the +enraged lawyer. + +"Allow me to judge of my duty as a priest. Look to your own as a +lawyer, or it may be the worse for you. What says the motto?--'Those +who seek gold may find sand.'" + +Guglielmi, greatly alarmed at what Fra Pacifico might reveal of their +previous conversation, waited to hear no more; he hastily disappeared. +Fra Pacifico watched the manner of his exit with silence, the quiet +smile of conscious power still on his lips. When he turned and +addressed Count Nobili, the smile had died out. + +Before Fra Pacifico can speak, the whole pack of dogs, attracted by +the loud voices, gather round the steps before the open window. They +are barking furiously. The smooth-skinned, treacherous bull-dog is +silent, but he stands foremost. True to his breed, the bull-dog is +silent. He creeps in noiselessly--his teeth gleam within an inch of +Nobili. Fra Pacifico spies him. With a furious kick he flings him out +far over the heads of the others. The bull-dog's howl of anguish rouses +the rest to frenzy. A moment more, and Fra Pacifico and Count Nobili +would have been attacked within the very room, but again footsteps are +heard passing in the shadow. A shot is fired close at hand. The dogs +rush off, the bull-dog whining and limping in the rear. + +Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico exchange glances. There is a knock at +the door. Pipa enters carrying a lighted lamp which she places on the +table. Pipa does not even salute Fra Pacifico, but fixes her eyes, +swollen with crying, upon Count Nobili. + +"What is the matter?" asks the priest. + +"Riverenza, I do not know. Adamo and Angelo are out watching." + +"But, Pipa, it is very strange. A shot was fired. The dogs, too, are +wilder than ever." + +"Riverenza, I know nothing. Perhaps there are some deserters about. +We are used to the dogs. I never hear them. I am come from the +signorina." + +At that name Count Nobili looks up and meets Pipa's gaze. If Pipa +could have stabbed him then and there with the silver dagger in her +black hair she would have done it, and counted it a righteous act. But +she must deliver her message. + +"Signore Conte"--Pipa flings her words at Nobili as if each word +were a stone, with which she would have hit him--"Signore Conte, the +marchesa has sent me. The marchesa bids me salute you. She desired +me to bring in this light. I was to say supper is served in the great +sala. She eats in her own room with the cavaliere, and hopes you will +excuse her." + +Before the count could answer, Pipa was gone. + +"My son," said Fra Pacifico, standing beside him in the dimly-lighted +room, "you have now had time to reflect. Do you accept the separation +offered to you by your wife?" + +"I do, my father." + +"Then she will enter a convent." Nobili sighed heavily. "You have +broken her heart." + +There was a depth of unexpressed reproach in the priest's look. Tears +gathered in his eyes, his deep voice shook. + +"But why if she ever loved me"--whispered Nobili into Fra Pacifico's +ear as though he shrank from letting the very walls hear what he was +about to say-- + +"If she loved you!" burst out Fra Pacifico with rising passion--"if +she loved you! You have my word that she loved you--nay, God help her, +that she loves you still!" + +Fra Pacifico drew back from Nobili as he said this. Again Nobili +approached him, speaking into his ear. + +"Why, then, if she loved me, could she join with the marchesa against +me? Was I not induced by my love for her to pay her aunt's debts? +Answer me that, my father. Why did she insist upon this ill-omened +marriage?--a proceeding as indelicate as it is--" + +"Silence!" thundered Fra Pacifico--"silence, I command you! What you +say of that pure and lovely girl whose soul is as crystal before me, +is absolute sacrilege. I will not listen to it!" + +Fra Pacifico's eyes flashed fire. He looked as if he would strike +Count Nobili where he stood. He checked himself, however; then he +continued with more calmness: "To become your wife was needful for the +honor of Enrica's name, which you had slandered. The child put herself +in my hands. I am responsible for this marriage--I only. As to the +marchesa, do you think she consults Enrica? The hawk and the dove +share not the same nest! No, no. Did the marchesa so much as tell +Enrica, when she offered her as wife to Count Marescotti?" + +At the sound of Marescotti's name Nobili's assumed composure utterly +gave way. His whole frame stiffened with rage. + +"Yes--Marescotti--curse him! And I am the husband of the woman he +refused!" + +"For shame, Count Nobili!