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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/1374-0.txt b/1374-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..712c947 --- /dev/null +++ b/1374-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2975 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1374 *** + +VENDETTA + + +By Honore De Balzac + + + +Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + + + DEDICATION + + To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor. + + + + + +VENDETTA + + + +CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE + + +In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, accompanied +by a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time in front of +the palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled +down, at the point where in our day the wing begins which was intended +to unite the chateau of Catherine de Medici with the Louvre of the +Valois. + +The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he +sometimes raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at +his wife, who was sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed +wholly occupied with the little girl of nine or ten years of age, whose +long black hair she amused herself by handling, she lost not a single +glance of those her companion cast on her. Some sentiment other than +love united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety their +movements and their thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most powerful of +all ties. + +The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick +hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The jet +black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his +features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his evident +strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over sixty +years of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign country. +Though the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed +the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm +countenance whenever her husband looked at her. + +The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the +youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast +of countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched +brows, a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those who +passed them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group, +who made no effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the +expression of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy, +characteristic of Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the +stranger saw himself the object of attention, he looked at his observer +with so savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his step as +though he had trod upon a serpent. + +After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly +passed his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the thoughts +that were ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate +resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he drew +a dagger from his breast and gave it to his companion, saying in +Italian:-- + +“I will see if the Bonapartes remember us.” + +Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the +palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular +guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this +man’s obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in the +form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at that +moment, and the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the stranger the +spot where the commander of the post was standing. + +“Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with him,” + said the Italian to the captain on duty. + +In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see the +First Consul without having previously requested an audience in writing; +the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The +officer stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with the +order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, casting +a terrible look at the captain, as if he made him responsible for the +misfortunes that this refusal might occasion. Then he kept silence, +folded his arms tightly across his breast, and took up his station +under the portico which serves as an avenue of communication between +the garden and the court-yard of the Tuileries. Persons who will things +intensely are very apt to be helped by chance. At the moment when +Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the stone posts which +was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from which Lucien Bonaparte, +minister of the interior, issued. + +“Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!” cried the stranger. + +These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment +when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot, +and recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear, +he took the Corsican away with him. + +Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the First +Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in appearance +as Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the arm and +led him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a few words with +his brother, the First Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and +Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to have seen it, in order +to remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to him sharply, and the +aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First +Consul, who listened for Rapp’s step in the adjoining salon, opened +the door suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp close to the wall of the +cabinet. + +“Do you choose not to understand me?” said the First Consul. “I wish to +be alone with my compatriot.” + +“A Corsican!” replied the aide-de-camp. “I distrust those fellows too +much to--” + +The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful +officer by the shoulders. + +“Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?” said Napoleon. + +“To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican,” + replied Bartolomeo, roughly. + +“What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the +most--” + +“I have killed all the Portas,” replied the Corsican, in a deep voice, +frowning heavily. + +The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise. + +“Do you mean to betray me?” cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at +Bonaparte. “Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?” + +Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. + +“Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?” he said. + +Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at +Piombo and said:-- + +“Why did you kill the Portas?” + +“We had made friends,” replied the man; “the Barbantis reconciled us. +The day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home +because I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and +set fire to my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My +daughter Ginevra and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, +escaped; the Virgin protected them. When I returned I found no house; +my feet were in its ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck +against the body of Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. ‘The +Portas have dealt me this blow,’ I said; and, forthwith, I went to +the woods, and there I called together all the men whom I had ever +served,--do you hear me, Bonaparte?--and we marched to the vineyard of +the Portas. We got there at five in the morning; at seven they were all +before God. Giacomo declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. But +I myself bound him to his bed before setting fire to the house. I have +left the island with my wife and child without being able to discover +whether, indeed, Luigi Porta is alive.” + +Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise. + +“How many were there?” asked Lucien. + +“Seven,” replied Piombo. “All of them were your persecutors in the olden +times.” + +These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two +brothers. + +“Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!” cried Piombo, with a sort of despair. +“Farewell. In other days I protected you,” he added, in a reproachful +tone. “Without me, your mother would never have reached Marseille,” he +said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, who was silent and thoughtful, +his elbow resting on a mantel-shelf. + +“As a matter of duty, Piombo,” said Napoleon at last, “I cannot take you +under my wing. I have become the leader of a great nation; I command the +Republic; I am bound to execute the laws.” + +“Ha! ha!” said Bartolomeo, scornfully. + +“But I can shut my eyes,” continued Bonaparte. “The tradition of the +Vendetta will long prevent the reign of law in Corsica,” he added, as if +speaking to himself. “But it _must_ be destroyed, at any cost.” + +Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien made a sign to Piombo +not to speak. The Corsican was swaying his head from right to left in +deep disapproval. + +“Live here, in Paris,” resumed the First Consul, addressing Bartolomeo; +“we will know nothing of this affair. I will cause your property in +Corsica to be bought, to give you enough to live on for the present. +Later, before long, we will think of you. But, remember, no more +vendetta! There are no woods here to fly to. If you play with daggers, +you must expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all citizens; and no +one is allowed to do justice for himself.” + +“He has made himself the head of a singular nation,” said Bartolomeo, +taking Lucien’s hand and pressing it. “But you have both recognized me +in misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may +dispose as you will of the Piombos.” + +With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in +satisfaction. + +“You are not badly off here,” he said, smiling, as if he meant to lodge +there himself. “You are all in red, like a cardinal.” + +“Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also,” + said Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. “It will often +happen that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can confide.” + +A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his +hand to the First Consul, saying:-- + +“The Corsican is in you still.” + +Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it +were, a waft of air from his own land,--from that isle where he had been +so miraculously saved from the hatred of the “English party”; the land +he was never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who then took +Piombo away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the financial condition +of the former protector of their family. Piombo took him to a window and +showed him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a heap of stones. + +“We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny,” he +said. + +Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him the +next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of +the family. The value of Piombo’s property in Corsica, if sold, would +scarcely maintain him honorably in Paris. + +Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo’s arrival with his +family in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely +intelligible to the reader without this narrative of the foregoing +circumstances. + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE STUDIO + + +Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to conceive +of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to take +lessons in painting. + +About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given up +to his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter of +a general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their daughters +themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send them alone, +after knowing the master’s principles and the pains he took to deserve +their confidence. + +It was the artist’s intention to take no pupils but young ladies +belonging to rich families of good position, in order to meet with no +complaints as to the composition of his classes. He even refused to +take girls who wished to become artists; for to them he would have +been obliged to give certain instructions without which no talent could +advance in the profession. Little by little his prudence and the ability +with which he initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty each +mother felt that her daughter was in company with none but well-bred +young girls, and the fact of the artist’s marriage, gave him an +excellent reputation as a teacher in society. When a young girl wished +to learn to draw, and her mother asked advice of her friends, the answer +was, invariably: “Send her to Servin’s.” + +Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a specialty; like Herbault +for bonnets, Leroy for gowns, and Chevet for eatables. It was recognized +that a young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was capable of +judging the paintings of the Musee conclusively, of making a striking +portrait, copying an ancient master, or painting a genre picture. The +artist thus sufficed for the educational needs of the aristocracy. But +in spite of these relations with the best families in Paris, he was +independent and patriotic, and he maintained among them that easy, +brilliant, half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment which +characterize painters. + +He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the arrangements of the +locality where his pupils studied. The entrance to the attic above his +apartments was walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a harem, +it was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase made within his own +rooms. The studio, occupying nearly the whole attic floor under the +roof, presented to the eye those vast proportions which surprise +inquirers when, after attaining sixty feet above the ground-floor, they +expect to find an artist squeezed into a gutter. + +This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from above, through +enormous panes of glass furnished with those green linen shades by means +of which all artists arrange the light. A quantity of caricatures, heads +drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the point of a knife, on +walls painted in a dark gray, proved that, barring a difference in +expression, the most distinguished young girls have as much fun and +folly in their minds as men. A small stove with a large pipe, which +described a fearful zigzag before it reached the upper regions of the +roof, was the necessary and infallible ornament of the room. A shelf +ran round the walls, on which were models in plaster, heterogeneously +placed, most of them covered with gray dust. Here and there, above this +shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging to a nail, presented her pose of woe; a +Venus smiled; a hand thrust itself forward like that of a pauper asking +alms; a few “ecorches,” yellowed by smoke, looked like limbs snatched +over-night from a graveyard; besides these objects, pictures, drawings, +lay figures, frames without paintings, and paintings without frames +gave to this irregular apartment that studio physiognomy which is +distinguished for its singular jumble of ornament and bareness, poverty +and riches, care and neglect. The vast receptacle of an “atelier,” + where all seems small, even man, has something of the air of an Opera +“coulisse”; here lie ancient garments, gilded armor, fragments of +stuffs, machinery. And yet there is something mysteriously grand, like +thought, in it; genius and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside a +skull or skeleton, beauty and destruction, poesy and reality, colors +glowing in the shadows, often a whole drama, motionless and silent. +Strange symbol of an artist’s head! + +At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant July sun was +illuminating the studio, and two rays striking athwart it lengthwise, +traced diaphanous gold lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen +easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. Several young +girls were animating the scene by the variety of their expressions, +their attitudes, and the differences in their toilets. The strong +shadows cast by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the +needs of each easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, and the piquant +effects of light and shade. This group was the prettiest of all the +pictures in the studio. + +A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some distance from her +companions, working bravely and seeming to be in dread of some mishap. +No one looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the prettiest, the +most modest, and, apparently, the least rich among them. Two principal +groups, distinctly separated from each other, showed the presence of two +sets or cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where one might +suppose that rank and fortune would be forgotten. + +But, however that might be, these young girls, sitting or standing, in +the midst of their color-boxes, playing with their brushes or preparing +them, handling their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, talking, +singing, absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real selves, composed +a spectacle unknown to man. One of them, proud, haughty, capricious, +with black hair and beautiful hands, was casting the flame of her glance +here and there at random; another, light-hearted and gay, a smile upon +her lips, with chestnut hair and delicate white hands, was a typical +French virgin, thoughtless, and without hidden thoughts, living her +natural real life; a third was dreamy, melancholy, pale, bending her +head like a drooping flower; her neighbor, on the contrary, tall, +indolent, with Asiatic habits, long eyes, moist and black, said but +little, and reflected, glancing covertly at the head of Antinous. + +Among them, like the “jocoso” of a Spanish play, full of wit and +epigrammatic sallies, another girl was watching the rest with a +comprehensive glance, making them laugh, and tossing up her head, too +lively and arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first +group of girls, who were the daughters of bankers, notaries, and +merchants,--all rich, but aware of the imperceptible though cutting +slights which another group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. +The latter were led by the daughter of one of the King’s ushers, a +little creature, as silly as she was vain, proud of being the daughter +of a man with “an office at court.” She was a girl who always pretended +to understand the remarks of the master at the first word, and seemed +to do her work as a favor to him. She used an eyeglass, came very much +dressed, and always late, and entreated her companions to speak low. + +In this second group were several girls with exquisite figures and +distinguished features, but there was little in their glance or +expression that was simple and candid. Though their attitudes were +elegant and their movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it +was easy to see that they belonged to a world where polite manners +form the character from early youth, and the abuse of social pleasures +destroys sentiment and develops egotism. + +But when the whole class was here assembled, childlike heads were seen +among this bevy of young girls, ravishingly pure and virgin, faces with +lips half-opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on which a +virgin smile was flickering. The studio then resembled not a studio, but +a group of angels seated on a cloud in ether. + +By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not appeared. For some days +past he had spent most of his time in a studio which he kept elsewhere, +where he was giving the last touches to a picture for the Exposition. +All of a sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, the leader of the +aristocrats, began to speak in a low voice, and very earnestly, to +her neighbor. A great silence fell on the group of patricians, and the +commercial party, surprised, were equally silent, trying to discover the +subject of this earnest conference. The secret of the young _ultras_ was +soon revealed. + +Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, carried it to a +distance from the noble group, and placed it close to a board partition +which separated the studio from the extreme end of the attic, where all +broken casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply of wood were kept. +Amelie’s action caused a murmur of surprise, which did not prevent her +from accomplishing the change by rolling hastily to the side of the +easel the stool, the box of colors, and even the picture by Prudhon, +which the absent pupil was copying. After this coup d’etat the Right +began to work in silence, but the Left discoursed at length. + +“What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?” asked a young girl of +Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, the lively oracle of the banking group. + +“She’s not a girl to say anything,” was the reply; “but fifty years +hence she’ll remember the insult as if it were done to her the night +before, and revenge it cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don’t +want to be at war with.” + +“The slight these young ladies mean to put upon her is all the more +unkind,” said another young girl, “because yesterday, Mademoiselle +Ginevra was very sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They +ought not to add to her trouble, for she was very considerate of them +during the Hundred Days. Never did she say a word to wound them. On the +contrary, she avoided politics. But I think our _ultras_ are acting more +from jealousy than from party spite.” + +“I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle Piombo’s easel and place +it next to mine,” said Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second thoughts +made her sit down again. + +“With a character like hers,” she said, “one can’t tell how she would +take a civility; better wait events.” + +“Ecco la,” said the young girl with the black eyes, languidly. + +The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through the +studio. The words: “Here she comes!” passed from mouth to mouth, and +then the most absolute silence reigned. + +To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of +Amelie Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place toward +the end of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the Bourbons +had shaken many friendships which had held firm under the first +Restoration. At this moment families, almost all divided in opinion, +were renewing many of the deplorable scenes which stain the history +of all countries in times of civil or religious wars. Children, young +girls, old men shared the monarchial fever to which the country was +then a victim. Discord glided beneath all roofs; distrust dyed with its +gloomy colors the words and the actions of the most intimate friends. + +Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate +him? The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father. +The Baron di Piombo was among those of Napoleon’s devoted servants who +had co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of +denying his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron +remained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all +the more open to condemnation because she made no secret of the grief +which the second Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she +had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the twofold news of +Napoleon’s captivity on the “Bellerophon,” and Labedoyere’s arrest. + +The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most +devoted royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an +idea of the exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror +inspired by the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie’s +action may now seem to be, it was at that time a very natural expression +of the prevailing hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin’s first pupils, +had occupied the place that was now taken from her since the first +day of her coming to the studio. The aristocratic circle had gradually +surrounded her. To drive her from a place that in some sense belonged to +her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a species of artistic +pain; for all artists have a spot of predilection where they work. + +Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the +conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of +Servin’s pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master testified +as much admiration for the talents as for the character of his favorite +pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. In fact, +without any one being able to explain the ascendancy which this young +girl obtained over all who came in contact with her, she exercised over +the little world around her a prestige not unlike that of Bonaparte upon +his soldiers. + +The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the +fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid +the Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion’s act was, therefore, a decisive +stroke, intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the +accomplices of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by several +of these royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at home with +their political ideas, they decided, with the tactics peculiar to women, +that they should do best to keep themselves aloof from the quarrel. + +On Ginevra’s arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound +silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin’s +studio, she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her +carriage and demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which +commanded respect. Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to +radiate light, so inspired was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to +Corsicans,--which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long hair +and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion; the corners of her +mouth, too softly defined, and the lips, a trifle too marked, gave signs +of that kindliness which strong beings derive from the consciousness of +their strength. + +By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some +degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost +savage pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of a +Corsican. In that was the only link between herself and her native +land. All the rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of her +Lombard beauty, was so seductive that it was difficult for those who +looked at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen attraction that +her old father caused her, as matter of precaution, to be accompanied to +and from the studio. The only defect of this truly poetic creature came +from the very power of a beauty so fully developed; she looked a woman. +Marriage she had refused out of love to her father and mother, feeling +herself necessary to the comfort of their old age. Her taste for +painting took the place of the passions and interests which usually +absorb her sex. + +“You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles,” she said, after advancing +a little way among her companions. “Good-morning, my little Laure,” she +added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl who was +painting apart from the rest. “That head is strong,--the flesh tints a +little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent.” + +Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces beamed +with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile brightened the +lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and walked slowly to +her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and paintings on her way, +and bidding good-morning to each of the young girls of the first group, +not observing the unusual curiosity excited by her presence. She was +like a queen in the midst of her court; she paid no attention to the +profound silence that reigned among the patricians, and passed before +their camp without pronouncing a single word. Her absorption seemed so +great that she sat down before her easel, opened her color-box, took up +her brushes, drew on her brown sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at +her picture, examined her palette, without, apparently, thinking of what +she was doing. All heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned +toward her. If the young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their +impatience with the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the +less directed on Ginevra. + +“She hasn’t noticed it!” said Mademoiselle Roguin. + +At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she +had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the +group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now +separated her from them; but she said nothing. + +“It hasn’t occurred to her that they meant to insult her,” said Matilde; +“she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls will be +if she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of bounds, +mademoiselle,” she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra. + +The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. She +rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side of +the partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, and +seemed to be examining the sash through which her light came,--giving so +much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the green serge, +which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that height, her eye +was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, the real object +of her efforts, for the glance that she cast through it can be compared +only to that of a miser discovering Aladdin’s treasure. Then she sprang +down hastily and returned to her place, changed the position of her +picture, pretended to be still dissatisfied with the light, pushed +a table close to the partition, on which she placed a chair, climbed +lightly to the summit of this erection, and again looked through the +crevice. She cast but one glance into the space beyond, which was +lighted through a skylight; but what she saw produced so strong an +effect upon her that she tottered. + +“Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you’ll fall!” cried Laure. + +All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of +their coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, and +replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:-- + +“Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!” + +She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table +as far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and seemed +to be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now thrown upon +it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was wholly bent on +getting as near as possible to the closet, against the door of which she +finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare her palette in the +deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, distinctly, a sound +which had strongly excited her curiosity the evening before, and had +whirled her young imagination across vast fields of conjecture. She +recognized the firm and regular breathing of a man whom she had just +seen asleep. Her curiosity was satisfied beyond her expectations, but