--you have yourself exonerated her." + +"Enrica must have been an accomplice!" cried Nobili, transported +out of himself. Count Marescotti's name had exasperated him beyond +control. + +"Fool!" exclaimed Fra Pacifico. "Will you not listen to reason? Has +not Enrica by her own act renounced all claim to you as a wife? Is not +that enough?" + +Nobili was silent. Hitherto he had been driven on, goaded by the +promptings of passion, and the firm belief that Enrica was the mere +tool of her aunt. Now the same facts detailed by the priest placed +themselves in a new light. For the first time Nobili doubted whether +he was entirely justified in all that he had done--in all that he was +about to do. + +Meanwhile Fra Pacifico was losing all patience. His manly nature +rose within him at what he considered Nobili's deliberate cruelty. +Inflexible in right, Fra Pacifico was violent in face of wrong. + +"Why did you not let her die?" he exclaimed, bitterly. "It would +have saved her a world of suffering. I thought I knew you, Mario +Nobili--knew you from a boy," he added, contemplating him with a dark +scowl. "You have deceived me. Every word you utter only sinks you +lower in my esteem." + +"It would indeed have been better had we both perished in the flames!" +cried Nobili in a voice full of anguish--"perished--locked in each +other's arms! Poor Enrica!" He turned away, and a low sob burst from +his heart of hearts. "The marchesa has destroyed my love!--She has +blighted my life!" Nobili's voice sounded hollow in the dimly-lighted +room. At last Nobili was speaking out--speaking, as it were, from the +grave of his love! "Yes, I loved her," he continued dreamily--"I loved +her! How much I did not know!" + +He had forgotten he was not alone. The priest was but dimly visible. +He was leaning against the wall, his massive chin resting on his hand, +listening to Nobili. Now, hearing what he said, Fra Pacifico's anger +had vanished. After all, he had not been mistaken in his old pupil! +Nobili was neither cruel nor heartless; but he had been driven to bay! +Now he pitied him, profoundly. What could he say to him? He could urge +Nobili no more. He must work out his own fate! + +Again Nobili spoke. + +"When I saw her sweet face turned toward me as she entered the chapel, +I dared not look again! It was too late. My pride as a man, all that +is sacred to me as a gentleman, has been too deeply wounded. The +marchesa has done it. She alone is responsible. _She_ has left me +no alternative. I will never accept a wife forced upon me by +_her_--never, by Heaven! My father, these are my last words. Carry +them to Enrica." + +Count Nobili's head dropped upon his breast. He covered his face with +his hands. + +"My son, I leave you in the hands of God. May He lead you and comfort +you! But remember, the life of your wife is bound up in _your_ life. +Hitherto Enrica has lived upon hope. Deprived of hope, _she will +die_." + +When Nobili looked up, Fra Pacifico was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +FACE TO FACE. + + +The time had now come when Count Nobili must finally make up his mind. +He had told Fra Pacifico that his determination was unaltered. He had +told him that his dignity as a man, his honor as a gentleman, demanded +that he should free himself from the net-work of intrigues in which +the marchesa had entangled him. Of all earthly things, compliancy with +her desires most revolted him. Rather than live any longer the victim +either of her malice or her ambition, he had brought himself to +believe that it was his duty to renounce Enrica. Until Fra Pacifico +had entered that room within which he was again pacing up and down +with hasty strides, no doubt whatever had arisen in his mind as to +what it was incumbent upon him to do: to give Enrica the protection +of his name by marriage, then to separate. Whether to separate in +the manner pointed out by Guglielmi he had not decided. An innate +repulsion, now increased by suspicion, made him distrust any act +pressed upon him by that man, especially when urged in concert with +the marchesa. + +Every hour passed at Corellia was torture to him. Should he go at +once, or should he remain until the morning?--sign the deed?--complete +the sacrifice? Already what he had so loudly insisted on presented +itself now to him in the light of a sacrifice. Enrica loved him +still--he believed Fra Pacifico. The throbbing of his heart as he +thought of her told him that he returned that love. She was there near +him under the same roof. Could he leave her? Yes, he must leave her! +He would trust himself no longer in the hands of the marchesa or of +her agent. Instinct told him some subtle scheme lay under the urgings +of Guglielmi--the dangerous civilities of the marchesa. He would +go. The legal separation might be completed elsewhere. Why only at +Corellia? Why must those formalities insisted on by Guglielmi be +respected? What did they mean? Of the real drift of the delay Nobili +was utterly ignorant. Had he asked Fra Pacifico, he would have told +him the truth, but he had not done so. + +To meet Enrica in the morning; to meet her again in the presence of +her detested aunt; to meet her only to sign a deed separating them +forever under the mockery of mutual consent, was agony. Why should he +endure it? + +Nobili, wrought up to a pitch of excitement that almost robbed him of +reason, dares not trust himself to think. He seizes his hat, which lay +upon the table, and rushes out into the night. The murmur of voices +comes dimly to him in the freshness of the air out of a window next +his own. A circle of light shines on the glistening gravel before him. +There must be people within--people watching him, doubtless. As the +thought crosses his mind he is suddenly pinned to the earth. Argo is +watching for him--stealthy Argo--Argo springs upon him silently from +behind; he holds him tightly in his grip. The dog made no sound, nor +does he now, but he has laid Nobili flat on the ground. He stands over +him, his heavy paws planted upon his chest, his open jaws and dripping +tongue close upon his face, so close, that Nobili feels the dog's hot +breath upon his skin. Nobili cannot move; he looks up fixedly into +Argo's glaring, bloodshot eyes. His steady gaze daunts the dog. In the +very act of digging his big fangs into Nobili's throat Argo pauses; +he shrinks before those human eyes before which the brutish nature +quails. In an instant Nobili's strong hands close round his throat; +he presses it until the powerful paws slacken in their grip--until the +fiery eyes are starting from their sockets. + +Silent as is the struggle the other dogs are alarmed--they give tongue +from different sides. Footsteps are rapidly approaching--the barrel of +a gun gleams out of the darkness--a shot is fired--the report wanders +off in endless reverberation among the rocks--another shot, and +another, in instant succession, answer each other from behind the +villa. + +With a grasp of iron Nobili holds back gallant Argo--Argo foaming at +the mouth; his white-coated chest heaving, as if in his last agony! +Yet Argo is still immovable--his heavy paws upon Nobili's chest +pressing with all his weight upon him! + +Now the footsteps have turned the corner! Dim forms already shape +themselves in the night mist. The other dogs, barking savagely, are +behind--they are coming--they are at hand! Ah! Nobili, what can you do +now?--Nobili understands his danger. Quick as thought Nobili has +dealt Argo a tremendous blow under the left ear. He seizes him by his +milk-white hair so long and beautiful, he flings him against the low +wall almost insensible. Argo falls a shapeless mass. He is stunned and +motionless. Before the shadow of Adamo is upon him--before the dogs +noses touch him--Nobili is on his feet. With one bound he has leaped +through the window--the same from which the voices had come (it has +been opened in the scuffle)--in an instant he closes the sash! He is +safe! + +Coming suddenly out of the darkness, after the great force he had put +forth, Nobili feels giddy and bewildered. At first he sees nothing +but that there is a light in the centre of