at +the same time she felt saddled by an immense responsibility. Through the +opening in the wall she had seen the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock +bed, faintly lighted from above, lay the form of an officer of the +Guard. She guessed all. Servin was hiding a proscribed man! + +She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to +examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath +might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political +victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to her +wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise. + +“Better that I should be here,” thought she, “to prevent some luckless +accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless betrayal.” + +This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently +shown to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because +the change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural manner; +besides, at this moment, she was too keenly preoccupied to perceive the +reason of her removal. + +Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the world, +than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech, miss its +effect through the contempt or the indifference of the intended victim. +It seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion to the height that +enemy is raised above us. Ginevra’s behavior was an enigma to all her +companions; her friends and enemies were equally surprised; for the +former claimed for her all good qualities, except that of forgiveness of +injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for displaying that vice of +nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the life of a studio, still, +the specimens she had now and then given of her vindictive disposition +had left a strong impression on the minds of her companions. + +After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion that +the Italian’s silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all praise; and +the banking circle, inspired by her, formed a project to humiliate the +aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of sarcasms which +presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie. + +Madame Servin’s arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the shrewdness +that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had noticed, analyzed, +and mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation of Ginevra’s mind, +which prevented her from even hearing the bitterly polite war of words +of which she was the object. The vengeance Mademoiselle Roguin and her +companions were inflicting on Mademoiselle Thirion and her group had, +therefore, the fatal effect of driving the young _ultras_ to search for +the cause of the silence so obstinately maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. +The beautiful Italian became the centre of all glances, and she was +henceforth watched by friends and foes alike. + +It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from +fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and mischief +ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to create or +baffle, and who know how to find too many interpretations for each +gesture, glance, and word, to fail in discovering the right one. + +At this moment, however, the presence of Madame Servin produced an +interlude in the drama thus played below the surface in these various +young hearts, the sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were +expressed by phrases that were almost allegorical, by mischievous +glances, by gestures, by silence even, more intelligible than words. As +soon as Madame Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the door +near which Ginevra was seated. Under present circumstances the fact of +this glance was not lost. Though at first none of the pupils took notice +of it, Mademoiselle Thirion recollected it later, and it explained +to her the doubt, fear, and mystery which now gave something wild and +frightened to Madame Servin’s eyes. + +“Mesdemoiselles,” she said, “Monsieur Servin cannot come to-day.” + +Then she went round complimenting each young girl, receiving in return +a volume of those feminine caresses which are given as much by the tones +of the voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently reached Ginevra, +under the influence of an uneasiness she tried in vain to disguise. They +nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said nothing; one painted, +the other stood looking at the painting. The breathing of the soldier in +the closet could be distinctly heard, but Madame Servin appeared not to +notice it; her feigned ignorance was so obvious that Ginevra recognized +it at once for wilful deafness. Presently the unknown man turned on his +pallet. + +The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, who said, without the +slightest change of face:-- + +“Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to choose between the +two I should be puzzled.” + +“Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his confidence as to this +mystery,” thought Ginevra, who, after replying to the young wife’s +speech with a gentle smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican +“canzonetta” to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. + +It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious Italian sing, that +all the other young girls looked up at her in surprise. Later, this +circumstance served as proof to the charitable suppositions of jealousy. + +Madame Servin soon went away, and the session ended without further +events; Ginevra allowed her companions to depart, and seemed to intend +to work later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her desire +to be left alone by impatient glances, ill-disguised, at the pupils who +were slow in leaving. Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the girl +who excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of jealousy that +her rival’s industry hid some purpose. By dint of watching her she was +struck by the attentive air with which Ginevra seemed to be listening to +sounds that no one else had heard. The expression of impatience she now +detected in her companion’s eyes was like a flash of light to her. + +Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio; from there she +went down to Madame Servin’s apartment and talked with her for a moment; +then she pretended to have left her bag, ran softly back to the studio, +and found Ginevra once more mounted on her frail scaffolding, and so +absorbed in the contemplation of an unknown object that she did not hear +the slight noise of her companion’s footsteps. It is true that, to use +an expression of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped as if on eggs. She hastily +withdrew outside the door and coughed. Ginevra quivered, turned her +head, saw her enemy, blushed, hastened to alter the shade to give +meaning to her position, and came down from her perch leisurely. She +soon after left the studio, bearing with her, in her memory, the image +of a man’s head, as beauteous as that of the Endymion, a masterpiece of +Girodet’s which she had lately copied. + +“To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney--” + +These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that +Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in spite +of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle Thirion +already there, having come in a carriage. + +Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they +made their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of the +mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the Imperial +eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them through the +crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. Suddenly Servin +came in, much earlier than usual. + +“Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he said, after glancing round the studio, “why +have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the +rest of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little.” + +Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial +attention. + +“Well, well!” he cried; “here, indeed, is a head extremely well done. +You’ll be another Ginevra.” + +The master then went from easel to easel, scolding, flattering, jesting, +and making, as usual, his jests more dreaded than his reprimands. +Ginevra had not obeyed the professor’s order, but remained at her post, +firmly resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of paper and began +to sketch in sepia the head of the hidden man. A work done under the +impulse of an emotion has always a stamp of its own. The faculty of +giving to representations of nature or of thought their true coloring +constitutes genius, and often, in this respect, passion takes the place +of it. So, under the circumstances in which Ginevra now found herself, +the intuition which she owed to a powerful effect upon her memory, or, +possibly, to necessity, that mother of great things, lent her, for the +moment, a supernatural talent. The head of the young officer was dashed +upon the paper in the midst of an awkward trembling which she mistook +for fear, and in which a physiologist would have recognized the fire of +inspiration. From time to time she glanced furtively at her companions, +in order to hide the sketch if any of them came near her. But in +spite of her watchfulness, there was a moment when she did not see the +eyeglass of the pitiless Amelie turned full upon the drawing from the +shelter of a great portfolio. Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the +portrait of the mysterious man, showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra +hastily covered the sheet of paper. + +“Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?” asked the +professor, gravely. + +The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the +sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:-- + +“Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not +better remain here?” + +Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, +Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden emotion +of master and pupil. + +“You are right,” said Servin; “but really,” he added, with a forced +laugh, “you will soon come to know more than I do.” + +A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of the +officer’s head. + +“It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!” he exclaimed, with the +energy of an artist. + +All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted +forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, +the prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra +knocked over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to +laugh; but she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before Amelie +could get to her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin descanted on the +beauty of the copy which his favorite pupil was then making, and the +whole class was duped by this stratagem, except Amelie, who, slipping +behind her companions, attempted to open the portfolio where she had +seen Ginevra throw the sketch. But the latter took it up without a word, +and placed it in front of her. The two young girls then looked at each +other fixedly, in silence. + +“Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places,” said Servin. “If you wish +to do as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn’t be always talking +fashions and balls, and trifling away your time as you do.” + +When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down beside +Ginevra. + +“Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery +rather than the others?” asked the girl, in a low voice. + +“Yes,” replied the painter, “you are one of us, a patriot; but even if +you were not, I should still have confided the matter to you.” + +Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared to +ask:-- + +“Who is he?” + +“An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other +man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment +with the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and +was at Waterloo.” + +“Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with +citizen’s clothes?” said Ginevra, impatiently. + +“He will have them to-night.” + +“You ought to have closed the studio for some days.” + +“He is going away.” + +“Then they’ll kill him,” said the girl. “Let him stay here with you till +the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in France where +a man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?” she asked. + +“No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my +hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during the +campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him from +the claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to defend the +general, foolish fellow!” + +“Do you call him that!” cried Ginevra, casting a glance of astonishment +at the painter, who was silent for a moment. + +“My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able to keep him in his +own house,” he resumed. “So he brought him to me, by night, about a week +ago. I hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only spot in +the house where he could be safe.” + +“If I can be useful to you, employ me,” said Ginevra. “I know the +Marechal de Feltre.” + +“Well, we’ll see,” replied the painter. + +This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed by all the other +girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round once more to each easel, and gave +such long lessons that he was still there at the hour when the pupils +were in the habit of leaving. + +“You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thirion,” said the professor, +running after the girl, who was now condescending to the work of a spy +to satisfy her jealousy. + +The baffled pupil returned for the bag, expressing surprise at her +carelessness; but this act of Servin’s was to her fresh proof of the +existence of a mystery, the importance of which was evident. She now ran +noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door which opened into the +Servins’ apartment, to give an impression that she had gone; then she +softly returned and stationed herself outside the door of the studio. + + + + +CHAPTER III. LABEDOYERE’S FRIEND + + +When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves alone, Servin rapped in +a peculiar manner on the door of the dark garret, which turned at once +on its rusty and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and well-made +young man, whose Imperial uniform set her heart to beating. The officer +had one arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face revealed sharp +suffering. Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. + +Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the door being closed, was +afraid to stay longer; she was satisfied with having heard the opening +of the garret door, and departed noiselessly. + +“Fear nothing,” said the painter to the officer. “Mademoiselle is the +daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di Piombo.” + +The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra’s patriotism as soon +as he saw her. + +“You are wounded,” she said. + +“Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle,” he replied; “the wound is healing.” + +Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came +up from the street: “Condemned to death!” They all trembled, and the +soldier was the first to hear a name that turned him pale. + +“Labedoyere!” he cried, falling on a stool. + +They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid +forehead of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in one +hand with a gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra’s easel. + +“After all,” he said, rising abruptly, “Labedoyere and I knew what we +were doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from +triumph or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding myself!” + +He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra +reached it, and barred his way. + +“Can you restore the Emperor?” she said. “Do you expect to raise that +giant who could not maintain himself?” + +“But what can I do?” said the young man, addressing the two friends whom +chance had sent to him. “I have not a relation in the world. Labedoyere +was my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. To-morrow I +myself may be condemned; my only fortune was my pay. I spent my last +penny to come here and try to snatch Labedoyere from his fate; death +is, therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides to die he ought +to know how to sell his life to the executioner. I was thinking just now +that the life of an honest man is worth that of two traitors, and the +blow of a dagger well placed may give immortality.” + +This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even Ginevra, whose own +nature comprehended that of the young man. She admired his handsome face +and his delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely lessened +by its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, she poured a balm upon the +wounds of the unfortunate man:-- + +“Monsieur,” she said, “as for your pecuniary distress, permit me to +offer you my savings. My father is rich; I am his only child; he loves +me, and I am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting +my offer; our property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a +penny that is not the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude +to him to assist his faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as +indifferently as I offer them. It is only money!” she added, in a tone +of contempt. “Now, as for friends,--those you shall have.” + +She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling +brilliancy. + +“The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save yours,” + she went on. “Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape and take +service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here; or in the +French army, if you are.” + +In the comfort that women give there is always a delicacy which has +something maternal, foreseeing, and complete about it. But when +the words of hope and peace are said with grace of gesture and that +eloquence of tone which comes from the heart, and when, above all, the +benefactress is beautiful, a young man does not resist. The prisoner +breathed in love through all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his white +cheeks; his eyes lost something of the sadness that dulled them, and he +said, in a peculiar tone of voice:-- + +“You are an angle of goodness--But Labedoyere!” he added. “Oh, +Labedoyere!” + +At this cry they all three looked at one another in silence, each +comprehending the others’ thoughts. No longer friends of twenty minutes +only, they were friends of twenty years. + +“Dear friend,” said Servin, “can you save him?” + +“I can avenge him.” + +Ginevra quivered. Though the stranger was handsome, his appearance had +not influenced her; the soft pity in a woman’s heart for miseries that +are not ignoble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to hear +a cry of vengeance, to find in that proscribed being an Italian soul, +devotion to Napoleon, Corsican generosity!--ah! that was, indeed, too +much for her. She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion which +shook his heart. For the first time in her life a man had caused her a +keen emotion. She now, like other women, put the soul of the stranger on +a par with the noble beauty of his features and the happy proportions of +his figure, which she admired as an artist. Led by accidental curiosity +to pity, from pity to a powerful interest, she came, through that +interest, to such profound sensations that she felt she was in danger if +she stayed there longer. + +“Until to-morrow, then,” she said, giving the officer a gentle smile by +way of a parting consolation. + +Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Ginevra’s features, the +stranger forgot all else for an instant. + +“To-morrow,” he said, sadly; “but to-morrow, Labedoyere--” + +Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked at him, as if to +say: “Be calm, be prudent.” + +And the young man cried out in his own language: + +“Ah! Dio! che non vorrei vivere dopo averla veduta?--who would not wish +to live after seeing her?” + +The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the words made Ginevra +quiver. + +“Are you Corsican?” she cried, returning toward him with a beating +heart. + +“I was born in Corsica,” he replied; “but I was brought, while very +young, to Genoa, and as soon as I was old enough for military service I +enlisted.” + +The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent to him by his +attachment to the Emperor, his wound, his misfortunes, his danger, +all disappeared to Ginevra’s mind, or, rather, all were blended in one +sentiment,--a new and delightful sentiment. This persecuted man was +a child of Corsica; he spoke its cherished language! She stood, for a +moment, motionless; held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a +living picture, to which all human sentiments, united by chance, gave +vivid colors. By Servin’s invitation, the officer had seated himself on +a divan, and the painter, after removing the sling which supported the +arm of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order to dress the wound. +Ginevra shuddered when she saw the long, broad gash made by the blade of +a sabre on the young man’s forearm, and a moan escaped her. The stranger +raised his head and smiled to her. There was something touching which +went to the soul, in the care with which Servin lifted the lint and +touched the lacerated flesh, while the face of the wounded man, though +pale and sickly, expressed, as he looked at the girl, more pleasure than +suffering. An artist would have admired, involuntarily, this opposition +of sentiments, together with the contrasts produced by the whiteness of +the linen and the bared arm to the red and blue uniform of the officer. + +At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio; but a parting ray +of the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated the spot where the soldier +sat, so that his noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his clothes +were bathed in its glow. The effect was simple enough, but to the girl’s +Italian imagination it was a happy omen. The stranger seemed to her a +celestial messenger, speaking the language of her own country. He thus +unconsciously put her under the spell of childhood’s memories, while +in her heart there dawned another feeling as fresh, as pure as her +own innocence. For a short, very short moment, she was motionless +and dreamy, as though she were plunged in boundless thought. Then she +blushed at having allowed her absorption to be noticed, exchanged one +soft and rapid glance with the wounded man, and fled with the vision of +him still before her eyes. + +The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came to the studio, and +the prisoner was free to sit beside her easel. Servin, who had a sketch +to finish, played the part of mentor to the two young people, who talked +to each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the sufferings of +the retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, he had made +the passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man left of +his regiment. He described, in words of fire, the great disaster of +Waterloo. His voice was music itself to the Italian girl. Brought up as +a Corsican, Ginevra was, in some sense, a child of Nature; falseness +was a thing unknown to her; she gave herself up without reserve to her +impressions; she acknowledged them, or, rather, allowed them to be +seen without the affectations of petty and calculating coquetry, +characteristic of Parisian girlhood. During this day she sat more than +once with her palette in one hand, her brushes in another, without +touching a color. With her eyes fastened on the officer, and her lips +slightly apart, she listened, in the attitude of painting a stroke which +was never painted. She was not surprised to see such softness in the +eyes of the young man, for she felt that her own were soft in spite +of her will to keep them stern and calm. After periods like this she +painted diligently, without raising her head, for he was there, near +her, watching her work. The first time he sat down beside her to +contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of some emotion, after a +long pause:-- + +“Does it amuse you to see me paint?” + +That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it was +agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see each +other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to inform him +by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon. + +The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the +class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, +a young man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed +himself in the garret beyond the studio. + +“You, who take her part,” she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, “watch her +carefully, and you will see how she spends her time.” + +Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They +listened to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she +supposed that no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively +upon her. Thus enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly +the emotions that crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,--her +gestures, the peculiar tones in which she hummed a tune, and the +attention with which they saw her listen to sounds which only she could +hear through the partition. + +By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Servin’s fifteen pupils +who had resisted the temptation of looking at Luigi through the crevice +of the partition; and she, through an instinct of weakness, still +defended her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin endeavored to make +her wait on the staircase after the class dispersed, that she might +prove to her the intimacy of Ginevra and the young man by entering the +studio and surprising them together. But Laure refused to condescend to +an act of espial which no curiosity could justify, and she consequently +became the object of much reprobation. + +Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that she thought it improper +to attend the classes of a painter whose opinions were tainted with +patriotism and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were synonymous), +and she ceased her attendance at the studio. But, although she herself +forgot Ginevra, the harm she had planted bore fruit. Little by little, +the other young girls revealed to their mothers the strange events which +were happening at the studio. One day Matilde Roguin did not come; the +next day another girl was missing, and so on, till the last three or +four who were left came no more. Ginevra and Laure, her little friend, +were the sole occupants of the deserted studio for three or four days. + +Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the cause of her +companions’ absence. As soon as she had invented means of communication +with Luigi she lived in the studio in a delightful solitude, alone +amid her own world, thinking only of the officer and the dangers that +threatened him. Though a sincere admirer of noble characters that never +betray their political faiths, she nevertheless urged Luigi to submit +himself to the royal authority, that he might be released from his +present life and remain in France. But to this he would not consent. +If passions are born and nourished, as they say, under the influence of +romantic causes, never did so many circumstances of that kind concur in +uniting two young souls by one and the same sentiment. The friendship of +Ginevra for Luigi and that of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress in a +month than a friendship in society would make in ten years. Adversity +is the touchstone of character. Ginevra was able, therefore, to study +Luigi, to know him; and before long they mutually esteemed each other. +The girl, who was older than Luigi, found a charm in being courted by +a youth already so grand, so tried by fate,--a youth who joined to the +experience of a man the graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his side, felt +an unspeakable pleasure in allowing himself to be apparently protected +by a woman, now twenty-five years of age. Was it not a proof of love? +The union of gentleness and pride, strength and weakness in Ginevra +were, to him, irresistible attractions, and he was utterly subjugated +by her. In short, before long, they loved each other so profoundly +that they felt no need of denying to each other their love, nor yet of +telling it. + +One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accustomed signal. Luigi +scratched with a pin on the woodwork in a manner that produced no more +noise than a spider might make as he fastened his thread. The signal +meant that he wished to come out of his retreat. + +Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing Laure, opened the +door; but as she did so Luigi caught sight of the little pupil and +abruptly retired. Surprised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw +Laure, and said, as she went up to the girl’s easel:-- + +“You are staying late, my dear. That head seems to me finished; you only +want a high-light,--see! on that knot of hair.” + +“You would do me a great kindness,” said Laure, in a trembling voice, +“if you would give this copy a few touches; for then I could carry away +with me something to remind me of you.” + +“Willingly,” said Ginevra, painting a few strokes on the picture. “But I +thought it was a long way from your home to the studio, and it is late.” + +“Oh! Ginevra, I am going away, never to return,” cried the poor girl, +sadly. + +“You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!” exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, +however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. + +“Haven’t you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have +been alone in the studio?” + +“True,” said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection. “Are all +those young ladies ill, or going to be married, or are their fathers on +duty at court?” + +“They have left Monsieur Servin,” replied Laure. + +“Why?” + +“On your account, Ginevra.” + +“My account!” repeated the Corsican, springing up, with a threatening +brow and her eyes flashing. + +“Oh! don’t be angry, my kind Ginevra,” cried Laure, in deep distress. +“My mother insists on my leaving the studio. The young ladies say that +you have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows the young man +whom you love to stay in the dark attic. I have never believed these +calumnies nor said a word to my mother about them. But last night Madame +Roguin met her at a ball and asked her if she still sent me here. When +my mother answered yes, Madame Roguin told her the falsehoods of those +young ladies. Mamma scolded me severely; she said I must have known +it all, and that I had failed in proper confidence between mother and +daughter by not telling her. Oh! my dear Ginevra! I, who took you for my +model, oh! how grieved I am that I can’t be your companion any longer.” + +“We shall meet again in life; girls marry--” said Ginevra. + +“When they are rich,” signed Laure. + +“Come and see me; my father has a fortune--” + +“Ginevra,” continued Laure, tenderly. “Madame Roguin and my mother are +coming to see Monsieur Servin to-morrow and reproach him; hadn’t you +better warn him.” + +A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra’s