the room. As his eyes fix +themselves upon it the light almost blinds him. He puts his hand to +his forehead, where the veins had swollen out like cords upon his +fair skin. He puts up his hands to shade his dazzled eyes before +which clouds of stars dance desperately. He steadies himself and looks +round. + +Before him stands Enrica! + +By Pipa's care the bridegroom's chamber had been chosen next +the bride's when she prepared Count Nobili's room. Pipa was +straightforward and simple in her notions of matrimony, but, like a +wise woman, she had held her tongue. + +Nobili and Enrica are alone. A furtive glance passes between them. +Neither of them moves. Neither of them speaks. The first movement +comes from Enrica. She sinks backward upon a chair. The tangle of her +yellow hair closes round her face upon which a deep blush had risen +at sight of Nobili. When that blush had died out she looked resigned, +almost passionless. She knew that the moment had come which must +decide her fate. Before they two parted she would hear from the lips +of the man she loved if they were ever to meet again! Her eyes fell +to the ground. She dared not raise them. If she looked at Nobili, she +must fling herself into his arms. + +Nobili, standing on the same spot beyond the circle of the light, +gazes at Enrica in silence. He is overwhelmed by the most conflicting +emotions. But the spell of her beauty is upon him. His pulses beat +madly. For an instant he forgets where he is. He forgets all but +that Enrica is before him. For a moment! Then his brain clears. He +remembers every thing--remembers--oh, how bitterly!--that, after all +that has passed, his very presence in that room is an insult to her! +He feels he ought to go--yet an irresistible longing chains him to +the spot. He moves toward the door. To reach it he must pass close to +Enrica. When he is near the door he stops. The light shows that his +clothes are torn--that there is blood upon his face and hands. In +scarcely articulate words Nobili addresses her. + +"Enrica--countess, I mean"--Nobili hesitates--"pardon this +intrusion.--You saw the accident.--I did not know that this was _your_ +room." + +Again Nobili pauses, waiting for an answer. None comes. Would she not +speak to him? Alas! had he deserved that she should? Nobili takes a +step or two toward the door. With one hand upon the lock he pauses +once more, gazing at Enrica with lingering eyes. Then he turns to +leave the room. It is all over!--he had only to depart! A low cry from +Enrica stops him. + +"Nobili," Enrica says, "tell me--oh! tell me, are you hurt?" + +Enrica has risen from the chair. One hand rests on the table for +support. Her voice falters as she asks the question. Nobili, every +drop of whose blood runs fevered in his veins, turns toward her. + +"I am not hurt--a scratch or two--nothing." + +"Thank God!" Enrica utters, in a low voice. + +Nobili endeavors to approach her. She draws back. + +"As I am here"--he speaks with the utmost embarrassment--"here, as you +see, by accident"--his voice rests on the words--"I cannot go--" + +As Nobili speaks he perceives that Enrica gradually retreats farther +from him. The tender delight that had come into her eyes when he first +addressed her fades out into a scared look--a look like a defenseless +animal expecting to receive a death-wound. Nobili sees and understands +the expression. + +His heart smites him sorely. Great God!--has he become an object of +terror to her? + +"Enrica!"--she starts back as Nobili pronounces her name, yet he +speaks so softly the sound comes to her almost like a sigh--"Enrica, +do not fear me. I will say no word to offend you. I cannot go without +asking your pardon. As one who loved you once--as one who loves--" +He stops. What is he saying?--"I humbly beseech you to forgive me. +Enrica, let me hear you say that you forgive me." + +Still Enrica retreats from him, that suffering, saint-like look upon +her face he knows so well. Nobili follows her. He kneels at her feet. +He kneels at the feet of the woman from whom, not an hour before, he +had demanded a separation! + +"Say--can you forgive me before I go?" + +As Nobili speaks, his strong heart goes out to her in speechless +longings. If Enrica had looked into his eyes they would have told her +that he never had loved her as now! And they were parted! + +Enrica puts out her hand timidly. Her lips move as if to speak, but no +sound comes. Nobili rises; he takes her hand within both his own. He +kisses it reverently. + +"Dear hand--" he murmurs, "and it was mine!" + +Released from his, the dainty little hand falls to her side. She +sighs deeply. There is the old charm in Nobili's voice--so sweet, so +subtile. The tones fall upon her ear like strains of passionate music. +A storm of emotion sweeps across her face. She has forgotten all in +the rapture of his presence. Yes!--that voice! Had it not been raised +but a few hours before at the altar to repudiate her? How can she +believe in him? How surrender herself to the glamour of his words? +Remembering all this, despair comes over her. Again Enrica shrinks +from him. She bursts into tears and hides her face with her hands. + +Enrica's distrust of him, her silence, her tears, cut Nobili to the +soul. He knows he deserves it. Ah!--with her there before him, how +he curses himself for ever having doubted her! Every justification +suddenly leaves him. He is utterly confounded. The gossip of the +club--Count Marescotti and his miserable verses--the marchesa +herself--what are they all beside the purity of those saint-like eyes? +Nera, too--false, fickle, sensual Nera--a mere thing of flesh and +blood--he had left her for Nera! Was he mad? + +At that moment, of all living men, Count Nobili seemed to himself the +most unworthy! He must go--he did not deserve to stay! + +"Enrica--before I leave you, speak to me one word of forgiveness--I +implore you!" + +As he speaks their eyes meet. Yes, she is his own Enrica--unchanged, +unsullied!--the idol is intact within its shrine--the sanctuary is as +he had left it! No rude touch had soiled that atmosphere of purity and +freshness that floated like an aureole around her! + +How could he leave her?--if they must part, he would hear his fate +from her own lips. Enrica is leaning against the wall speechless, her +face shaded by her hand. Big tears are trickling through her fingers. +Unable to support herself she clings to a chair, then seats herself. +And Nobili, pale with passion stands by, and dares not so much as to +touch her--dares not touch her, although she is his wife! + +In the fury of his self-reproach, he digs his hands into the masses of +thick chestnut curls that lie disordered about his head. + +Fool, idiot!--had he lost her? A terrible misgiving overcomes him? It +fills him with horror. Was it too late? Would she never forgive him? +Nobili's troubled eyes, that wander all over her, ask the question. + +"Speak to me--speak to me!" he cries. "Curse me--but speak to me!" + +At this appeal Enrica turns her tear-bedewed face toward him. + +"Nobili," she says at last, very low, "would you have gone without +seeing me?" + +Nobili dares not lie to her. He makes no reply. + +"Oh, do not deceive me, Nobili!" and Enrica wrings her hands and looks +piteously into his face. "Tell me--would you have come to me?" + +It is only by a strong effort that Nobili can restrain himself +from folding Enrica in his arms and in one burning kiss burying the +remembrance of the miserable past. But he trembles lest by offending +her the tender flower before him may never again expand to the ardor +of his love. If Fra Pacifico has not by his arguments already shaken +Nobili's conviction of the righteousness of his own conduct, the sight +of Enrica utterly overcomes him. + +"Deceive you!" he exclaims, approaching her and seizing her hands +which she did not withdraw--"deceive you! How little you read my +heart!" + +He holds her soft hands firmly in his--he covers them with kisses. +Enrica feels the tender pressure of his lips pass through her whole +frame. But, can she trust him? + +"Did I not love you enough?" she asks, looking into his face. She +gently disengages her hands from his grasp. There is no reproach in +her look, but infinite sorrow. "Can I believe you?" And the soft blue +eyes rest upon him full of pathetic pleading. + +An expression of despair comes into Nobili's bright face. How can +he answer her? How can he satisfy her when he himself has shaken her +trust? Alas! would the