feet could not have astonished her +more than this revelation. + +“What matter is it to them?” she asked, naively. + +“Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral.” + +“And you, Laure, what do you say?” + +The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure +could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend’s +breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. + +“Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he cried, with enthusiasm, “I have finished my +picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, meanwhile? +Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or are they in +the country?” + +Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away. + +“The studio has been deserted for some days,” replied Ginevra, “and the +young ladies are not coming back.” + +“Pooh!” + +“Oh! don’t laugh,” said Ginevra. “Listen: I am the involuntary cause of +the loss of your reputation--” + +The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his pupil:-- + +“My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture will make it at the +Exposition.” + +“That relates to your talent,” replied the girl. “I am speaking of your +morality. Those young ladies have told their mothers that Luigi was shut +up here, and that you lent yourself--to--our love.” + +“There is some truth in that, mademoiselle,” replied the professor. +“The mothers of those young ladies are foolish women; if they had come +straight to me I should have explained the matter. But I don’t care a +straw about it! Life is short, anyhow.” + +And the painter snapped his fingers above his head. Luigi, who had heard +part of the conversation, came in. + +“You have lost all your scholars,” he cried. “I have ruined you!” + +The artist took Luigi’s hand and that of Ginevra, and joined them. + +“Marry one another, my children,” he said, with fatherly kindness. + +They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was the first avowal +they had made to each other of their love. + +“You will surely be happy,” said Servin. “There is nothing in life to +equal the happiness of two beings like yourselves when bound together in +love.” + +Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at first being able to +utter a word; but presently he said, in a voice of emotion:-- + +“To you I owe it all.” + +“Be happy! I bless and wed you,” said the painter, with comic unction, +laying his hands upon the heads of the lovers. + +This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. All three looked +at one another and laughed merrily. Ginevra pressed Luigi’s hand in a +strong clasp, with a simplicity of action worthy of the customs of her +native land. + +“Ah ca, my dear children,” resumed Servin, “you think that all will go +right now, but you are much mistaken.” + +The lovers looked at him in astonishment. + +“Don’t be anxious. I’m the only one that your romance will harm. But the +fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don’t really see +how we are to settle it with her.” + +“Heavens! and I forgot to tell you,” exclaimed Ginevra, “that Madame +Roguin and Laure’s mother are coming here to-morrow to--” + +“I understand,” said the painter. + +“But you can easily justify yourself,” continued the girl, with a proud +movement of her head. “Monsieur Luigi,” she added, turning to him with +an arch look, “will no longer object to entering the royal service. +Well, then,” after receiving a smile from the young man, “to-morrow +morning I will send a petition to one of the most influential persons at +the ministry of War,--a man who will refuse nothing to the daughter of +the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a ‘tacit’ pardon for Captain Luigi, +for, of course, they will not allow him the rank of major. And then,” + she added, addressing Servin, “you can confound the mothers of my +charitable companions by telling them the truth.” + +“You are an angel!” cried Servin. + +While this scene was passing at the studio the father and mother of +Ginevra were becoming impatient at her non-return. + +“It is six o’clock, and Ginevra not yet home!” cried Bartolomeo. + +“She was never so late before,” said his wife. + +The two old people looked at each other with an anxiety that was not +usual with them. Too anxious to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose +and walked about the salon with an active step for a man who was over +seventy-seven years of age. Thanks to his robust constitution, he had +changed but little since the day of his arrival in Paris, and, despite +his tall figure, he walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left +uncovered a broad and protuberant skull, which gave a strong idea of his +character and firmness. His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had taken, +with age, a nobler expression, preserving the pallid tones which inspire +veneration. The ardor of passions still lived in the fire of his eyes, +while the eyebrows, which were not wholly whitened, retained their +terrible mobility. The aspect of the head was stern, but it conveyed +the impression that Piombo had a right to be so. His kindness, his +gentleness were known only to his wife and daughter. In his functions, +or in presence of strangers, he never laid aside the majesty that time +had impressed upon his person; and the habit of frowning with his heavy +eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his face, and giving to his eyes a +Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of accosting others icy. + +During the course of his political life he had been so generally feared +that he was thought unsocial, and it is not difficult to explain the +causes of that opinion. The life, morals, and fidelity of Piombo made +him obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that delicate +missions were constantly intrusted to his discretion which to any other +man about the court would have proved lucrative, he possessed an income +of not more than thirty thousand francs from an investment in the Grand +Livre. If we recall the cheapness of government securities under the +Empire, and the liberality of Napoleon towards those of his faithful +servants who knew how to ask for it, we can readily see that the Baron +di Piombo must have been a man of stern integrity. He owed his plumage +as baron to the necessity Napoleon felt of giving him a title before +sending him on missions to foreign courts. + +Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the traitors with whom +Napoleon surrounded himself, expecting to bind them to his cause by dint +of victories. It was he of whom it is told that he made three steps to +the door of the Emperor’s cabinet after advising him to get rid of three +men in France on the eve of Napoleon’s departure for his celebrated +and admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of the Bourbons +Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of honor. No man +offered a finer image of those old Republicans, incorruptible friends +to the Empire, who remained the living relics of the two most energetic +governments the world has ever seen. Though the Baron di Piombo +displeased mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, and Carnots with +him as friends. As for the rest of the politicians, he cared not a whiff +of his cigar’s smoke for them, especially since Waterloo. + +Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which Madame +Mere, the Emperor’s mother, had paid him for his estates in Corsica, the +old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had made no changes. +Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he did not occupy this +house until after the catastrophe of Fontainebleau. Following the habits +of simple persons of strict virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed +to external splendor; their furniture was that which they bought with +the mansion. The grand apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide +mirrors in gilded frames that were almost black, the furniture of the +period of Louis XIV. were in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, +personages worthy of antiquity. + +Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising +functions that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had maintained +a great establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor to his office +than from any desire to shine himself. His life and that of his wife +were so frugal, so tranquil, that their modest fortune sufficed for all +their wants. To them, their daughter Ginevra was more precious than the +wealth of the whole world. When, therefore, in May, 1814, the Baron di +Piombo resigned his office, dismissed his crowd of servants, and closed +his stable door, Ginevra, quiet, simple and unpretending like her +parents, saw nothing to regret in the change. Like all great souls, she +found her luxury in strength of feeling, and derived her happiness from +quietness and work. These three beings loved each other too well for the +externals of existence to be of value in their eyes. + +Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon, +Bartolomeo and his wife passed delightful evenings alone with their +daughter, listening while she sang and played. To them there was a vast +secret pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that child; +their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; they heard her step in the +court-yard, lightly as she trod. Like lovers, the three would often +sit silently together, understanding thus, better than by speech, the +eloquence of their souls. This profound sentiment, the life itself of +the two old people, animated their every thought. Here were not three +existences, but one,--one only, which, like the flame on the hearth, +divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, occasionally, some memory +of Napoleon’s benefits and misfortunes, if the public events of the +moment distracted the minds of the old people from this source of their +constant solicitude, they could always talk of those interests without +affecting their community of thought, for Ginevra shared their political +passions. What more natural, therefore, than the ardor with which they +found a refuge in the heart of their only child? + +Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed the energy of the +Baron di Piombo; but after leaving those employments he felt the need of +casting that energy into the last sentiment that remained to him. Apart +from the ties of parentage, there may have been, unknown to these three +despotic souls, another powerful reason for the intensity of their +reciprocal love: it was love undivided. Ginevra’s whole heart belonged +to her father, as Piombo’s whole heart belonged to his child; and if it +be true that we are bound to one another more by our defects than by +our virtues, Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the passions of her +father. There lay the sole imperfection of this triple life. Ginevra was +born unyielding of will, vindictive, and passionate, like her father in +his youth. + +The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these savage sentiments in +the heart of his daughter, precisely as a lion teaches the lion-cubs to +spring upon their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance having +no means of action in their family life, it came to pass that Ginevra +turned the principle against her father; as a child she forgave him +nothing, and he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more than +childish nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the child was +all the while acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. In the midst, +however, of the tempests which the father was fond of exciting, a look, +a word of tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls, and often +they were never so near to a kiss as when they were threatening each +other vehemently. + +Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her +father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love +which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got +the better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had +resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother on +the footing of an equality which is always dangerous. + +Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to +study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had +studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,--taking up and +leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had +proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble woman +had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of enlightening her +mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature; her defects came +from the fatal education which the old Corsican had found delight in +giving her. + +After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the bell; +a servant entered. + +“Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra,” said his master. + +“I always regret our carriage on her account,” remarked the baroness. + +“She said she did not want one,” replied Piombo, looking at his wife, +who, accustomed for forty years to habits of obedience, lowered her eyes +and said no more. + +Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and wrinkled, the +baroness exactly resembled those old women whom Schnetz puts into the +Italian scenes of his “genre” pictures. She was so habitually +silent that she might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; but, +occasionally, a word, look, or gesture betrayed that her feelings still +retained all the vigor and the freshness of their youth. Her dress, +devoid of coquetry, was often in bad taste. She usually sat passive, +buried in a low sofa, like a Sultana Valide, awaiting or admiring her +Ginevra, her pride, her life. The beauty, toilet, and grace of her +daughter seemed to have become her own. All was well with her if Ginevra +was happy. Her hair was white, and a few strands only were seen above +her white and wrinkled forehead, or beside her hollow cheeks. + +“It is now fifteen days,” she said, “since Ginevra made a practice of +being late.” + +“Jean is so slow!” cried the impatient old man, buttoning up his blue +coat and seizing his hat, which he dashed upon his head as he took his +cane and departed. + +“You will not get far,” said his wife, calling after him. + +As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, and the old mother +heard the steps of her Ginevra in the court-yard. Bartolomeo almost +instantly reappeared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in his arms. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. LOVE + + +“Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!” + cried the old man. + +“Oh, father, you hurt me!” + +Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her +head with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her +cry, as if to say, “Don’t be alarmed, it was only a trick to get away.” + +The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even +assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,--with him +the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he +saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers who +served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of his +face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. +These two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of a +drooping plant to which a little water has given fresh life after long +dryness. + +“Now, to dinner! to dinner!” cried the baron, offering his large hand to +his daughter, whom he called “Signora Piombellina,”--another symptom of +gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile. + +“Ah ca!” said Piombo, as they left the table, “your mother has called +my attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much longer +than usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you than +your parents--” + +“Oh, father!” + +“Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think,” said the mother. + +“A picture of your own! will you bring us that?” cried the Corsican, +clapping his hands. + +“Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio,” replied Ginevra, rather +slowly. + +“What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!” cried her mother. + +“No!” exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,--“no! it shall +never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie.” + +Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their +daughter in astonishment. + +“I love a young man,” she added, in a voice of emotion. + +Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large +eyelids as if to veil the fire of her eyes. + +“Is he a prince?” asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice which +made the mother quail. + +“No, father,” she said, gently, “he is a young man without fortune.” + +“Is he very handsome?” + +“He is very unfortunate.” + +“What is he?” + +“Labedoyere’s comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin +concealed him, and--” + +“Servin is a good fellow, who has done well,” cried Piombo; “but you, my +daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father.” + +“It does not depend on me to love, or not to love,” replied Ginevra, +still gently. + +“I flattered myself,” continued her father, “that my Ginevra would be +faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother +would suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness would +find a rival in her soul, and--” + +“Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?” said +Ginevra. “Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me +for months together when you went on missions. I bore your absence +courageously. Life has necessities to which we must all submit.” + +“Ginevra!” + +“No, you don’t love me for myself; your reproaches betray your +intolerable egotism.” + +“You dare to blame your father’s love!” exclaimed Piombo, his eyes +flashing. + +“Father, I don’t blame you,” replied Ginevra, with more gentleness than +her trembling mother expected. “You have grounds for your egotism, as I +have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has ever fulfilled +her duty to her parents better than I have done to you. I have never +felt anything but love and happiness where others often see obligation. +It is now fifteen years that I have never left your protecting wing, +and it has been a most dear pleasure to me to charm your life. But am I +ungrateful for all this in giving myself up to the joy of loving; is it +ingratitude to desire a husband who will protect me hereafter?” + +“What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?” said Piombo, +in a dangerous tone. + +A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. +Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending +tone:-- + +“Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot +have you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await your +liberty.” + +“But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to +love you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath me. +You will be doubly cherished by me and by him,--by him who is my other +self, by me who am all his.” + +“Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!” cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; “why +did you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did +you not take the counts and dukes he presented to you?” + +“They loved me to order,” said the girl. “Besides, they would have made +me live with them, and I did not wish to leave you alone.” + +“You don’t wish to leave me alone,” said Piombo, “and yet you +marry!--that is leaving me alone. I know you, my daughter; in that case, +you would cease to love us. Elisa,” he added, looking at his wife, who +remained motionless, and as if stupefied, “we have no longer a daughter; +she wishes to marry.” + +The old man sat down, after raising his hands to heaven with a gesture +of invoking the Divine power; then he bowed himself over as if weighed +down with sorrow. + +Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which he put upon his +anger touched her to the heart; she expected some violent crisis, +some ungovernable fury; she had not armed her soul against paternal +gentleness. + +“Father,” she said, in a tender voice, “no, you shall never be abandoned +by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If you know how +he loves me! Ah! _He_ would never make me unhappy!” + +“Comparisons already!” cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. “No, I can +never endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve +to be loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a +dagger through him.” + +The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body trembled, +but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to endure his +glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was worthy of the +sire. + +“Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?” continued Piombo. +“To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there worthy to be +your husband?” + +“_He_,” said Ginevra; “he of whom I am not worthy.” + +“He?” repeated Piombo, mechanically; “who is _he_?” + +“He whom I love.” + +“How can he know you enough to love you?” + +“Father,” said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, “whether he loves +me or not, if I love him--” + +“You love him?” cried Piombo. + +Ginevra bent her head softly. + +“You love him more than you love us?” + +“The two feelings cannot be compared,” she replied. + +“Is one stronger than the other?” + +“I think it is,” said Ginevra. + +“You shall not marry him,” cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the +window-panes. + +“I shall marry him,” replied Ginevra, tranquilly. + +“Oh, God!” cried the mother, “how will this quarrel end? Santa Virgina! +place thyself between them!” + +The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated +himself; an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his +daughter, and said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,-- + +“Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night--let +me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his knees, his +white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you--” + +“Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it,” she replied. “I am +your daughter.” + +“She is right,” said the baroness. “We are sent into the world to +marry.” + +“Do you encourage her in disobedience?” said the baron to his wife, who, +terrified by the word, now changed to marble. + +“Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedience,” said Ginevra. + +“No order can be unjust from the lips of your father, my daughter. Why +do you judge my action? The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on +high, sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil.” + +“The only evil could be that he did not love me.” + +“Always _he_!” + +“Yes, always,” she answered. “He is my life, my good, my thought. Even +if I obeyed you he would be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him +is to make me hate you.” + +“You love us not!” cried Piombo. + +“Oh!” said Ginevra, shaking her head. + +“Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After we are gone--you +understand?” + +“Father, do you wish me to long for your death?” cried Ginevra. + +“I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor their parents die +early,” said the father, driven to exasperation. + +“All the more reason why I should marry and be happy,” she replied. + +This coolness and power of argument increased Piombo’s trouble; the +blood rushed violently to his head, and his face turned purple. Ginevra +shuddered; she sprang like a bird on her father’s knee, threw her arms +around his neck, and caressed his white hair, exclaiming, tenderly:-- + +“Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never survive you, my father, +my kind father!” + +“Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!” replied Piombo, whose anger melted +under this caress like snow beneath the rays of the sun. + +“It was time you ceased,” said the baroness, in a trembling voice. + +“Poor mother!” + +“Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra!” + +And the father played with his daughter as though she were a child of +six. He amused himself by releasing the waving volume of her hair, +by dandling her on his knee; there was something of madness in these +expressions of his love. Presently his daughter scolded while kissing +him, and tried, by jesting, to obtain admission for Luigi; but her +father, also jesting, refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once +more, and sulked again, until, by the end of the evening, she was forced +to be content with having impressed upon her father’s mind both her love +for Luigi and the idea of an approaching marriage. + +The next day she said no more about her love; she was more caressing to +her father than she had ever been, and testified the utmost gratitude, +as if to thank him for the consent he seemed to have given by his +silence. That evening she sang and played to him for a long time, +exclaiming now and then: “We want a man’s voice for this nocturne.” + Ginevra was an Italian, and that says all. + +At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She went; and Elisa +Piombo whispered in her ear:-- + +“I have persuaded your father to receive him.” + +“Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!” + +That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on the arm of her Luigi. +The officer came out of his hiding-place for the second time only. The +earnest appeals which Ginevra made to the Duc de Feltre, then minister +of war, had been crowned with complete success. Luigi’s name was +replaced upon the roll of officers awaiting orders. This was the first +great step toward better things. Warned by Ginevra of the difficulties +he would encounter with her father, the young man dared not express his +fear of finding it impossible to please the old man. Courageous under +adversity, brave on a battlefield, he trembled at the thought of +entering Piombo’s salon. Ginevra felt him tremble, and this emotion, the +source of which lay in her, was, to her eyes, another proof of love. + +“How pale you are!” she said to him when they reached the door of the +house. + +“Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only!--” + +Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of the formal +presentation Ginevra was to make of her lover, he would not advance to +meet him, but remained seated in his usual arm-chair, and the sternness +of his brow was awful. + +“Father,” said Ginevra, “I bring you a person you will no doubt +be pleased to see,--a soldier who fought beside the Emperor at +Mont-Saint-Jean.” + +The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance at Luigi, and said, in a sardonic +tone:-- + +“Monsieur is not decorated.” + +“I no longer wear the Legion of honor,” replied Luigi, timidly, still +standing. + +Ginevra, mortified by her father’s incivility, dragged forward a chair. +The officer’s answer seemed to satisfy the old servant of Napoleon. +Madame Piombo, observing that her husband’s eyebrows were resuming their +natural position, said, by way of conversation: + +“Monsieur’s resemblance to a person we knew in Corsica, Nina Porta, is +really surprising.” + +“Nothing could be more natural,” replied the young man, on whose face +Piombo’s flaming eyes now rested. “Nina was my sister.” + +“Are you Luigi Porta?” asked the old man. + +“Yes.” + +Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against a chair and +beckon to his wife. Elisa Piombo came to him. Then the two old people, +silently, each supporting the other, left the room, abandoning their +daughter with a sort of horror. + +Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had turned as white as a +marble statue, and stood gazing at the door through which her father and +mother had disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed to her +so solemn that, for the first time, in her whole life, a feeling of fear +entered her soul. She struck her hands together with great force, and +said, in a voice so shaken that none but a lover could have heard the +words:-- + +“What misery in a word!” + +“In the name of our love, what have I said?” asked Luigi Porta. + +“My father,” she replied, “never spoke to me of our deplorable history, +and I was too young when we left Corsica to know anything about it.” + +“Are we in vendetta?” asked Luigi, trembling. + +“Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas killed my brother and +burned our house. My father then massacred the whole family. How is it +that you survived?--for you were tied to the posts of the bed before +they set fire to the house.” + +“I do not know,” replied Luigi. “I was taken to Genoa when six years +old, and given in charge of an old man named Colonna. No detail about +my family was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, and without +property. Old Colonna was a father to me; and I bore his name until I +entered the army. In order to do that, I had to show my certificate of +birth in order to prove my identity. Colonna then told me, still a +mere child, that I had enemies. And he advised me to take Luigi as my +surname, and so evade them.” + +“Go, go, Luigi!” cried Ginevra. “No, stay; I must go with you. So long +as you are in my father’s house you have nothing to fear; but the moment +you leave it, take care! you will go from danger to danger. My father +has two Corsicans in his service, and if he does not lie in wait to kill +you, they will.” + +“Ginevra,” he said, “this feud, does it exist between you and me?” + +The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presently she raised it, and +said, with a sort of pride:-- + +“Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, indeed, to give me +strength to tread the path I am about to enter. But it involves a +happiness that will last throughout our lives, will it not?” + +Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. + +Ginevra comprehended that true love could despise all vulgar +protestations at such a moment. This calm and restrained expression +of his feelings foreshadowed, in some sense, their strength and their +duration. + +The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. Ginevra foresaw a +cruel struggle, but the idea of abandoning Luigi--an idea which may have +floated in her soul--vanished completely. His forever, she dragged him +suddenly, with a desperate sort of energy, from her father’s house, +and did not leave him till she saw him reach the house where Servin had +engaged a modest lodging. + +By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained to that serenity +which is caused by a firm resolution; no sign in her manner betrayed +uneasiness. She turned on her father and mother, whom she found in the +act of sitting down to dinner, a glance of exceeding gentleness devoid +of hardihood. She saw that her mother had been weeping; the redness of +those withered eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emotion. No one +touched the dinner which was served to them. A horror of food is one of +the chief symptoms which reveal a great crisis in life. All three rose +from table without having addressed a single word to one another. + +When Ginevra had placed herself between her father and mother in the +great and gloomy salon, Piombo tried to speak, but his voice failed him; +he tried to walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned to his +seat and rang the bell. + +“Pietro,” he said, at last, to the footman, “light the fire; I am cold.” + +Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anxiously. The struggle +within him must have been horrible, for his face was distorted. Ginevra +knew the extent of the peril before her, but she did not flinch. +Bartolomeo, meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his daughter, as if he +feared a character whose violence was the work of his own hands. + +Between such natures all things must be extreme. The certainty of some +impending change in the feelings of father and daughter gave to the worn +and weary face of the baroness an expression of terror. + +“Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family,” said Piombo, at last, not +daring to look at his daughter. + +“That is true,” she replied. + +“You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a part of our being. Whoso +does not share my vengeance is not a member of my family.” + +“My choice is made,” replied Ginevra, calmly. + +His daughter’s tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. + +“Oh! my dear child!” he cried, letting her see his eyes moistened with +tears, the first and only tears he ever shed in life. + +“I shall be his wife,” said Ginevra, abruptly. + +Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he recovered his coolness +instantly, and replied:-- + +“The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I will never consent +to it.” + +Ginevra kept silence. + +“Ginevra,” continued the baron, “have you reflected that Luigi is the +son of the man who killed your brother?” + +“He was six years old when that crime was committed; he was, therefore, +not guilty of it,” she replied. + +“He is a Porta!” cried Bartolomeo. + +“I have never shared that hatred,” said Ginevra, eagerly. “You did not +bring me up to think a Porta must be a monster. How could I know that +one of those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is it not natural +that you should now yield your vendetta to my feelings?” + +“A Porta!” repeated Piombo. “If his father had found you in your bed you +would not be living now; he would have taken your life a hundred times.” + +“It may be so,” she answered; “but his son has given me life, and more +than life. To see Luigi is a happiness without which I cannot live. +Luigi has revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, perhaps, have +seen faces more beautiful than his, but none has ever charmed me thus; +I may have heard voices--no, no, never any so melodious! Luigi loves me; +he will be my husband.” + +“Never,” said Piombo. “I would rather see you in your coffin, Ginevra.” + +The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and down the salon, +dropping the following sentences, one by one, after pauses which +betrayed his agitation. + +“You think you can bend my will. Undeceive yourself. A Porta shall never +be my son; that is my decree. Let there be no further question of this +between us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, Ginevra?” + +“Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those words?” she asked, +coldly. + +“They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not fear man’s justice. +Corsicans explain themselves to God.” + +“And I,” said the daughter, rising, “am Ginevra Piombo, and I declare +that within six months I shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a +tyrant, my father,” she added, after a terrifying pause. + +Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on the marble of the +chimneypiece. + +“Ah! we are in Paris!” he muttered. + +Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head on his breast, and +said not another word during the whole evening. + +After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra affected inconceivable +coolness. She opened the piano and sang, played charming nocturnes and +scherzos with a grace and sentiment which displayed a perfect freedom +of mind, thus triumphing over her father, whose darkling face showed +no softening. The old man was cruelly hurt by this tacit insult; he +gathered in this one moment the bitter fruits of the training he had +given to his daughter. Respect is a barrier which protects parents as it +does children, sparing grief to the former, remorse to the latter. + +The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the house at the hour when +she usually went to the studio, she found the gates of the mansion +closed to her. She said nothing, but soon found means to inform Luigi +Porta of her father’s severity. A chambermaid, who could neither read +nor write, was able to carry letters between the lovers. For five days +they corresponded thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of the youth. + +The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. Both were nursing in +the depths of their heart a sentiment of hatred; they suffered, but they +suffered proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong were the ties +of love which bound them to each other, they each tried to break them, +but without success. No gentle thought came, as formerly, to brighten +the stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his Ginevra. The girl +had something savage in her eye when she looked at her father; reproach +sat enthroned on that innocent brow; she gave herself up, it is true, to +happy thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse seemed to dull her eyes. It +was not difficult to believe that she could never enjoy, peacefully, any +happiness which caused sorrow to her parents. + +With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesitations of this period +caused by the native goodness of their souls were, nevertheless, +compelled to give way before their pride and the rancor of their +Corsican nature. They encouraged each other in their anger, and closed +their eyes to the future. Perhaps they mutually flattered themselves +that the one would yield to the other. + +At last, on Ginevra’s birthday, her mother, in despair at the +estrangement which, day by day, assumed a more serious character, +meditated an attempt to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of +the memories of this family anniversary. They were all three sitting in +Bartolomeo’s study. Ginevra guessed her mother’s intention by the timid +hesitation on her face, and she smiled sadly. + +At this moment a servant announced two notaries, accompanied by +witnesses. Bartolomeo looked fixedly at these persons, whose cold and +formal faces were grating to souls so passionately strained as those of +the three chief actors in this scene. The old man turned to his daughter +and looked at her uneasily. He saw upon her face a smile of triumph +which made him expect some shock; but, after the manner of savages, +he affected to maintain a deceitful indifference as he gazed at the +notaries with an assumed air of calm curiosity. The strangers sat down, +after being invited to do so by a gesture of the old man. + +“Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?” began the oldest of the +notaries. + +Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight inclination of the head, +looked at Ginevra with a sly expression, took out his snuff-box, opened +it, and slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words with which +to open his errand; then, while uttering them, he made continual pauses +(an oratorical manoeuvre very imperfectly represented by the printer’s +dash--). + +“Monsieur,” he said, “I am Monsieur Roguin, your daughter’s notary, +and we have come--my colleague and I--to fulfil the intentions +of the law and--put an end to the divisions which--appear--to +exist--between yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter,--on the +subject--of--her--marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta.” + +This speech, pedantically delivered, probably seemed to Monsieur Roguin +so fine that his hearer could not at once understand it. He paused, and +looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of the mere business +lawyer, a mixture of servility with familiarity. Accustomed to feign +much interest in the persons with whom they deal, notaries have at last +produced upon their features a grimace of their own, which they take +on and off as an official “pallium.” This mask of benevolence, the +mechanism of which is so easy to perceive, irritated Bartolomeo to such +an extent that he was forced to collect all the powers of his reason +to prevent him from throwing Monsieur Roguin through the window. An +expression of anger ran through his wrinkles, which caused the notary to +think to himself: “I’ve produced an effect.” + +“But,” he continued, in a honeyed tone, “Monsieur le baron, on such +occasions our duties are preceded by--efforts at--conciliation--Deign, +therefore, to have the goodness to listen to me--It is in evidence that +Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo--attains this very day--the age at which +the law allows a respectful summons before proceeding to the celebration +of a marriage--in spite of the non-consent of the parents. Now--it is +usual in families--who enjoy a certain consideration--who belong to +society--who preserve some dignity--to whom, in short, it is desirable +not to let the public into the secret of their differences--and who, +moreover, do not wish to injure themselves by blasting with reprobation +the future of a young couple (for--that is injuring themselves), it +is usual, I say--among these honorable families--not to allow these +summonses--to take place--or remain--a monument to--divisions which +should end--by ceasing--Whenever, monsieur, a young lady has recourse to +respectful summons, she exhibits a determination too marked to allow +of a father--of a mother,” here he turned to the baroness, “hoping or +expecting that she will follow their wishes--Paternal resistance being +null--by reason of this fact--in the first place--and also from its +being nullified by law, it is customary--for every sensible man--after +making a final remonstrance to his child--and before she proceeds to the +respectful summons--to leave her at liberty to--” + +Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might talk on for two hours +without obtaining any answer; he felt, moreover, a singular emotion at +the aspect of the man he was attempting to convert. An extraordinary +revolution had taken place on Piombo’s face; his wrinkles, contracting +into narrow lines, gave him a look of indescribable cruelty, and he +cast upon the notary the glance of a tiger. The baroness was mute and +passive. Ginevra, calm and resolute, waited silently; she knew that the +notary’s voice was more potent than hers, and she seemed to have decided +to say nothing. At the moment when Roguin ceased speaking, the scene had +become so terrifying that the men who were there as witnesses trembled; +never, perhaps, had they known so awful a silence. The notaries looked +at each other, as if in consultation, and finally rose and walked to the +window. + +“Did you ever meet people born into the world like that?” asked Roguin +of his brother notary. + +“You can’t get anything out of him,” replied the younger man. “In +your place, I should simply read the summons. That old fellow isn’t a +comfortable person; he is furious, and you’ll gain nothing whatever by +arguing with him.” + +Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, containing the “respectful +summons,” prepared for the occasion; after which he proceeded to ask +Bartolomeo what answer he made to it. + +“Are there laws in France which destroy paternal authority?--” demanded +the Corsican. + +“Monsieur--” said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. + +“Which tear a daughter from her father?--” + +“Monsieur--” + +“Which deprive an old man of his last consolation?--” + +“Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you if--” + +“And kill him?--” + +“Monsieur, permit me--” + +There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and precise reasoning +of notaries amid the many passionate scenes in which they are accustomed +to take part. + +The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his eyes, escaped from +hell; his repressed and concentrated rage knew no longer any bounds +as the calm and fluted voice of the little notary uttered the words: +“permit me.” By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger that was hanging +to a nail above the fireplace, and rushed toward his daughter. The +younger of the two notaries and one of the witnesses threw themselves +before Ginevra; but Piombo knocked them violently down, his face on +fire, and his eyes casting flames more terrifying than the glitter of +the dagger. When Ginevra saw him approach her she looked at him with an +air of triumph, and advancing slowly, knelt down. “No, no! I cannot!” he +cried, flinging away the weapon, which buried itself in the wainscot. + +“Well, then! have mercy! have pity!” she said. “You hesitate to be my +death, and you refuse me life! Oh! father, never have I loved you as I +do at this moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon my knees: +a daughter can humiliate herself before her father. My Luigi, give me my +Luigi, or I die!” + +The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped her words, for she +had no voice; her convulsive movements showed plainly that she lay, as +it were, between life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from him. + +“Go,” he said. “The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be a Piombo. I have no +daughter. I have not the strength to curse you, but I cast you off; you +have no father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here,” he said, in a deep +voice, pressing violently on his heart. “Go, leave my house, unhappy +girl,” he added, after a moment’s silence. “Go, and never come into my +sight again.” + +So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate of the house and +silently put her out. + +“Luigi!” cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodging of her lover,--“my +Luigi, we have no other fortune than our love.” + +“Then am I richer than the kings of the earth!” he cried. + +“My father and my mother have cast me off,” she said, in deepest +sadness. + +“I will love you in place of them.” + +“Then let us be happy,--we WILL be happy!” she cried, with a gayety in +which there was something dreadful. + + + + +CHAPTER V. MARRIAGE + + +The day after Ginevra was driven from her father’s house she went to ask +Madame Servin for asylum and protection until the period fixed by law +for her marriage to Luigi. + +Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble which the world strews +about the path of those who do not follow its conventions. Madame Servin +received her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm which Ginevra’s +affair had inflicted on her husband, and told her, in politely cautious +words, that she must not count on her help in future. Too proud to +persist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto unknown to her, the girl +took a room in the lodging-house that was nearest to that of Luigi. The +son of the Portas passed all his days at the feet of his future wife; +and his youthful love, the purity of his words, dispersed the clouds +from the mind of the banished daughter; the future was so beautiful +as he painted it that she ended by smiling joyfully, though without +forgetting her father’s severity. + +One morning the servant of the lodging house brought to Ginevra’s room +a number of trunks and packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and +a great quantity of other articles necessary for a young wife in setting +up a home of her own. In this welcome provision she recognized her +mother’s foresight, and, on examining the gifts, she found a purse, in +which the baroness had put the money belonging to her daughter, adding +to it the amount of her own savings. The purse was accompanied by a +letter, in which the mother implored the daughter to forego the fatal +marriage if it were still possible to do so. It had cost her, she +said, untold difficulty to send these few things to her daughter; she +entreated her not to think her hard if, henceforth, she were forced to +abandon her to want; she feared she could never again assist her; but +she blessed her and prayed for her happiness in this fatal marriage, if, +indeed, she persisted in making it, assuring her that she should never +cease to think of her darling child. Here the falling tears had effaced +some words of the letter. + +“Oh, mother!” cried Ginevra, deeply moved. + +She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the blessed air of her +father’s house, to fling herself at his feet, to see her mother. She was +springing forward to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At the +mere sight of him her filial emotion vanished; her tears were +stopped, and she no longer had the strength to abandon that loving and +unfortunate youth. To be the sole hope of a noble being, to love him and +then abandon him!--that sacrifice is the treachery of which young hearts +are incapable. Ginevra had the generosity to bury her own grief and +suffering silently in her soul. + +The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend with her. While she was +dressing, Luigi fetched the witnesses necessary to sign the certificate +of marriage. These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a cavalry +sergeant, was under obligations to Luigi, contracted on the battlefield, +obligations which are never obliterated from the heart of an honest man; +the other, a master-mason, was the proprietor of the house in which the +young couple had hired an apartment for their future home. Each witness +brought a friend, and all four, with Luigi, came to escort the bride. +Little accustomed to social functions, and seeing nothing in the service +they were rendering to Luigi but a simple matter of business, they were +dressed in their ordinary clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about +them denoted the usual joy of a marriage procession. + +Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her present fortunes; +and yet her beauty was so noble and so imposing that the words of +greeting died away on the lips of the witnesses, who supposed themselves +obliged to pay her some usual compliments. They bowed to her with +respect, and she returned the bow; but they did so in silence, looking +at her with admiration. This reserve cast a chill over the whole party. +Joy never bursts forth freely except among those who are equals. Thus +chance determined that all should be dull and grave around the bridal +pair; nothing reflected, outwardly, the happiness that reigned within +their hearts. + +The church and the mayor’s office being near by, Luigi and Ginevra, +followed by the four witnesses required by law, walked the distance, +with a simplicity that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in +social life. They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the mayor’s +court-yard; and when they reached the great hall where the civil +marriages take place, they found two other wedding-parties impatiently +awaiting the mayor’s arrival. + +Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long bench; their +witnesses remained standing, for want of seats. Two brides, elaborately +dressed in white, with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and crowned with +orange-blossoms whose satiny petals nodded beneath their veils, were +surrounded by joyous families, and accompanied by their mothers, to +whom they looked up, now and then, with eyes that were content and timid +both; the faces of all the rest reflected happiness, and seemed to be +invoking blessings on the youthful pairs. Fathers, witnesses, brothers, +and sisters went and came, like a happy swarm of insects disporting +in the sun. Each seemed to be impressed with the value of this passing +moment of life, when the heart finds itself within two hopes,--the +wishes of the past, the promises of the future. + +As she watched them, Ginevra’s heart swelled within her; she pressed +Luigi’s arm, and gave him a look. A tear rolled from the eyes of the +young Corsican; never did he so well understand the joys that his +Ginevra was sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her to forget +all else but him,--even the abandonment in which she sat there. Love +poured down its treasures of light upon their hearts; they saw nought +else but themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they were there +alone, in that crowd, as they were destined to be, henceforth, in life. +Their witnesses, indifferent to what was happening, conversed quietly on +their own affairs. + +“Oats are very dear,” said the sergeant to the mason. + +“But they have not gone up like lime, relatively speaking,” replied the +contractor. + +Then they walked round the hall. + +“How one loses time here,” said the mason, replacing a thick silver +watch in his fob. + +Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, seemed like one +person. A poet would have admired their two heads, inspired by the same +sentiment, colored in the same tones, silent and saddened in presence +of that humming happiness sparkling in diamonds, gay with flowers,--a +gayety in which there was something fleeting. The joy of those noisy +and splendid groups was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi was buried +in their bosom. On one side the tumult of common pleasure, on the other, +the delicate silence of happy souls,--earth and heaven! + +But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weaknesses of women. +Superstitious as an Italian, she saw an omen in this contrast, and in +her heart there lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. + +Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, opened a folding-door. +Silence reigned, and his voice was heard, like the yapping of a dog, +calling Monsieur Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo. +This caused some embarrassment to the young pair. The celebrity of the +bride’s name attracted attention, and the spectators seemed to wonder +that the wedding was not more sumptuous. Ginevra rose, took Luigi’s arm, +and advanced firmly, followed by the witnesses. A murmur of surprise, +which went on increasing, and a general whispering reminded Ginevra that +all present were wondering at the absence of her parents; her father’s +wrath seemed present to her. + +“Call in the families,” said the mayor to the clerk whose business it +was to read aloud the certificates. + +“The father and mother protest,” replied the clerk, phlegmatically. + +“On both sides?” inquired the mayor. + +“The groom is an orphan.” + +“Where are the witnesses?” + +“Here,” said the clerk, pointing to the four men, who stood with arms +folded, like so many statues. + +“But if the parents protest--” began the mayor. + +“The respectful summons has been duly served,” replied the clerk, +rising, to lay before the mayor the papers annexed to the marriage +certificate. + +This bureaucratic decision had something blighting about it; in a few +words it contained the whole story. The hatred of the Portas and the +Piombos and their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of the +civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it may be, in one word +only,--Napoleon, Robespierre) are engraved on a tombstone. Ginevra +trembled. Like the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to +rest its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge only in the eyes +of Luigi from the cold and dreary waste around her. + +The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and his clerk looked up +at the couple with malicious curiosity. No marriage was ever so little +festal. Like other human beings when deprived of their accessories, it +became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. + +After a few questions, to which the bride and bridegroom responded, and +a few words mumbled by the mayor, and after signing the registers, with +their witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. Then the wedded +pair walked back through two lines of joyous relations who did not +belong to them, and whose only interest in their marriage was the +delay caused to their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. When, at last, +Ginevra found herself in the mayor’s court-yard, under the open sky, a +sigh escaped her breast. + +“Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove my gratitude for +your courage and tenderness, my Ginevra?” said Luigi. + +At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride forgot her sufferings; +for she had indeed suffered in presenting herself before the public to +obtain a happiness her parents refused to sanction. + +“Why should others come between us?” she said with an artlessness of +feeling that delighted Luigi. + +A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step of the young pair +lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor earth, nor houses; they flew, as +it were, on wings to the church. When they reached a dark little chapel +in one corner of the building, and stood before a plain undecorated +altar, an old priest married them. There, as in the mayor’s office, two +other marriages were taking place, still pursuing them with pomp. The +church, filled with friends and relations, echoed with the roll of +carriages, and the hum of beadles, sextons, and priests. Altars were +resplendent with sacramental luxury; the wreaths of orange-flowers that +crowned the figures of the Virgin were fresh. Flowers, incense, gleaming +tapers, velvet cushions embroidered with gold, were everywhere. When +the time came to hold above the heads of Luigi and Ginevra the symbol +of eternal union,--that yoke of satin, white, soft, brilliant, light +for some, lead for most,--the priest looked about him in vain for the +acolytes whose place it was to perform that joyous function. Two of the +witnesses fulfilled it for them. The priest addressed a hasty homily +to the pair on the perils of life, on the duties they must, some day, +inculcate upon their children,--throwing in, at this point, an indirect +reproach to Ginevra on the absence of her parents; then, after uniting +them before God, as the mayor had united them before the law, he left +the now married couple. + +“God bless them!” said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to the mason, when they +reached the church porch. “No two creatures were ever more fitted for +one another. The parents of the girl are foolish. I don’t know a braver +soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole army had behaved like him, +‘l’autre’ would be here still.” + +This blessing of the old soldier, the only one bestowed upon their +marriage-day, shed a balm on Ginevra’s heart. + +They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi thanked his landlord. + +“Adieu, ‘mon brave,’” he said to the sergeant. “I thank you.” + +“I am now and ever at your service, colonel,--soul, body, horses, and +carriages; all that is mine is yours.” + +“How he loves you!” said Ginevra. + +Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were to occupy. Their +modest apartment was soon reached; and there, when the door closed upon +them, Luigi took his wife in his arms, exclaiming,-- + +“Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is our true wedding. Here,” + he added, “all things will smile upon us.” + +Together they went through the three rooms contained in their lodging. +The room first entered served as salon and dining-room in one; on +the right was a bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had +arranged for his wife; in it she found easels, color-boxes, lay-figures, +casts, pictures, portfolios,--in short, the paraphernalia of an artist. + +“So here I am to work!” she said, with an expression of childlike +happiness. + +She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, turning again +and again to thank Luigi, for there was something that approached +magnificence in the little retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite +books; a piano filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon a divan, +drew Luigi to her side, and said, in a caressing voice, her hand in +his,-- + +“You have good taste.” + +“Those words make me happy,” he replied. + +“But let me see all,” said Ginevra, to whom Luigi had made a mystery of +the adornment of the rooms. + +They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white as a virgin. + +“Oh! come away,” said Luigi, smiling. + +“But I wish to see all.” + +And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of furniture with the +minute care of an antiquary examining a coin; she touched the silken +hangings, and went over every article with the artless satisfaction of a +bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. + +“We begin by ruining ourselves,” she said, in a half-joyous, +half-anxious tone. + +“True! for all my back pay is there,” replied Luigi. “I have mortgaged +it to a worthy fellow named Gigonnet.” + +“Why did you do so?” she said, in a tone of reproach, through which +could be heard her inward satisfaction. “Do you believe I should be +less happy in a garret? But,” she added, “it is all charming, and--it is +ours!” + +Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she lowered her eyes. + +“Now let us see the rest,” she cried. + +Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a study for Luigi, a +kitchen, and a servant’s-room. Ginevra was much pleased with her little +domain, although the view from the windows was limited by the high wall +of a neighboring house, and the court-yard, from which their light was +derived, was gloomy. But the two lovers were so happy in heart, hope +so adorned their future, that they chose to see nothing but what was +charming in their hidden nest. They were there in that vast house, lost +in the immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their shell in the depths +of ocean; to all others it might have seemed a prison; to them it was +paradise. + +The first few days of their union were given to love. The effort to turn +at once to work was too difficult; they could not resist the charm of +their own passion. Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his wife, admiring +the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, the enchanting +socket of her eyes, the purity and whiteness of the two arches beneath +which the eyes themselves turned slowly, expressing the happiness of a +satisfied love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, never weary of +gazing at what she called his “belta folgorante,” and the delicacy of +his features. She was constantly charmed by the nobility of his manners, +as she herself attracted him by the grace of hers. + +They played together, like children, with nothings,--nothings that +brought them ever back to their love,--ceasing their play only to fall +into a revery of the “far niente.” An air sung by Ginevra reproduced +to their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their passion. +Together, uniting their steps as they did their souls, they roamed about +the country, finding everywhere their love,--in the flowers, in the +sky, in the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in even +the capricious vapors which met and struggled in the ether. Each day +resembled in nothing its predecessors; their love increased, and still +increased, because it was a true love. They had tested each other in +what seemed only a short time; and, instinctively, they recognized that +their souls were of a kind whose inexhaustible riches promised for the +future unceasing joys. + +Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its interminable +conversations, unfinished speeches, long silences, oriental reposes, and +oriental ardor. Luigi and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like the +ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called monotonous by +common souls, whereas some privileged beings can pass their lives in +admiring it, and in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that +enchant them. + +Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the young couple from their +Eden; it was necessary to work to live. Ginevra, who possessed a special +talent for imitating old paintings, took up the business of copying, and +soon found many customers among the picture-dealers. Luigi, on his side, +sought long and actively for occupation, but it was hard for a young +officer whose talents had been restricted to the study of strategy to +find anything to do in Paris. + +At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with despair at seeing +the whole burden of their subsistence falling on Ginevra, it occurred +to him to make use of his handwriting, which was excellent. With a +persistency of which he saw an example in his wife, he went round +among the layers and notaries of Paris, asking for papers to copy. The +frankness of his manners and his situation interested many in his favor; +he soon obtained enough work to be obliged to find young men to assist +him; and this employment became, little by little, a regular business. +The profits of his office and the sale of Ginevra’s pictures gave the +young couple a competence of which they were justly proud, for it was +the fruit of their industry. + +This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of their lives. The days +flowed rapidly by, filled with occupation and the joys of their love. At +night, after working all day, they met with delight in Ginevra’s studio. +Music refreshed their weariness. No expression of regret or melancholy +obscured the happy features of the young wife, and never did she utter a +complaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a smile upon her lips and her +eyes beaming. Each cherished a ruling thought which would have made them +take pleasure in a labor still more severe; Ginevra said in her heart +that she worked for Luigi, and Luigi the same for Ginevra. + +Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the thought of the perfect +happiness she might have had if this life of love could have been lived +in the presence of her father and mother overcame the young wife; +and then, as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped +into melancholy; mournful pictures passed like shadows across her +imagination; she saw her old father alone, or her mother weeping in +secret lest the inexorable Piombo should perceive her tears. The two +white, solemn heads rose suddenly before her, and the thought came that +never again should she see them except in memory. This thought pursued +her like a presentiment. + +She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by giving her husband a +portrait he had long desired,--that of his Ginevra, painted by herself. +Never had the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside from the +resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the purity of her feelings, +the happiness of love were there depicted by a sort of magic. This +masterpiece of her art and her joy was a votive offering to their wedded +felicity. + +Another year of ease and comfort went by. The history of their life may +be given in three words: _They were happy._ No event happened to them of +sufficient importance to be recorded. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. RETRIBUTION + + +At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers requested Ginevra +to give them something beside copies; for competition had so increased +that they could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame Porta then +perceived the mistake she had made in not exercising her talent +for “genre” painting, which might, by this time, have brought her +reputation. She now attempted portrait-painting. But here she was forced +to compete against a crowd of artists in greater need of money than +herself. However, as Luigi and Ginevra had laid by a few savings, they +were not, as yet, uneasy about the future. + +Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi worked without +intermission. He, too, was struggling against competitors. The payment +for writing had so decreased that he found it impossible to employ +assistance; he was forced, therefore, to work a much longer time himself +to obtain the same emolument. His wife had finished several pictures +which were not without merit; but the dealers were scarcely buying those +of artists with reputations; consequently, her paintings had little +chance. Ginevra offered them for almost nothing, but without success. + +The situation of the household now began to be alarming. The souls +of the husband and wife floated on the ocean of their happiness, +love overwhelmed them with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a +skeleton, amid their harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they hid from +each other their secret anxiety. When Ginevra felt like weeping as she +watched Luigi’s worn and suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; and +Luigi, keeping his dark forebodings in the depths of his soul, expressed +to his Ginevra the tenderest love. They sought a compensation for their +troubles in exalting their feelings; and their words, their joys, their +caresses became suffused, as it were, with a species of frenzy. They +feared the future. What feeling can be compared in strength with that of +a passion which may cease on the morrow, killed by death or want? +When they talked together of their poverty each felt the necessity +of deceiving the other, and they fastened with mutual ardor on the +slightest hope. + +One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her side. She rose in +terror. A faint light shining on the opposite wall of the little +court-yard revealed to her that her husband was working in his study at +night. Luigi was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was asleep, +and then going up to his garret to write. Four o’clock struck. Ginevra +lay down again, and pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi returned, +overcome with fatigue and drowsiness. Ginevra looked sadly on the +beautiful, worn face, where toil and care were already drawing lines of +wrinkles. + +“It is for me he spends his nights in writing,” she said to herself, +weeping. + +A thought dried her tears. She would imitate Luigi. That same day she +went to a print-shop, and, by help of a letter of recommendation she had +obtained from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she obtained an +order for the coloring of lithographs. During the day she painted her +pictures and attended to the cares of the household; then, when night +came, she colored the engravings. This loving couple entered their +nuptial bed only to deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and left +it,--Luigi, as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra as soon +as he had gone. + +One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under +which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of +his garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, the +burden of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the reflection +of Ginevra’s lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow guessed +the truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his wife in her +studio, coloring engravings. + +“Oh, Ginevra!” he cried. + +She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. + +“Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?” she said. + +“But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way,” he answered. + +“Could I be idle,” she asked, her eyes filling with tears, “when I know +that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should die if +I could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common between us: +pains and pleasures, both.” + +“She is cold!” cried Luigi, in despair. “Wrap your shawl closer round +you, my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly.” + +They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her +beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence, +they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening. +Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing +luminous. + +“See!” said Ginevra. “It is an omen. We shall be happy.” + +“Yes, in heaven,” replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. “Oh, Ginevra! you +who deserved all the treasures upon earth--” + +“I have your heart,” she said, in tones of joy. + +“Ah! I complain no more!” he answered, straining her tightly to him, and +covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the freshness +of youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender that he +could not look at it and not be comforted. + +“What silence!” said Ginevra, presently. “Dear friend, I take great +pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it awes, +it inspires. There is I know not what great power in the thought: all +sleep, I wake.” + +“Oh, my Ginevra,” he cried, “it is not to-night alone I feel how +delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,--come and +sleep.” + +“Yes,” replied Ginevra, “if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much +that night I first discovered that you were waking while I slept.” + +The courage with which these two young people fought with misery +received for a while its due reward; but an event which usually crowns +the happiness of a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a son, +who was, to use the popular expression, “as beautiful as the day.” + The sense of motherhood doubled the strength of the young wife. Luigi +borrowed money to meet the expenses of Ginevra’s confinement. At first +she did not feel the fresh burden of their situation; and the pair gave +themselves wholly up to the joy of possessing a child. It was their last +happiness. + +Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a current, these two +Corsican souls struggled courageously; but sometimes they gave way to +an apathy which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon they were +obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty appeared to them suddenly,--not +hideous, but plainly clothed, almost easy to endure; its voice had +nothing terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, nor +rags; but it made them lose the memory and the habits of comfort; it +dried the springs of pride. Then, before they knew it, came want,--want +in all its horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot all human +sentiments. + +Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Bartolomeo, it would +have been hard to see in the mother who suckled her sickly babe the +original of the beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of the +squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, the graceful outlines +of Ginevra’s figure were slowly destroyed; her cheeks grew white as +porcelain, and her eyes dulled as though the springs of life were drying +up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored child, she felt no +suffering but for that young misery; and Luigi had no courage to smile +upon his son. + +“I have wandered over Paris,” he said, one day. “I know no one; can I +ask help of strangers? Vergniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a +conspiracy, and they have put him in prison; besides, he has already +lent me all he could spare. As for our landlord, it is over a year since +he asked me for any rent.” + +“But we are not in want,” replied Ginevra, gently, affecting calmness. + +“Every hour brings some new difficulty,” continued Luigi, in a tone of +terror. + +Another day Luigi took Ginevra’s pictures, her portrait, and the few +articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold +them for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless +household for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed +the sublimity of her nature and the extent of her resignation. + +Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up +against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying son, +performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and sufficed +for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi’s lips a smile +of surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one poor room where +they had taken refuge. + +“Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you,” she said, one evening, when he +returned, worn-out. + +“And you?” + +“I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more.” + +And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her words +to take the food of which she had deprived herself. + +Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given +in 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme +moments two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi, +comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the +fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that +some business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest +poison than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was +left in his home. + +He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the +bosom of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; +he hurried past the windows of the money-changers where gold was +glittering; and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute +for military service, hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra, and +that her father, during his absence, would take her home. + +He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt a +sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial guard. + +“It is two days since I have eaten anything,” he said to him in a slow, +weak voice. “My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered one word +of complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God’s sake, comrade,” + he added, bitterly, “buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no longer in +the service, and I--” + +The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to +procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped the +gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying out at +times:-- + +“Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!” + +It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very +softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he +had left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the garret +window, were fading from Ginevra’s face as she sat sleeping in her +chair, and holding her child upon her breast. + +“Wake, my dear one,” he said, not observing the infant, which shone, at +that moment, with supernatural light. + +Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi’s +look, and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely +recognized his wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he +showed her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly +she cried, in a dreadful voice:-- + +“The child, Luigi, he is cold!” + +She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead. Luigi +took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she clasped +with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he went out to +seek help. + +“Oh! my God!” he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. “I have +gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, +too! Help me!” + +He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, +and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the +needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans had +carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride. + +Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on +which lay his wife. + +“Father! take care of my son, who bears your name,” she was saying in +her delirium. + +“Oh, my angel! be calm,” said Luigi, kissing her; “our good days are +coming back to us.” + +“My Luigi,” she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, +“listen to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered +too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for. +Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to live +again I would again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret you +more than I regret my child--My child!” she added, in a hollow voice. + +Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little +body she had no power to warm. + +“Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra,” she said. “Tell +him I have never blamed him.” + +Her head fell upon her husband’s arm. + +“No, you cannot die!” cried Luigi. “The doctor is coming. We have +food. Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with us, +angel!” + +But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra +turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was conscious +of nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now losing +memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped his +icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to save +herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall. + +“Dear,” she said, at last, “you are cold; I will warm you.” + +She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. + +Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, +bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their +despair. These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they had +entered, an awful silence filled the room. + +While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were sitting +in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast fireplace, where a +glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of their salon. The clock +told midnight. + +For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At the +present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their dotage, +gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted salon, so +filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single lamp which +seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon the hearth, +they might soon have been in total darkness. + +A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been sitting, +remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo was casting +glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding one upon +another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra’s. Elisa Piombo +watched the expressions that now began to cross her husband’s pallid +face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings from the changeful +agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so threatening, and anon +so melancholy that she felt she could no longer read a soul that was now +incomprehensible, even to her. + +Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that chair? +Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for the +first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy +struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now? + +These reflections shook the mother’s heart successively. For an instant +her husband’s countenance became so terrible that she trembled at having +used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra’s name. The +night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so sharply +against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard a gentle +rustling. Ginevra’s mother dropped her head to hide her tears. Suddenly +a sigh burst from the old man’s breast; his wife looked at him; he +seemed to her crushed. Then she risked speaking--for the second time in +three long years--of his daughter. + +“Ginevra may be cold,” she said, softly. + +Piombo quivered. + +“She may be hungry,” she continued. + +The old man dropped a tear. + +“Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!” + said the mother, in accents of despair. + +“Let her come! let her come to me!” cried Piombo. “Oh! my precious +child, thou hast conquered me.” + +The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door +opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of +humanity, stood suddenly before them. + +“Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is +all that remains of her,” he said, laying Ginevra’s long black hair upon +the table. + +The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had +blasted them. + +Luigi no longer stood before them. + +“He has spared me a shot, for he is dead,” said Bartolomeo, slowly, +gazing on the ground at his feet. + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + + Bidault (known as Gigonnet) + The Government Clerks + Gobseck + Cesar Birotteau + The Firm of Nucingen + A Daughter of Eve + + Bonaparte, Napoleon + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Seamy Side of History + A Woman of Thirty + + Bonaparte, Lucien + The Gondreville Mystery + + Camusot de Marville, Madame + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Cousin Pons + + Magus, Elie + A Marriage Settlement + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Cousin Pons + + Murat, Joachim, Prince + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Country Doctor + + Rapp + The Gondreville Mystery + + Roguin + Cesar Birotteau + Eugenie Grandet + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierrette + + Thirion + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + + Tiphaine, Madame + Pierrette + + Vergniaud, Louis + Colonel Chabert + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1374 *** diff --git a/1374-h/1374-h.htm b/1374-h/1374-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..76606f7 --- /dev/null +++ b/1374-h/1374-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3653 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1374 ***</div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + VENDETTA + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Honore De Balzac + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + DEDICATION<br /><br /> To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor.<br /> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>VENDETTA</b> </a> + </h3> + <h3> + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </td> + <td> + PROLOGUE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE STUDIO + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </td> + <td> + LABEDOYERE’S FRIEND + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + LOVE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </td> + <td> + MARRIAGE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + RETRIBUTION + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> ADDENDUM </a> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + VENDETTA + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE + </h2> + <p> + In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, accompanied by + a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time in front of the + palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled down, + at the point where in our day the wing begins which was intended to unite + the chateau of Catherine de Medici with the Louvre of the Valois. + </p> + <p> + The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he sometimes + raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at his wife, who was + sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed wholly occupied with + the little girl of nine or ten years of age, whose long black hair she + amused herself by handling, she lost not a single glance of those her + companion cast on her. Some sentiment other than love united these two + beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety their movements and their + thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most powerful of all ties. + </p> + <p> + The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick + hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The jet + black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his + features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his evident + strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over sixty years + of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign country. Though + the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed the deepest + sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm countenance whenever + her husband looked at her. + </p> + <p> + The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the + youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast of + countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched brows, + a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those who passed + them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group, who made no + effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the expression of it + was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy, characteristic of + Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the stranger saw himself + the object of attention, he looked at his observer with so savage an air + that the boldest lounger hurried his step as though he had trod upon a + serpent. + </p> + <p> + After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly passed + his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the thoughts that were + ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate resolution. + Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he drew a dagger from his + breast and gave it to his companion, saying in Italian:— + </p> + <p> + “I will see if the Bonapartes remember us.” + </p> + <p> + Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the + palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular + guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this man’s + obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in the form of + an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at that moment, and + the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the stranger the spot where + the commander of the post was standing. + </p> + <p> + “Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with him,” + said the Italian to the captain on duty. + </p> + <p> + In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see the + First Consul without having previously requested an audience in writing; + the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The officer + stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with the order of this + singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, casting a terrible look at + the captain, as if he made him responsible for the misfortunes that this + refusal might occasion. Then he kept silence, folded his arms tightly + across his breast, and took up his station under the portico which serves + as an avenue of communication between the garden and the court-yard of the + Tuileries. Persons who will things intensely are very apt to be helped by + chance. At the moment when Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of + the stone posts which was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from + which Lucien Bonaparte, minister of the interior, issued. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!” cried the stranger. + </p> + <p> + These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment + when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot, and + recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear, he took + the Corsican away with him. + </p> + <p> + Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the First + Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in appearance as + Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the arm and led + him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a few words with his + brother, the First Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and + Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to have seen it, in order to + remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to him sharply, and the + aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First Consul, + who listened for Rapp’s step in the adjoining salon, opened the door + suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp close to the wall of the cabinet. + </p> + <p> + “Do you choose not to understand me?” said the First Consul. “I wish to be + alone with my compatriot.” + </p> + <p> + “A Corsican!” replied the aide-de-camp. “I distrust those fellows too much + to—” + </p> + <p> + The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful + officer by the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?” said Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + “To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican,” + replied Bartolomeo, roughly. + </p> + <p> + “What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the + most—” + </p> + <p> + “I have killed all the Portas,” replied the Corsican, in a deep voice, + frowning heavily. + </p> + <p> + The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to betray me?” cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at + Bonaparte. “Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?” + </p> + <p> + Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. + </p> + <p> + “Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at + Piombo and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Why did you kill the Portas?” + </p> + <p> + “We had made friends,” replied the man; “the Barbantis reconciled us. The + day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home because + I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and set fire to + my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My daughter Ginevra + and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, escaped; the Virgin + protected them. When I returned I found no house; my feet were in its + ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck against the body of + Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. ‘The Portas have dealt me + this blow,’ I said; and, forthwith, I went to the woods, and there I + called together all the men whom I had ever served,—do you hear me, + Bonaparte?—and we marched to the vineyard of the Portas. We got + there at five in the morning; at seven they were all before God. Giacomo + declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. But I myself bound him to + his bed before setting fire to the house. I have left the island with my + wife and child without being able to discover whether, indeed, Luigi Porta + is alive.” + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise. + </p> + <p> + “How many were there?” asked Lucien. + </p> + <p> + “Seven,” replied Piombo. “All of them were your persecutors in the olden + times.” + </p> + <p> + These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two + brothers. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!” cried Piombo, with a sort of despair. + “Farewell. In other days I protected you,” he added, in a reproachful + tone. “Without me, your mother would never have reached Marseille,” he + said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, who was silent and thoughtful, his + elbow resting on a mantel-shelf. + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of duty, Piombo,” said Napoleon at last, “I cannot take you + under my wing. I have become the leader of a great nation; I command the + Republic; I am bound to execute the laws.