golden past never come again? The past, tinted +with the passion of ardent summer? + +"Believe me?" he cries, in a tone of wildest passion. "Can you ask +me?" + +As he speaks he leans over her. Love is in his voice--his eyes--his +whole attitude. Would she not understand him? Would she reject him? + +Enrica draws back--she raises her hand in protest. + +"Let me again"--Nobili is following her closely--"let me implore your +forgiveness of my unmanly conduct." + +She presses her hands to her bosom as if in pain, but not a sound +comes to her lips. + +"Believe me," he urges, "I have been driven mad by the marchesa! It is +my only excuse." + +"Am I?" Enrica answers. "Have I not suffered enough from my aunt? +What had she to do between you and me? Did I love you less because +she hated you? Listen, Nobili"--Enrica with difficulty commands her +voice--"from the first time we met in the cathedral I gave myself to +you--you--you only." + +"But, Enrica--love--you consented to leave me. You sent Fra Pacifico +to say so." + +The thought that Enrica had so easily resigned him still rankled in +Nobili's heart. Spite of himself, there is bitterness in his tone. + +Enrica is standing aloof from him. The light of the lamp strikes upon +her golden hair, her downcast eyes, her cheeks mantling with blushes. + +"I leave you!"--a soft dew came into Enrica's eyes as she fixed them +upon Nobili--a dew that rapidly formed itself into two tears that +rolled silently down her cheek--"never--never!" + +Spite of the horrors of the past, these words, that look, tell him +she is his! Nobili's heart leaps within him. For a moment he is +breathless--speechless in the tumult of his great joy. + +"Oh! my beloved!" he cries, in a voice that penetrates her very soul. +"Come to me--here--to a heart all your own!" He springs forward and +clasps her in his arms. "Thus--thus let the past perish!" Nobili +whispers as his lips touch hers. Enrica's head nestles upon his +breast. She has once more found her home. + +A subdued knock is heard at the door. + +"Sangue di Dio!" mutters Nobili, disengaging himself from +Enrica--"what new torment is this? Is there no peace in this house? +Who is there?" + +"It is I, Count Nobili." Maestro Guglielmi puts in his hatchet face +and glaring teeth. In an instant his piercing eyes have traveled round +the room. He has taken in the whole situation--Count Nobili in the +middle of the floor--flushed--agitated--furious at this interruption; +Enrica--revived--conscious--blushing at his side. The investigation +is so perfectly satisfactory that Maestro Guglielmi cannot suppress a +grin of delight. + +"Believe me, Signore Conte," he says, advancing cautiously a step or +two forward into the room, a deprecating look on his face--"believe +me--this intrusion"--Guglielmi turns to Enrica, grins again palpably, +then bows--"is not of my seeking." + +"Tell me instantly what brings you here?" demands Nobili, advancing. +(Nobili would have liked beyond measure to relieve his feelings by +kicking him.) + +"It is just that"--Guglielmi cannot refrain from another glance round +before he proceeds--(yes, they are reconciled, no doubt of it. +The judgeship is his own! Evviva! The illustrious personage--so +notoriously careful of his subject's morals--who had deigned to +interest himself in the marriage, might possibly, at the birth of +a son and heir to the Guinigi, add a pension--who knows? At this +reflection the lawyer's eyes become altogether unmanageable)--"it is +just that," repeats Guglielmi, making a desperate effort to collect +himself. "Personally I should have declined it, personally; but the +marchesa's commands were absolute: 'You must go yourself, I will +permit no deputy.'" + +"Damn the marchesa! Shall I never be rid of the marchesa?" + +Nobili's aspect is becoming menacing. Maestro Guglielmi is not a man +easily daunted; yet once within the room, and the desired evidence +obtained, he cannot but feel all the awkwardness of his position. +Greatly as Guglielmi had been tickled at the notion of becoming +himself a witness in his own case, to do him justice he would not have +volunteered it. + +"The marchesa sent me," he stammers, conscious of Count Nobili's +indignation (with his arms crossed, Count Nobili is eying Guglielmi +from head to foot). "The marchesa sent me to know--" + +Nobili unfolds his arms, walks straight up to where Guglielmi is +standing, and shakes his fist in his face. + +"Do you know, Signore Avvocato, that you are committing an intolerable +impertinence? If you do not instantly quit this room, or give me +some excellent reason for remaining, you shall very speedily have my +opinion of your conduct in a very decided manner." + +Count Nobili is decidedly dangerous. He glares at Guglielmi like a +very devil. Guglielmi falls back. The false smile is upon his lips, +but his treacherous eyes express his terror. Guglielmi's combats are +only with words, his weapon the pen; otherwise he is powerless. + +"Excuse me, Count Nobili, excuse me," he stammers. He rubs his hands +nervously together and watches Nobili, who is following him step by +step. "It is not my fault--I give you my word--not my fault. Don't +look so, count; you really alarm me. I am here as a man of peace--I +entreated the marchesa to retire to rest. I represented to her the +peculiar delicacy of the position, but I grieve to say she insisted." + +Nobili is now close to him; his eyes are gathered upon him more +threateningly than ever. + +"Remember, sir, you are addressing me in the presence of my wife--be +careful." + +What a withering look Nobili gives Guglielmi as he says this! He can +with difficulty keep his hands off him! + +"Yes--yes--just so--just so--I applaud your sentiments, Count +Nobili--most appropriate. Now I will go." + +Alarmed as he is, Guglielmi cannot resist one parting glance at +Enrica. She is crimson. Then with an expression of infinite relief +he retreats to the door walking backward. Guglielmi has a strong +conviction that if he turns round Count Nobili may kick him, so, +keeping his eyes well balanced upon him, he fumbles with his hands +behind his back to find the handle of the door. In his confusion he +misses it. + +"Not for worlds, Signore Conte," says Guglielmi, nervously passing +his hand up and down the panel in search of the door-handle--"not for +worlds would I offend you! Believe me--(maledictions on the door--it +is bewitched!)" + +Now Guglielmi has it! Safely clutching the handle with both his hands, +Guglielmi's courage returns. His mocking eyes look up without blinking +into Nobili's, fierce and flashing as they are. + +"Before I go"--he bows with affected humility--"will you favor me, +count, and you, madame" (Guglielmi is clutching the door-handle +tightly, so as to be able to escape at any moment), "by informing me +whether you still desire the deed of separation to be prepared for +your signature in the morning?" + +"Leave the room!" roars Count Nobili, stamping furiously on the +floor--"leave the room, or, Domine Dio!--" + +Maestro Guglielmi had jumped out backward, before Count Nobili could +finish the sentence. + +"Enrica!" cries Nobili, turning toward her--he had banged-to the door +and locked it--"Enrica, if you love me, let us leave this accursed +villa to-night! This is more than I can bear!" + +What Enrica replied, or if Enrica ever replied at all, is, and ever +will remain, a mystery! + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +OH BELLO! + + +An hour or two has passed. A slow and cautious step, accompanied with +the tapping of a stick upon the stone flags of the floor, is audible +along the narrow passage leading from the sala to Pipa's room. It +is as dark as pitch. Whoever it is, is afraid of falling, and creeps +along cautiously, feeling by the wall. + +Pipa, expecting to be summoned to her mistress--Pipa, wondering +greatly indeed what Enrica can be about, and why she does not go +to bed, when she, the blessed dear, was so faint and tired, and +crying--oh, so pitifully!--when she left her--Pipa, leaning against +the door-post near the half-open door, dozing like a dog with one eye +open in case she should be called--listened and looked out into the +passage. A figure is standing within the light that streams out from +the door, a very well-remembered figure, stout and short--a little +bent forward on a stick--with a round, rosy face framed in snowy +curls, a world of pleasant wickedness in two twinkling eyes, on which +the light strikes, and a mouth puckered up for any mischief. + +"Madonna!" cries Pipa, rubbing her eyes--"the cavaliere! How you did +frighten me! I cannot bear to hear footsteps about when Adamo is +out;" and Pipa gazes up and down into the darkness with an unpleasant +consciousness that something ghostly might be watching her. + +"Pipa," says the cavaliere, putting his finger to his nose and +winking palpably, "hold your tongue, and don't scream when I tell you +something. Promise me." + +"O Gesu!" cries Pipa in a loud voice, starting back, forgetting his +injunction--"is it not about the signorina?" + +"Hold your tongue, Pipa, or I will tell you nothing." + +Pipa's head is instantly close to the cavaliere's, her face all +eagerness. + +"Yes, it is about the signorina--the countess. She is gone!" + +"Gone!" and Pipa, spite of warning, fairly shouts now "gone!" at which +the cavaliere shakes his stick at her, smiling, however, benignly all +the time. "Holy mother! gone! O cavaliere! tell me--she is not dead?" + +(Ever since Pipa had tended Enrica lying on her bed, so still and +cold, it seemed reasonable to her that she might die at any instant, +without warning given.) + +"Yes, Pipa," answers the cavaliere solemnly, his voice shaking +slightly, but he still smiles, though the dew of rising tears is in +his merry eyes--"yes, dead--dead to us, my Pipa--I fear dead to us." + +Pipa sinks back in speechless horror against the wall, and groans. + +"But only to us--(don't be a fool, Pipa)"--this in a parenthesis--"she +is gone with her husband." + +Pipa rises to her feet and stares at Trenta, at first wildly, then, as +little by little the hidden sense comes to her, her rosy lips slowly +part and lengthen out until every snowy tooth is visible. Then Pipa +covers her face with her apron, and shakes from head to foot in such +a fit of laughter, that she has to lean against the wall not to fall +down. "Oh hello!" is all she can say. This Pipa repeats at intervals +in gasps. + +"Come, Pipa, that will do," says the cavaliere, poking at her with his +stick--"I must get back before I am missed--no one must know it till +morning--least of all the marchesa and Guglielmi. They are shut up +together. The marchesa says she will sit up all night. But Count +Nobili and his wife are gone--really gone. Fra Pacifico managed it. He +got hold of Adamo, who was running round the house with a loaded +gun, all the dogs after him. Take care of Adamo when he comes back +to-night, Pipa. He is fastening up the dogs, and feeding them, and +taking care of poor Argo, who is badly hurt. He is quite mad, Adamo. +I never saw a man so wild. He would not come in. He said the marchesa +had told him to shoot some one. He swore he would do it yet. He nearly +fought with Fra Pacifico when he forced him in. Adamo is quite mad. +Tell him nothing to-night; he is not safe." + +Pipa has now let down her apron. Her bright olive-complexioned face +beams in one broad smile, like the full moon at harvest. She is still +shaking, and at intervals gives little spasmodic giggles. + +"Leave Adamo to me" (another giggle); "I will manage him" (another). +"Why, he might have shot the signorina's husband--the fool!" + +This thought steadies Pipa for an instant, but she bursts out again. +"Oh hello!"--Pipa gurgles like a stream that cannot stop running; then +she breaks off all at once, and listens. "Hush! hush! There is +Adamo coming, cavaliere--hush! hush! Make haste and go away. He is +coming--Adamo; I hear him on the gravel." + +"Say nothing until the morning," whispers the cavaliere. "Give them a +fair start. Ha! ha!" + +Pipa nods. Her face twitches all over. As Cavaliere Trenta turns to +go, Pipa catches him smartly by the shoulder, draws him to her, and +speaks into his ear: + +"To think the signorina has run away with her own husband! Oh bello!" + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ITALIANS*** + + +******* This file should be named 12385.txt or 12385.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/8/12385 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +https://gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/12385.zip b/old/12385.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e666484 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12385.zip |