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha!” said Bartolomeo, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “But I can shut my eyes,” continued Bonaparte. “The tradition of the + Vendetta will long prevent the reign of law in Corsica,” he added, as if + speaking to himself. “But it <i>must</i> be destroyed, at any cost.” + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien made a sign to Piombo + not to speak. The Corsican was swaying his head from right to left in deep + disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “Live here, in Paris,” resumed the First Consul, addressing Bartolomeo; + “we will know nothing of this affair. I will cause your property in + Corsica to be bought, to give you enough to live on for the present. + Later, before long, we will think of you. But, remember, no more vendetta! + There are no woods here to fly to. If you play with daggers, you must + expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all citizens; and no one is + allowed to do justice for himself.” + </p> + <p> + “He has made himself the head of a singular nation,” said Bartolomeo, + taking Lucien’s hand and pressing it. “But you have both recognized me in + misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may dispose + as you will of the Piombos.” + </p> + <p> + With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You are not badly off here,” he said, smiling, as if he meant to lodge + there himself. “You are all in red, like a cardinal.” + </p> + <p> + “Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also,” said + Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. “It will often happen + that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can confide.” + </p> + <p> + A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his hand + to the First Consul, saying:— + </p> + <p> + “The Corsican is in you still.” + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it were, + a waft of air from his own land,—from that isle where he had been so + miraculously saved from the hatred of the “English party”; the land he was + never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who then took Piombo + away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the financial condition of the + former protector of their family. Piombo took him to a window and showed + him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a heap of stones. + </p> + <p> + “We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him the + next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of the + family. The value of Piombo’s property in Corsica, if sold, would scarcely + maintain him honorably in Paris. + </p> + <p> + Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo’s arrival with his family + in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely intelligible to + the reader without this narrative of the foregoing circumstances. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE STUDIO + </h2> + <p> + Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to conceive + of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to take lessons + in painting. + </p> + <p> + About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given up to + his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter of a + general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their daughters + themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send them alone, + after knowing the master’s principles and the pains he took to deserve + their confidence. + </p> + <p> + It was the artist’s intention to take no pupils but young ladies belonging + to rich families of good position, in order to meet with no complaints as + to the composition of his classes. He even refused to take girls who + wished to become artists; for to them he would have been obliged to give + certain instructions without which no talent could advance in the + profession. Little by little his prudence and the ability with which he + initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty each mother felt that her + daughter was in company with none but well-bred young girls, and the fact + of the artist’s marriage, gave him an excellent reputation as a teacher in + society. When a young girl wished to learn to draw, and her mother asked + advice of her friends, the answer was, invariably: “Send her to Servin’s.” + </p> + <p> + Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a specialty; like Herbault for + bonnets, Leroy for gowns, and Chevet for eatables. It was recognized that + a young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was capable of judging the + paintings of the Musee conclusively, of making a striking portrait, + copying an ancient master, or painting a genre picture. The artist thus + sufficed for the educational needs of the aristocracy. But in spite of + these relations with the best families in Paris, he was independent and + patriotic, and he maintained among them that easy, brilliant, + half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment which characterize + painters. + </p> + <p> + He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the arrangements of the + locality where his pupils studied. The entrance to the attic above his + apartments was walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a harem, it + was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase made within his own rooms. + The studio, occupying nearly the whole attic floor under the roof, + presented to the eye those vast proportions which surprise inquirers when, + after attaining sixty feet above the ground-floor, they expect to find an + artist squeezed into a gutter. + </p> + <p> + This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from above, through + enormous panes of glass furnished with those green linen shades by means + of which all artists arrange the light. A quantity of caricatures, heads + drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the point of a knife, on walls + painted in a dark gray, proved that, barring a difference in expression, + the most distinguished young girls have as much fun and folly in their + minds as men. A small stove with a large pipe, which described a fearful + zigzag before it reached the upper regions of the roof, was the necessary + and infallible ornament of the room. A shelf ran round the walls, on which + were models in plaster, heterogeneously placed, most of them covered with + gray dust. Here and there, above this shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging to a + nail, presented her pose of woe; a Venus smiled; a hand thrust itself + forward like that of a pauper asking alms; a few “ecorches,” yellowed by + smoke, looked like limbs snatched over-night from a graveyard; besides + these objects, pictures, drawings, lay figures, frames without paintings, + and paintings without frames gave to this irregular apartment that studio + physiognomy which is distinguished for its singular jumble of ornament and + bareness, poverty and riches, care and neglect. The vast receptacle of an + “atelier,” where all seems small, even man, has something of the air of an + Opera “coulisse”; here lie ancient garments, gilded armor, fragments of + stuffs, machinery. And yet there is something mysteriously grand, like + thought, in it; genius and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside a + skull or skeleton, beauty and destruction, poesy and reality, colors + glowing in the shadows, often a whole drama, motionless and silent. + Strange symbol of an artist’s head! + </p> + <p> + At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant July sun was + illuminating the studio, and two rays striking athwart it lengthwise, + traced diaphanous gold lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen + easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. Several young girls + were animating the scene by the variety of their expressions, their + attitudes, and the differences in their toilets. The strong shadows cast + by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the needs of each + easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, and the piquant effects of light + and shade. This group was the prettiest of all the pictures in the studio. + </p> + <p> + A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some distance from her + companions, working bravely and seeming to be in dread of some mishap. No + one looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the prettiest, the most + modest, and, apparently, the least rich among them. Two principal groups, + distinctly separated from each other, showed the presence of two sets or + cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where one might suppose that + rank and fortune would be forgotten. + </p> + <p> + But, however that might be, these young girls, sitting or standing, in the + midst of their color-boxes, playing with their brushes or preparing them, + handling their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, talking, singing, + absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real selves, composed a spectacle + unknown to man. One of them, proud, haughty, capricious, with black hair + and beautiful hands, was casting the flame of her glance here and there at + random; another, light-hearted and gay, a smile upon her lips, with + chestnut hair and delicate white hands, was a typical French virgin, + thoughtless, and without hidden thoughts, living her natural real life; a + third was dreamy, melancholy, pale, bending her head like a drooping + flower; her neighbor, on the contrary, tall, indolent, with Asiatic + habits, long eyes, moist and black, said but little, and reflected, + glancing covertly at the head of Antinous. + </p> + <p> + Among them, like the “jocoso” of a Spanish play, full of wit and + epigrammatic sallies, another girl was watching the rest with a + comprehensive glance, making them laugh, and tossing up her head, too + lively and arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first group of + girls, who were the daughters of bankers, notaries, and merchants,—all + rich, but aware of the imperceptible though cutting slights which another + group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. The latter were led by + the daughter of one of the King’s ushers, a little creature, as silly as + she was vain, proud of being the daughter of a man with “an office at + court.” She was a girl who always pretended to understand the remarks of + the master at the first word, and seemed to do her work as a favor to him. + She used an eyeglass, came very much dressed, and always late, and + entreated her companions to speak low. + </p> + <p> + In this second group were several girls with exquisite figures and + distinguished features, but there was little in their glance or expression + that was simple and candid. Though their attitudes were elegant and their + movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it was easy to see that + they belonged to a world where polite manners form the character from + early youth, and the abuse of social pleasures destroys sentiment and + develops egotism. + </p> + <p> + But when the whole class was here assembled, childlike heads were seen + among this bevy of young girls, ravishingly pure and virgin, faces with + lips half-opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on which a + virgin smile was flickering. The studio then resembled not a studio, but a + group of angels seated on a cloud in ether. + </p> + <p> + By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not appeared. For some days past + he had spent most of his time in a studio which he kept elsewhere, where + he was giving the last touches to a picture for the Exposition. All of a + sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, the leader of the aristocrats, began + to speak in a low voice, and very earnestly, to her neighbor. A great + silence fell on the group of patricians, and the commercial party, + surprised, were equally silent, trying to discover the subject of this + earnest conference. The secret of the young <i>ultras</i> was soon + revealed. + </p> + <p> + Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, carried it to a distance + from the noble group, and placed it close to a board partition which + separated the studio from the extreme end of the attic, where all broken + casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply of wood were kept. Amelie’s + action caused a murmur of surprise, which did not prevent her from + accomplishing the change by rolling hastily to the side of the easel the + stool, the box of colors, and even the picture by Prudhon, which the + absent pupil was copying. After this coup d’etat the Right began to work + in silence, but the Left discoursed at length. + </p> + <p> + “What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?” asked a young girl of + Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, the lively oracle of the banking group. + </p> + <p> + “She’s not a girl to say anything,” was the reply; “but fifty years hence + she’ll remember the insult as if it were done to her the night before, and + revenge it cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don’t want to be at + war with.” + </p> + <p> + “The slight these young ladies mean to put upon her is all the more + unkind,” said another young girl, “because yesterday, Mademoiselle Ginevra + was very sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They ought not to + add to her trouble, for she was very considerate of them during the + Hundred Days. Never did she say a word to wound them. On the contrary, she + avoided politics. But I think our <i>ultras</i> are acting more from + jealousy than from party spite.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle Piombo’s easel and place + it next to mine,” said Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second thoughts made + her sit down again. + </p> + <p> + “With a character like hers,” she said, “one can’t tell how she would take + a civility; better wait events.” + </p> + <p> + “Ecco la,” said the young girl with the black eyes, languidly. + </p> + <p> + The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through the + studio. The words: “Here she comes!” passed from mouth to mouth, and then + the most absolute silence reigned. + </p> + <p> + To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of Amelie + Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place toward the end + of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the Bourbons had shaken + many friendships which had held firm under the first Restoration. At this + moment families, almost all divided in opinion, were renewing many of the + deplorable scenes which stain the history of all countries in times of + civil or religious wars. Children, young girls, old men shared the + monarchial fever to which the country was then a victim. Discord glided + beneath all roofs; distrust dyed with its gloomy colors the words and the + actions of the most intimate friends. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate him? + The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father. The Baron + di Piombo was among those of Napoleon’s devoted servants who had + co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of denying + his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron remained in + Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all the more open to + condemnation because she made no secret of the grief which the second + Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she had so far shed in + life were drawn from her by the twofold news of Napoleon’s captivity on + the “Bellerophon,” and Labedoyere’s arrest. + </p> + <p> + The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most devoted + royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an idea of the + exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror inspired by the + Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie’s action may now seem + to be, it was at that time a very natural expression of the prevailing + hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin’s first pupils, had occupied the + place that was now taken from her since the first day of her coming to the + studio. The aristocratic circle had gradually surrounded her. To drive her + from a place that in some sense belonged to her was not only to insult + her, but to cause her a species of artistic pain; for all artists have a + spot of predilection where they work. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the + conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of + Servin’s pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master testified + as much admiration for the talents as for the character of his favorite + pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. In fact, without + any one being able to explain the ascendancy which this young girl + obtained over all who came in contact with her, she exercised over the + little world around her a prestige not unlike that of Bonaparte upon his + soldiers. + </p> + <p> + The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the + fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid the + Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion’s act was, therefore, a decisive stroke, + intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the accomplices + of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by several of these + royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at home with their + political ideas, they decided, with the tactics peculiar to women, that + they should do best to keep themselves aloof from the quarrel. + </p> + <p> + On Ginevra’s arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound + silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin’s studio, + she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her carriage and + demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which commanded respect. + Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to radiate light, so inspired + was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to Corsicans,—which does not, + however, preclude calmness. Her long hair and her black eyes and lashes + expressed passion; the corners of her mouth, too softly defined, and the + lips, a trifle too marked, gave signs of that kindliness which strong + beings derive from the consciousness of their strength. + </p> + <p> + By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some + degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost savage + pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of a Corsican. + In that was the only link between herself and her native land. All the + rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of her Lombard beauty, + was so seductive that it was difficult for those who looked at her to give + her pain. She inspired such keen attraction that her old father caused + her, as matter of precaution, to be accompanied to and from the studio. + The only defect of this truly poetic creature came from the very power of + a beauty so fully developed; she looked a woman. Marriage she had refused + out of love to her father and mother, feeling herself necessary to the + comfort of their old age. Her taste for painting took the place of the + passions and interests which usually absorb her sex. + </p> + <p> + “You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles,” she said, after advancing a + little way among her companions. “Good-morning, my little Laure,” she + added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl who was + painting apart from the rest. “That head is strong,—the flesh tints + a little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent.” + </p> + <p> + Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces beamed + with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile brightened the + lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and walked slowly to her + easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and paintings on her way, and + bidding good-morning to each of the young girls of the first group, not + observing the unusual curiosity excited by her presence. She was like a + queen in the midst of her court; she paid no attention to the profound + silence that reigned among the patricians, and passed before their camp + without pronouncing a single word. Her absorption seemed so great that she + sat down before her easel, opened her color-box, took up her brushes, drew + on her brown sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at her picture, examined + her palette, without, apparently, thinking of what she was doing. All + heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned toward her. If the young + ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their impatience with the same + frankness, their sidelong glances were none the less directed on Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “She hasn’t noticed it!” said Mademoiselle Roguin. + </p> + <p> + At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she had + been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the group of + aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now separated + her from them; but she said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “It hasn’t occurred to her that they meant to insult her,” said Matilde; + “she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls will be if she + likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of bounds, + mademoiselle,” she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. She + rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side of the + partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, and seemed + to be examining the sash through which her light came,—giving so + much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the green serge, + which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that height, her eye + was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, the real object of + her efforts, for the glance that she cast through it can be compared only + to that of a miser discovering Aladdin’s treasure. Then she sprang down + hastily and returned to her place, changed the position of her picture, + pretended to be still dissatisfied with the light, pushed a table close to + the partition, on which she placed a chair, climbed lightly to the summit + of this erection, and again looked through the crevice. She cast but one + glance into the space beyond, which was lighted through a skylight; but + what she saw produced so strong an effect upon her that she tottered. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you’ll fall!” cried Laure. + </p> + <p> + All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of their + coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, and + replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:— + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!” + </p> + <p> + She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table as + far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and seemed to + be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now thrown upon it. + Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was wholly bent on + getting as near as possible to the closet, against the door of which she + finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare her palette in the + deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, distinctly, a sound which + had strongly excited her curiosity the evening before, and had whirled her + young imagination across vast fields of conjecture. She recognized the + firm and regular breathing of a man whom she had just seen asleep. Her + curiosity was satisfied beyond her expectations, but at the same time she + felt saddled by an immense responsibility. Through the opening in the wall + she had seen the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock bed, faintly lighted + from above, lay the form of an officer of the Guard. She guessed all. + Servin was hiding a proscribed man! + </p> + <p> + She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to + examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath + might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political + victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to her + wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise. + </p> + <p> + “Better that I should be here,” thought she, “to prevent some luckless + accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless betrayal.” + </p> + <p> + This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently shown + to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because the + change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural manner; + besides, at this moment, she was too keenly preoccupied to perceive the + reason of her removal. + </p> + <p> + Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the world, + than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech, miss its + effect through the contempt or the indifference of the intended victim. It + seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion to the height that + enemy is raised above us. Ginevra’s behavior was an enigma to all her + companions; her friends and enemies were equally surprised; for the former + claimed for her all good qualities, except that of forgiveness of + injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for displaying that vice of + nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the life of a studio, still, the + specimens she had now and then given of her vindictive disposition had + left a strong impression on the minds of her companions. + </p> + <p> + After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion that + the Italian’s silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all praise; and the + banking circle, inspired by her, formed a project to humiliate the + aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of sarcasms which + presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie. + </p> + <p> + Madame Servin’s arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the shrewdness + that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had noticed, analyzed, and + mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation of Ginevra’s mind, which + prevented her from even hearing the bitterly polite war of words of which + she was the object. The vengeance Mademoiselle Roguin and her companions + were inflicting on Mademoiselle Thirion and her group had, therefore, the + fatal effect of driving the young <i>ultras</i> to search for the cause of + the silence so obstinately maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. The beautiful + Italian became the centre of all glances, and she was henceforth watched + by friends and foes alike. + </p> + <p> + It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from + fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and mischief + ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to create or baffle, + and who know how to find too many interpretations for each gesture, + glance, and word, to fail in discovering the right one. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, however, the presence of Madame Servin produced an + interlude in the drama thus played below the surface in these various + young hearts, the sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were expressed + by phrases that were almost allegorical, by mischievous glances, by + gestures, by silence even, more intelligible than words. As soon as Madame + Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the door near which Ginevra + was seated. Under present circumstances the fact of this glance was not + lost. Though at first none of the pupils took notice of it, Mademoiselle + Thirion recollected it later, and it explained to her the doubt, fear, and + mystery which now gave something wild and frightened to Madame Servin’s + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mesdemoiselles,” she said, “Monsieur Servin cannot come to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Then she went round complimenting each young girl, receiving in return a + volume of those feminine caresses which are given as much by the tones of + the voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently reached Ginevra, + under the influence of an uneasiness she tried in vain to disguise. They + nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said nothing; one painted, the + other stood looking at the painting. The breathing of the soldier in the + closet could be distinctly heard, but Madame Servin appeared not to notice + it; her feigned ignorance was so obvious that Ginevra recognized it at + once for wilful deafness. Presently the unknown man turned on his pallet. + </p> + <p> + The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, who said, without the + slightest change of face:— + </p> + <p> + “Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to choose between the two + I should be puzzled.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his confidence as to this + mystery,” thought Ginevra, who, after replying to the young wife’s speech + with a gentle smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican “canzonetta” + to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious Italian sing, that all the + other young girls looked up at her in surprise. Later, this circumstance + served as proof to the charitable suppositions of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + Madame Servin soon went away, and the session ended without further + events; Ginevra allowed her companions to depart, and seemed to intend to + work later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her desire to be + left alone by impatient glances, ill-disguised, at the pupils who were + slow in leaving. Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the girl who + excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of jealousy that her + rival’s industry hid some purpose. By dint of watching her she was struck + by the attentive air with which Ginevra seemed to be listening to sounds + that no one else had heard. The expression of impatience she now detected + in her companion’s eyes was like a flash of light to her. + </p> + <p> + Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio; from there she went + down to Madame Servin’s apartment and talked with her for a moment; then + she pretended to have left her bag, ran softly back to the studio, and + found Ginevra once more mounted on her frail scaffolding, and so absorbed + in the contemplation of an unknown object that she did not hear the slight + noise of her companion’s footsteps. It is true that, to use an expression + of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped as if on eggs. She hastily withdrew + outside the door and coughed. Ginevra quivered, turned her head, saw her + enemy, blushed, hastened to alter the shade to give meaning to her + position, and came down from her perch leisurely. She soon after left the + studio, bearing with her, in her memory, the image of a man’s head, as + beauteous as that of the Endymion, a masterpiece of Girodet’s which she + had lately copied. + </p> + <p> + “To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney—” + </p> + <p> + These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that + Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in spite + of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle Thirion + already there, having come in a carriage. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they made + their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of the + mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the Imperial + eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them through the + crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. Suddenly Servin + came in, much earlier than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he said, after glancing round the studio, “why + have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the rest + of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little.” + </p> + <p> + Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial + attention. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” he cried; “here, indeed, is a head extremely well done. + You’ll be another Ginevra.” + </p> + <p> + The master then went from easel to easel, scolding, flattering, jesting, + and making, as usual, his jests more dreaded than his reprimands. Ginevra + had not obeyed the professor’s order, but remained at her post, firmly + resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of paper and began to sketch in + sepia the head of the hidden man. A work done under the impulse of an + emotion has always a stamp of its own. The faculty of giving to + representations of nature or of thought their true coloring constitutes + genius, and often, in this respect, passion takes the place of it. So, + under the circumstances in which Ginevra now found herself, the intuition + which she owed to a powerful effect upon her memory, or, possibly, to + necessity, that mother of great things, lent her, for the moment, a + supernatural talent. The head of the young officer was dashed upon the + paper in the midst of an awkward trembling which she mistook for fear, and + in which a physiologist would have recognized the fire of inspiration. + From time to time she glanced furtively at her companions, in order to + hide the sketch if any of them came near her. But in spite of her + watchfulness, there was a moment when she did not see the eyeglass of the + pitiless Amelie turned full upon the drawing from the shelter of a great + portfolio. Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the portrait of the + mysterious man, showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra hastily covered the + sheet of paper. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?” asked the + professor, gravely. + </p> + <p> + The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the + sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:— + </p> + <p> + “Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not better + remain here?” + </p> + <p> + Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, + Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden emotion of + master and pupil. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said Servin; “but really,” he added, with a forced laugh, + “you will soon come to know more than I do.” + </p> + <p> + A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of the + officer’s head. + </p> + <p> + “It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!” he exclaimed, with the + energy of an artist. + </p> + <p> + All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted + forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, the + prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra knocked + over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to laugh; but + she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before Amelie could get to + her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin descanted on the beauty of the + copy which his favorite pupil was then making, and the whole class was + duped by this stratagem, except Amelie, who, slipping behind her + companions, attempted to open the portfolio where she had seen Ginevra + throw the sketch. But the latter took it up without a word, and placed it + in front of her. The two young girls then looked at each other fixedly, in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places,” said Servin. “If you wish to do + as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn’t be always talking fashions + and balls, and trifling away your time as you do.” + </p> + <p> + When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down beside + Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery rather + than the others?” asked the girl, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the painter, “you are one of us, a patriot; but even if you + were not, I should still have confided the matter to you.” + </p> + <p> + Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared to + ask:— + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other + man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment with + the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and was at + Waterloo.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with + citizen’s clothes?” said Ginevra, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “He will have them to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have closed the studio for some days.” + </p> + <p> + “He is going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they’ll kill him,” said the girl. “Let him stay here with you till + the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in France where a + man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my + hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during the + campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him from the + claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to defend the + general, foolish fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call him that!” cried Ginevra, casting a glance of astonishment at + the painter, who was silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able to keep him in his own + house,” he resumed. “So he brought him to me, by night, about a week ago. + I hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only spot in the + house where he could be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can be useful to you, employ me,” said Ginevra. “I know the Marechal + de Feltre.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll see,” replied the painter. + </p> + <p> + This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed by all the other + girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round once more to each easel, and gave + such long lessons that he was still there at the hour when the pupils were + in the habit of leaving. + </p> + <p> + “You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thirion,” said the professor, + running after the girl, who was now condescending to the work of a spy to + satisfy her jealousy. + </p> + <p> + The baffled pupil returned for the bag, expressing surprise at her + carelessness; but this act of Servin’s was to her fresh proof of the + existence of a mystery, the importance of which was evident. She now ran + noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door which opened into the + Servins’ apartment, to give an impression that she had gone; then she + softly returned and stationed herself outside the door of the studio. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. LABEDOYERE’S FRIEND + </h2> + <p> + When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves alone, Servin rapped in a + peculiar manner on the door of the dark garret, which turned at once on + its rusty and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and well-made young + man, whose Imperial uniform set her heart to beating. The officer had one + arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face revealed sharp suffering. + Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. + </p> + <p> + Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the door being closed, was + afraid to stay longer; she was satisfied with having heard the opening of + the garret door, and departed noiselessly. + </p> + <p> + “Fear nothing,” said the painter to the officer. “Mademoiselle is the + daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di Piombo.” + </p> + <p> + The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra’s patriotism as soon as + he saw her. + </p> + <p> + “You are wounded,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle,” he replied; “the wound is healing.” + </p> + <p> + Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came up + from the street: “Condemned to death!” They all trembled, and the soldier + was the first to hear a name that turned him pale. + </p> + <p> + “Labedoyere!” he cried, falling on a stool. + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid forehead + of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in one hand with a + gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra’s easel. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” he said, rising abruptly, “Labedoyere and I knew what we were + doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from triumph + or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding myself!” + </p> + <p> + He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra + reached it, and barred his way. + </p> + <p> + “Can you restore the Emperor?” she said. “Do you expect to raise that + giant who could not maintain himself?” + </p> + <p> + “But what can I do?” said the young man, addressing the two friends whom + chance had sent to him. “I have not a relation in the world. Labedoyere + was my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. To-morrow I + myself may be condemned; my only fortune was my pay. I spent my last penny + to come here and try to snatch Labedoyere from his fate; death is, + therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides to die he ought to know + how to sell his life to the executioner. I was thinking just now that the + life of an honest man is worth that of two traitors, and the blow of a + dagger well placed may give immortality.” + </p> + <p> + This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even Ginevra, whose own + nature comprehended that of the young man. She admired his handsome face + and his delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely lessened by + its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, she poured a balm upon the + wounds of the unfortunate man:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, “as for your pecuniary distress, permit me to offer + you my savings. My father is rich; I am his only child; he loves me, and I + am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting my offer; our + property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a penny that is not + the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude to him to assist his + faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as indifferently as I offer + them. It is only money!” she added, in a tone of contempt. “Now, as for + friends,—those you shall have.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling brilliancy. + </p> + <p> + “The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save yours,” + she went on. “Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape and take + service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here; or in the + French army, if you are.” + </p> + <p> + In the comfort that women give there is always a delicacy which has + something maternal, foreseeing, and complete about it. But when the words + of hope and peace are said with grace of gesture and that eloquence of + tone which comes from the heart, and when, above all, the benefactress is + beautiful, a young man does not resist. The prisoner breathed in love + through all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his white cheeks; his eyes + lost something of the sadness that dulled them, and he said, in a peculiar + tone of voice:— + </p> + <p> + “You are an angle of goodness—But Labedoyere!” he added. “Oh, + Labedoyere!” + </p> + <p> + At this cry they all three looked at one another in silence, each + comprehending the others’ thoughts. No longer friends of twenty minutes + only, they were friends of twenty years. + </p> + <p> + “Dear friend,” said Servin, “can you save him?” + </p> + <p> + “I can avenge him.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra quivered. Though the stranger was handsome, his appearance had not + influenced her; the soft pity in a woman’s heart for miseries that are not + ignoble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to hear a cry of + vengeance, to find in that proscribed being an Italian soul, devotion to + Napoleon, Corsican generosity!—ah! that was, indeed, too much for + her. She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion which shook his + heart. For the first time in her life a man had caused her a keen emotion. + She now, like other women, put the soul of the stranger on a par with the + noble beauty of his features and the happy proportions of his figure, + which she admired as an artist. Led by accidental curiosity to pity, from + pity to a powerful interest, she came, through that interest, to such + profound sensations that she felt she was in danger if she stayed there + longer. + </p> + <p> + “Until to-morrow, then,” she said, giving the officer a gentle smile by + way of a parting consolation. + </p> + <p> + Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Ginevra’s features, the + stranger forgot all else for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” he said, sadly; “but to-morrow, Labedoyere—” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked at him, as if to say: + “Be calm, be prudent.” + </p> + <p> + And the young man cried out in his own language: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Dio! che non vorrei vivere dopo averla veduta?—who would not + wish to live after seeing her?” + </p> + <p> + The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the words made Ginevra + quiver. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Corsican?” she cried, returning toward him with a beating heart. + </p> + <p> + “I was born in Corsica,” he replied; “but I was brought, while very young, + to Genoa, and as soon as I was old enough for military service I + enlisted.” + </p> + <p> + The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent to him by his + attachment to the Emperor, his wound, his misfortunes, his danger, all + disappeared to Ginevra’s mind, or, rather, all were blended in one + sentiment,—a new and delightful sentiment. This persecuted man was a + child of Corsica; he spoke its cherished language! She stood, for a + moment, motionless; held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a + living picture, to which all human sentiments, united by chance, gave + vivid colors. By Servin’s invitation, the officer had seated himself on a + divan, and the painter, after removing the sling which supported the arm + of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order to dress the wound. + Ginevra shuddered when she saw the long, broad gash made by the blade of a + sabre on the young man’s forearm, and a moan escaped her. The stranger + raised his head and smiled to her. There was something touching which went + to the soul, in the care with which Servin lifted the lint and touched the + lacerated flesh, while the face of the wounded man, though pale and + sickly, expressed, as he looked at the girl, more pleasure than suffering. + An artist would have admired, involuntarily, this opposition of + sentiments, together with the contrasts produced by the whiteness of the + linen and the bared arm to the red and blue uniform of the officer. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio; but a parting ray of + the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated the spot where the soldier sat, + so that his noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his clothes were + bathed in its glow. The effect was simple enough, but to the girl’s + Italian imagination it was a happy omen. The stranger seemed to her a + celestial messenger, speaking the language of her own country. He thus + unconsciously put her under the spell of childhood’s memories, while in + her heart there dawned another feeling as fresh, as pure as her own + innocence. For a short, very short moment, she was motionless and dreamy, + as though she were plunged in boundless thought. Then she blushed at + having allowed her absorption to be noticed, exchanged one soft and rapid + glance with the wounded man, and fled with the vision of him still before + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came to the studio, and the + prisoner was free to sit beside her easel. Servin, who had a sketch to + finish, played the part of mentor to the two young people, who talked to + each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the sufferings of the + retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, he had made the + passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man left of his regiment. + He described, in words of fire, the great disaster of Waterloo. His voice + was music itself to the Italian girl. Brought up as a Corsican, Ginevra + was, in some sense, a child of Nature; falseness was a thing unknown to + her; she gave herself up without reserve to her impressions; she + acknowledged them, or, rather, allowed them to be seen without the + affectations of petty and calculating coquetry, characteristic of Parisian + girlhood. During this day she sat more than once with her palette in one + hand, her brushes in another, without touching a color. With her eyes + fastened on the officer, and her lips slightly apart, she listened, in the + attitude of painting a stroke which was never painted. She was not + surprised to see such softness in the eyes of the young man, for she felt + that her own were soft in spite of her will to keep them stern and calm. + After periods like this she painted diligently, without raising her head, + for he was there, near her, watching her work. The first time he sat down + beside her to contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of some + emotion, after a long pause:— + </p> + <p> + “Does it amuse you to see me paint?” + </p> + <p> + That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it was + agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see each + other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to inform him + by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon. + </p> + <p> + The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the + class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, a young + man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed himself in the + garret beyond the studio. + </p> + <p> + “You, who take her part,” she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, “watch her + carefully, and you will see how she spends her time.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They listened + to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she supposed that + no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively upon her. Thus + enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly the emotions that + crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,—her gestures, the + peculiar tones in which she hummed a tune, and the attention with which + they saw her listen to sounds which only she could hear through the + partition. + </p> + <p> + By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Servin’s fifteen pupils + who had resisted the temptation of looking at Luigi through the crevice of + the partition; and she, through an instinct of weakness, still defended + her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin endeavored to make her wait on + the staircase after the class dispersed, that she might prove to her the + intimacy of Ginevra and the young man by entering the studio and + surprising them together. But Laure refused to condescend to an act of + espial which no curiosity could justify, and she consequently became the + object of much reprobation. + </p> + <p> + Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that she thought it improper + to attend the classes of a painter whose opinions were tainted with + patriotism and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were synonymous), and + she ceased her attendance at the studio. But, although she herself forgot + Ginevra, the harm she had planted bore fruit. Little by little, the other + young girls revealed to their mothers the strange events which were + happening at the studio. One day Matilde Roguin did not come; the next day + another girl was missing, and so on, till the last three or four who were + left came no more. Ginevra and Laure, her little friend, were the sole + occupants of the deserted studio for three or four days. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the cause of her + companions’ absence. As soon as she had invented means of communication + with Luigi she lived in the studio in a delightful solitude, alone amid + her own world, thinking only of the officer and the dangers that + threatened him. Though a sincere admirer of noble characters that never + betray their political faiths, she nevertheless urged Luigi to submit + himself to the royal authority, that he might be released from his present + life and remain in France. But to this he would not consent. If passions + are born and nourished, as they say, under the influence of romantic + causes, never did so many circumstances of that kind concur in uniting two + young souls by one and the same sentiment. The friendship of Ginevra for + Luigi and that of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress in a month than a + friendship in society would make in ten years. Adversity is the touchstone + of character. Ginevra was able, therefore, to study Luigi, to know him; + and before long they mutually esteemed each other. The girl, who was older + than Luigi, found a charm in being courted by a youth already so grand, so + tried by fate,—a youth who joined to the experience of a man the + graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his side, felt an unspeakable pleasure in + allowing himself to be apparently protected by a woman, now twenty-five + years of age. Was it not a proof of love? The union of gentleness and + pride, strength and weakness in Ginevra were, to him, irresistible + attractions, and he was utterly subjugated by her. In short, before long, + they loved each other so profoundly that they felt no need of denying to + each other their love, nor yet of telling it. + </p> + <p> + One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accustomed signal. Luigi + scratched with a pin on the woodwork in a manner that produced no more + noise than a spider might make as he fastened his thread. The signal meant + that he wished to come out of his retreat. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing Laure, opened the door; + but as she did so Luigi caught sight of the little pupil and abruptly + retired. Surprised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw Laure, and + said, as she went up to the girl’s easel:— + </p> + <p> + “You are staying late, my dear. That head seems to me finished; you only + want a high-light,—see! on that knot of hair.” + </p> + <p> + “You would do me a great kindness,” said Laure, in a trembling voice, “if + you would give this copy a few touches; for then I could carry away with + me something to remind me of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly,” said Ginevra, painting a few strokes on the picture. “But I + thought it was a long way from your home to the studio, and it is late.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ginevra, I am going away, never to return,” cried the poor girl, + sadly. + </p> + <p> + “You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!” exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, + however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have been + alone in the studio?” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection. “Are all + those young ladies ill, or going to be married, or are their fathers on + duty at court?” + </p> + <p> + “They have left Monsieur Servin,” replied Laure. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “On your account, Ginevra.” + </p> + <p> + “My account!” repeated the Corsican, springing up, with a threatening brow + and her eyes flashing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t be angry, my kind Ginevra,” cried Laure, in deep distress. “My + mother insists on my leaving the studio. The young ladies say that you + have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows the young man whom you + love to stay in the dark attic. I have never believed these calumnies nor + said a word to my mother about them. But last night Madame Roguin met her + at a ball and asked her if she still sent me here. When my mother answered + yes, Madame Roguin told her the falsehoods of those young ladies. Mamma + scolded me severely; she said I must have known it all, and that I had + failed in proper confidence between mother and daughter by not telling + her. Oh! my dear Ginevra! I, who took you for my model, oh! how grieved I + am that I can’t be your companion any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall meet again in life; girls marry—” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “When they are rich,” signed Laure. + </p> + <p> + “Come and see me; my father has a fortune—” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra,” continued Laure, tenderly. “Madame Roguin and my mother are + coming to see Monsieur Servin to-morrow and reproach him; hadn’t you + better warn him.” + </p> + <p> + A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra’s feet could not have astonished her more + than this revelation. + </p> + <p> + “What matter is it to them?” she asked, naively. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Laure, what do you say?” + </p> + <p> + The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure + could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend’s + breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he cried, with enthusiasm, “I have finished my + picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, meanwhile? + Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or are they in the + country?” + </p> + <p> + Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away. + </p> + <p> + “The studio has been deserted for some days,” replied Ginevra, “and the + young ladies are not coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t laugh,” said Ginevra. “Listen: I am the involuntary cause of + the loss of your reputation—” + </p> + <p> + The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his pupil:— + </p> + <p> + “My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture will make it at the + Exposition.” + </p> + <p> + “That relates to your talent,” replied the girl. “I am speaking of your + morality. Those young ladies have told their mothers that Luigi was shut + up here, and that you lent yourself—to—our love.” + </p> + <p> + “There is some truth in that, mademoiselle,” replied the professor. “The + mothers of those young ladies are foolish women; if they had come straight + to me I should have explained the matter. But I don’t care a straw about + it! Life is short, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + And the painter snapped his fingers above his head. Luigi, who had heard + part of the conversation, came in. + </p> + <p> + “You have lost all your scholars,” he cried. “I have ruined you!” + </p> + <p> + The artist took Luigi’s hand and that of Ginevra, and joined them. + </p> + <p> + “Marry one another, my children,” he said, with fatherly kindness. + </p> + <p> + They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was the first avowal they + had made to each other of their love. + </p> + <p> + “You will surely be happy,” said Servin. “There is nothing in life to + equal the happiness of two beings like yourselves when bound together in + love.” + </p> + <p> + Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at first being able to + utter a word; but presently he said, in a voice of emotion:— + </p> + <p> + “To you I owe it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Be happy! I bless and wed you,” said the painter, with comic unction, + laying his hands upon the heads of the lovers. + </p> + <p> + This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. All three looked at + one another and laughed merrily. Ginevra pressed Luigi’s hand in a strong + clasp, with a simplicity of action worthy of the customs of her native + land. + </p> + <p> + “Ah ca, my dear children,” resumed Servin, “you think that all will go + right now, but you are much mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + The lovers looked at him in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be anxious. I’m the only one that your romance will harm. But the + fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don’t really see how + we are to settle it with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! and I forgot to tell you,” exclaimed Ginevra, “that Madame + Roguin and Laure’s mother are coming here to-morrow to—” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said the painter. + </p> + <p> + “But you can easily justify yourself,” continued the girl, with a proud + movement of her head. “Monsieur Luigi,” she added, turning to him with an + arch look, “will no longer object to entering the royal service. Well, + then,” after receiving a smile from the young man, “to-morrow morning I + will send a petition to one of the most influential persons at the + ministry of War,—a man who will refuse nothing to the daughter of + the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a ‘tacit’ pardon for Captain Luigi, + for, of course, they will not allow him the rank of major. And then,” she + added, addressing Servin, “you can confound the mothers of my charitable + companions by telling them the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an angel!” cried Servin. + </p> + <p> + While this scene was passing at the studio the father and mother of + Ginevra were becoming impatient at her non-return. + </p> + <p> + “It is six o’clock, and Ginevra not yet home!” cried Bartolomeo. + </p> + <p> + “She was never so late before,” said his wife. + </p> + <p> + The two old people looked at each other with an anxiety that was not usual + with them. Too anxious to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose and walked + about the salon with an active step for a man who was over seventy-seven + years of age. Thanks to his robust constitution, he had changed but little + since the day of his arrival in Paris, and, despite his tall figure, he + walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left uncovered a broad and + protuberant skull, which gave a strong idea of his character and firmness. + His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had taken, with age, a nobler + expression, preserving the pallid tones which inspire veneration. The + ardor of passions still lived in the fire of his eyes, while the eyebrows, + which were not wholly whitened, retained their terrible mobility. The + aspect of the head was stern, but it conveyed the impression that Piombo + had a right to be so. His kindness, his gentleness were known only to his + wife and daughter. In his functions, or in presence of strangers, he never + laid aside the majesty that time had impressed upon his person; and the + habit of frowning with his heavy eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his + face, and giving to his eyes a Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of + accosting others icy. + </p> + <p> + During the course of his political life he had been so generally feared + that he was thought unsocial, and it is not difficult to explain the + causes of that opinion. The life, morals, and fidelity of Piombo made him + obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that delicate missions + were constantly intrusted to his discretion which to any other man about + the court would have proved lucrative, he possessed an income of not more + than thirty thousand francs from an investment in the Grand Livre. If we + recall the cheapness of government securities under the Empire, and the + liberality of Napoleon towards those of his faithful servants who knew how + to ask for it, we can readily see that the Baron di Piombo must have been + a man of stern integrity. He owed his plumage as baron to the necessity + Napoleon felt of giving him a title before sending him on missions to + foreign courts. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the traitors with whom + Napoleon surrounded himself, expecting to bind them to his cause by dint + of victories. It was he of whom it is told that he made three steps to the + door of the Emperor’s cabinet after advising him to get rid of three men + in France on the eve of Napoleon’s departure for his celebrated and + admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of the Bourbons + Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of honor. No man + offered a finer image of those old Republicans, incorruptible friends to + the Empire, who remained the living relics of the two most energetic + governments the world has ever seen. Though the Baron di Piombo displeased + mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, and Carnots with him as + friends. As for the rest of the politicians, he cared not a whiff of his + cigar’s smoke for them, especially since Waterloo. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which Madame + Mere, the Emperor’s mother, had paid him for his estates in Corsica, the + old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had made no changes. + Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he did not occupy this + house until after the catastrophe of Fontainebleau. Following the habits + of simple persons of strict virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed to + external splendor; their furniture was that which they bought with the + mansion. The grand apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide mirrors + in gilded frames that were almost black, the furniture of the period of + Louis XIV. were in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, personages worthy + of antiquity. + </p> + <p> + Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising functions + that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had maintained a great + establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor to his office than from + any desire to shine himself. His life and that of his wife were so frugal, + so tranquil, that their modest fortune sufficed for all their wants. To + them, their daughter Ginevra was more precious than the wealth of the + whole world. When, therefore, in May, 1814, the Baron di Piombo resigned + his office, dismissed his crowd of servants, and closed his stable door, + Ginevra, quiet, simple and unpretending like her parents, saw nothing to + regret in the change. Like all great souls, she found her luxury in + strength of feeling, and derived her happiness from quietness and work. + These three beings loved each other too well for the externals of + existence to be of value in their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon, + Bartolomeo and his wife passed delightful evenings alone with their + daughter, listening while she sang and played. To them there was a vast + secret pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that child; + their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; they heard her step in the + court-yard, lightly as she trod. Like lovers, the three would often sit + silently together, understanding thus, better than by speech, the + eloquence of their souls. This profound sentiment, the life itself of the + two old people, animated their every thought. Here were not three + existences, but one,—one only, which, like the flame on the hearth, + divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, occasionally, some memory + of Napoleon’s benefits and misfortunes, if the public events of the moment + distracted the minds of the old people from this source of their constant + solicitude, they could always talk of those interests without affecting + their community of thought, for Ginevra shared their political passions. + What more natural, therefore, than the ardor with which they found a + refuge in the heart of their only child? + </p> + <p> + Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed the energy of the + Baron di Piombo; but after leaving those employments he felt the need of + casting that energy into the last sentiment that remained to him. Apart + from the ties of parentage, there may have been, unknown to these three + despotic souls, another powerful reason for the intensity of their + reciprocal love: it was love undivided. Ginevra’s whole heart belonged to + her father, as Piombo’s whole heart belonged to his child; and if it be + true that we are bound to one another more by our defects than by our + virtues, Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the passions of her father. + There lay the sole imperfection of this triple life. Ginevra was born + unyielding of will, vindictive, and passionate, like her father in his + youth. + </p> + <p> + The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these savage sentiments in + the heart of his daughter, precisely as a lion teaches the lion-cubs to + spring upon their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance having no + means of action in their family life, it came to pass that Ginevra turned + the principle against her father; as a child she forgave him nothing, and + he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more than childish + nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the child was all the while + acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. In the midst, however, of the + tempests which the father was fond of exciting, a look, a word of + tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls, and often they were + never so near to a kiss as when they were threatening each other + vehemently. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her + father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love + which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got the + better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had + resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother on + the footing of an equality which is always dangerous. + </p> + <p> + Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to + study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had + studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,—taking up + and leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had + proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble woman + had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of enlightening her + mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature; her defects came from + the fatal education which the old Corsican had found delight in giving + her. + </p> + <p> + After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the bell; a + servant entered. + </p> + <p> + “Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra,” said his master. + </p> + <p> + “I always regret our carriage on her account,” remarked the baroness. + </p> + <p> + “She said she did not want one,” replied Piombo, looking at his wife, who, + accustomed for forty years to habits of obedience, lowered her eyes and + said no more. + </p> + <p> + Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and wrinkled, the baroness + exactly resembled those old women whom Schnetz puts into the Italian + scenes of his “genre” pictures. She was so habitually silent that she + might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; but, occasionally, a word, + look, or gesture betrayed that her feelings still retained all the vigor + and the freshness of their youth. Her dress, devoid of coquetry, was often + in bad taste. She usually sat passive, buried in a low sofa, like a + Sultana Valide, awaiting or admiring her Ginevra, her pride, her life. The + beauty, toilet, and grace of her daughter seemed to have become her own. + All was well with her if Ginevra was happy. Her hair was white, and a few + strands only were seen above her white and wrinkled forehead, or beside + her hollow cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “It is now fifteen days,” she said, “since Ginevra made a practice of + being late.” + </p> + <p> + “Jean is so slow!” cried the impatient old man, buttoning up his blue coat + and seizing his hat, which he dashed upon his head as he took his cane and + departed. + </p> + <p> + “You will not get far,” said his wife, calling after him. + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, and the old mother + heard the steps of her Ginevra in the court-yard. Bartolomeo almost + instantly reappeared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in his arms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. LOVE + </h2> + <p> + “Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!” + cried the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father, you hurt me!” + </p> + <p> + Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her head + with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her cry, as + if to say, “Don’t be alarmed, it was only a trick to get away.” + </p> + <p> + The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even + assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,—with + him the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he + saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers who + served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of his + face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. These + two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of a drooping + plant to which a little water has given fresh life after long dryness. + </p> + <p> + “Now, to dinner! to dinner!” cried the baron, offering his large hand to + his daughter, whom he called “Signora Piombellina,”—another symptom + of gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah ca!” said Piombo, as they left the table, “your mother has called my + attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much longer than + usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you than your + parents—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father!” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think,” said the mother. + </p> + <p> + “A picture of your own! will you bring us that?” cried the Corsican, + clapping his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio,” replied Ginevra, rather + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!” cried her mother. + </p> + <p> + “No!” exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,—“no! it + shall never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their + daughter in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I love a young man,” she added, in a voice of emotion. + </p> + <p> + Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large eyelids + as if to veil the fire of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is he a prince?” asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice which + made the mother quail. + </p> + <p> + “No, father,” she said, gently, “he is a young man without fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he very handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “He is very unfortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Labedoyere’s comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin + concealed him, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Servin is a good fellow, who has done well,” cried Piombo; “but you, my + daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not depend on me to love, or not to love,” replied Ginevra, still + gently. + </p> + <p> + “I flattered myself,” continued her father, “that my Ginevra would be + faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother would + suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness would find a + rival in her soul, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?” said Ginevra. + “Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me for months + together when you went on missions. I bore your absence courageously. Life + has necessities to which we must all submit.” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra!” + </p> + <p> + “No, you don’t love me for myself; your reproaches betray your intolerable + egotism.” + </p> + <p> + “You dare to blame your father’s love!” exclaimed Piombo, his eyes + flashing. + </p> + <p> + “Father, I don’t blame you,” replied Ginevra, with more gentleness than + her trembling mother expected. “You have grounds for your egotism, as I + have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has ever fulfilled her + duty to her parents better than I have done to you. I have never felt + anything but love and happiness where others often see obligation. It is + now fifteen years that I have never left your protecting wing, and it has + been a most dear pleasure to me to charm your life. But am I ungrateful + for all this in giving myself up to the joy of loving; is it ingratitude + to desire a husband who will protect me hereafter?” + </p> + <p> + “What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?” said Piombo, in + a dangerous tone. + </p> + <p> + A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. + Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending + tone:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot have + you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await your + liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to love + you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath me. You + will be doubly cherished by me and by him,—by him who is my other + self, by me who am all his.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!” cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; “why did + you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did you not + take the counts and dukes he presented to you?” + </p> + <p> + “They loved me to order,” said the girl. “Besides, they would have made me + live with them, and I did not wish to leave you alone.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t wish to leave me alone,” said Piombo, “and yet you marry!—that + is leaving me alone. I know you, my daughter; in that case, you would + cease to love us. Elisa,” he added, looking at his wife, who remained + motionless, and as if stupefied, “we have no longer a daughter; she wishes + to marry.” + </p> + <p> + The old man sat down, after raising his hands to heaven with a gesture of + invoking the Divine power; then he bowed himself over as if weighed down + with sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which he put upon his anger + touched her to the heart; she expected some violent crisis, some + ungovernable fury; she had not armed her soul against paternal gentleness. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” she said, in a tender voice, “no, you shall never be abandoned + by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If you know how + he loves me! Ah! <i>He</i> would never make me unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + “Comparisons already!” cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. “No, I can never + endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve to be + loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a dagger + through him.” + </p> + <p> + The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body trembled, + but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to endure his + glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was worthy of the sire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?” continued Piombo. + “To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there worthy to be + your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i>,” said Ginevra; “he of whom I am not worthy.” + </p> + <p> + “He?” repeated Piombo, mechanically; “who is <i>he</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “He whom I love.” + </p> + <p> + “How can he know you enough to love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, “whether he loves me + or not, if I love him—” + </p> + <p> + “You love him?” cried Piombo. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra bent her head softly. + </p> + <p> + “You love him more than you love us?” + </p> + <p> + “The two feelings cannot be compared,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Is one stronger than the other?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is,” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “You shall not marry him,” cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the + window-panes. + </p> + <p> + “I shall marry him,” replied Ginevra, tranquilly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God!” cried the mother, “how will this quarrel end? Santa Virgina! + place thyself between them!” + </p> + <p> + The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated himself; + an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his daughter, and + said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,— + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night—let + me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his knees, his + white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you—” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it,” she replied. “I am + your daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “She is right,” said the baroness. “We are sent into the world to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you encourage her in disobedience?” said the baron to his wife, who, + terrified by the word, now changed to marble. + </p> + <p> + “Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedience,” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “No order can be unjust from the lips of your father, my daughter. Why do + you judge my action? The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on high, + sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil.” + </p> + <p> + “The only evil could be that he did not love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Always <i>he</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, always,” she answered. “He is my life, my good, my thought. Even if + I obeyed you he would be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him is to + make me hate you.” + </p> + <p> + “You love us not!” cried Piombo. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Ginevra, shaking her head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After we are gone—you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Father, do you wish me to long for your death?” cried Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor their parents die early,” + said the father, driven to exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “All the more reason why I should marry and be happy,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + This coolness and power of argument increased Piombo’s trouble; the blood + rushed violently to his head, and his face turned purple. Ginevra + shuddered; she sprang like a bird on her father’s knee, threw her arms + around his neck, and caressed his white hair, exclaiming, tenderly:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never survive you, my father, my + kind father!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!” replied Piombo, whose anger melted under + this caress like snow beneath the rays of the sun. + </p> + <p> + “It was time you ceased,” said the baroness, in a trembling voice. + </p> + <p> + “Poor mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra!” + </p> + <p> + And the father played with his daughter as though she were a child of six. + He amused himself by releasing the waving volume of her hair, by dandling + her on his knee; there was something of madness in these expressions of + his love. Presently his daughter scolded while kissing him, and tried, by + jesting, to obtain admission for Luigi; but her father, also jesting, + refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once more, and sulked again, + until, by the end of the evening, she was forced to be content with having + impressed upon her father’s mind both her love for Luigi and the idea of + an approaching marriage. + </p> + <p> + The next day she said no more about her love; she was more caressing to + her father than she had ever been, and testified the utmost gratitude, as + if to thank him for the consent he seemed to have given by his silence. + That evening she sang and played to him for a long time, exclaiming now + and then: “We want a man’s voice for this nocturne.” Ginevra was an + Italian, and that says all. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She went; and Elisa Piombo + whispered in her ear:— + </p> + <p> + “I have persuaded your father to receive him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!” + </p> + <p> + That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on the arm of her Luigi. The + officer came out of his hiding-place for the second time only. The earnest + appeals which Ginevra made to the Duc de Feltre, then minister of war, had + been crowned with complete success. Luigi’s name was replaced upon the + roll of officers awaiting orders. This was the first great step toward + better things. Warned by Ginevra of the difficulties he would encounter + with her father, the young man dared not express his fear of finding it + impossible to please the old man. Courageous under adversity, brave on a + battlefield, he trembled at the thought of entering Piombo’s salon. + Ginevra felt him tremble, and this emotion, the source of which lay in + her, was, to her eyes, another proof of love. + </p> + <p> + “How pale you are!” she said to him when they reached the door of the + house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only!—” + </p> + <p> + Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of the formal presentation + Ginevra was to make of her lover, he would not advance to meet him, but + remained seated in his usual arm-chair, and the sternness of his brow was + awful. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Ginevra, “I bring you a person you will no doubt be pleased + to see,—a soldier who fought beside the Emperor at Mont-Saint-Jean.” + </p> + <p> + The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance at Luigi, and said, in a sardonic + tone:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is not decorated.” + </p> + <p> + “I no longer wear the Legion of honor,” replied Luigi, timidly, still + standing. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra, mortified by her father’s incivility, dragged forward a chair. + The officer’s answer seemed to satisfy the old servant of Napoleon. Madame + Piombo, observing that her husband’s eyebrows were resuming their natural + position, said, by way of conversation: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur’s resemblance to a person we knew in Corsica, Nina Porta, is + really surprising.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing could be more natural,” replied the young man, on whose face + Piombo’s flaming eyes now rested. “Nina was my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you Luigi Porta?” asked the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against a chair and beckon + to his wife. Elisa Piombo came to him. Then the two old people, silently, + each supporting the other, left the room, abandoning their daughter with a + sort of horror. + </p> + <p> + Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had turned as white as a + marble statue, and stood gazing at the door through which her father and + mother had disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed to her so + solemn that, for the first time, in her whole life, a feeling of fear + entered her soul. She struck her hands together with great force, and + said, in a voice so shaken that none but a lover could have heard the + words:— + </p> + <p> + “What misery in a word!” + </p> + <p> + “In the name of our love, what have I said?” asked Luigi Porta. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” she replied, “never spoke to me of our deplorable history, + and I was too young when we left Corsica to know anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we in vendetta?” asked Luigi, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas killed my brother and + burned our house. My father then massacred the whole family. How is it + that you survived?—for you were tied to the posts of the bed before + they set fire to the house.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” replied Luigi. “I was taken to Genoa when six years old, + and given in charge of an old man named Colonna. No detail about my family + was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, and without property. + Old Colonna was a father to me; and I bore his name until I entered the + army. In order to do that, I had to show my certificate of birth in order + to prove my identity. Colonna then told me, still a mere child, that I had + enemies. And he advised me to take Luigi as my surname, and so evade + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, go, Luigi!” cried Ginevra. “No, stay; I must go with you. So long as + you are in my father’s house you have nothing to fear; but the moment you + leave it, take care! you will go from danger to danger. My father has two + Corsicans in his service, and if he does not lie in wait to kill you, they + will.” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra,” he said, “this feud, does it exist between you and me?” + </p> + <p> + The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presently she raised it, and + said, with a sort of pride:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, indeed, to give me strength + to tread the path I am about to enter. But it involves a happiness that + will last throughout our lives, will it not?” + </p> + <p> + Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra comprehended that true love could despise all vulgar protestations + at such a moment. This calm and restrained expression of his feelings + foreshadowed, in some sense, their strength and their duration. + </p> + <p> + The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. Ginevra foresaw a + cruel struggle, but the idea of abandoning Luigi—an idea which may + have floated in her soul—vanished completely. His forever, she + dragged him suddenly, with a desperate sort of energy, from her father’s + house, and did not leave him till she saw him reach the house where Servin + had engaged a modest lodging. + </p> + <p> + By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained to that serenity which + is caused by a firm resolution; no sign in her manner betrayed uneasiness. + She turned on her father and mother, whom she found in the act of sitting + down to dinner, a glance of exceeding gentleness devoid of hardihood. She + saw that her mother had been weeping; the redness of those withered + eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emotion. No one touched the + dinner which was served to them. A horror of food is one of the chief + symptoms which reveal a great crisis in life. All three rose from table + without having addressed a single word to one another. + </p> + <p> + When Ginevra had placed herself between her father and mother in the great + and gloomy salon, Piombo tried to speak, but his voice failed him; he + tried to walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned to his seat + and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Pietro,” he said, at last, to the footman, “light the fire; I am cold.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anxiously. The struggle within + him must have been horrible, for his face was distorted. Ginevra knew the + extent of the peril before her, but she did not flinch. Bartolomeo, + meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his daughter, as if he feared a + character whose violence was the work of his own hands. + </p> + <p> + Between such natures all things must be extreme. The certainty of some + impending change in the feelings of father and daughter gave to the worn + and weary face of the baroness an expression of terror. + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family,” said Piombo, at last, not + daring to look at his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a part of our being. Whoso + does not share my vengeance is not a member of my family.” + </p> + <p> + “My choice is made,” replied Ginevra, calmly. + </p> + <p> + His daughter’s tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear child!” he cried, letting her see his eyes moistened with + tears, the first and only tears he ever shed in life. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be his wife,” said Ginevra, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he recovered his coolness + instantly, and replied:— + </p> + <p> + “The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I will never consent to + it.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra kept silence. + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra,” continued the baron, “have you reflected that Luigi is the son + of the man who killed your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “He was six years old when that crime was committed; he was, therefore, + not guilty of it,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “He is a Porta!” cried Bartolomeo. + </p> + <p> + “I have never shared that hatred,” said Ginevra, eagerly. “You did not + bring me up to think a Porta must be a monster. How could I know that one + of those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is it not natural that + you should now yield your vendetta to my feelings?” + </p> + <p> + “A Porta!” repeated Piombo. “If his father had found you in your bed you + would not be living now; he would have taken your life a hundred times.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be so,” she answered; “but his son has given me life, and more + than life. To see Luigi is a happiness without which I cannot live. Luigi + has revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, perhaps, have seen + faces more beautiful than his, but none has ever charmed me thus; I may + have heard voices—no, no, never any so melodious! Luigi loves me; he + will be my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said Piombo. “I would rather see you in your coffin, Ginevra.” + </p> + <p> + The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and down the salon, dropping + the following sentences, one by one, after pauses which betrayed his + agitation. + </p> + <p> + “You think you can bend my will. Undeceive yourself. A Porta shall never + be my son; that is my decree. Let there be no further question of this + between us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, Ginevra?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those words?” she asked, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not fear man’s justice. + Corsicans explain themselves to God.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” said the daughter, rising, “am Ginevra Piombo, and I declare that + within six months I shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a tyrant, my + father,” she added, after a terrifying pause. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on the marble of the + chimneypiece. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! we are in Paris!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head on his breast, and + said not another word during the whole evening. + </p> + <p> + After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra affected inconceivable + coolness. She opened the piano and sang, played charming nocturnes and + scherzos with a grace and sentiment which displayed a perfect freedom of + mind, thus triumphing over her father, whose darkling face showed no + softening. The old man was cruelly hurt by this tacit insult; he gathered + in this one moment the bitter fruits of the training he had given to his + daughter. Respect is a barrier which protects parents as it does children, + sparing grief to the former, remorse to the latter. + </p> + <p> + The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the house at the hour when she + usually went to the studio, she found the gates of the mansion closed to + her. She said nothing, but soon found means to inform Luigi Porta of her + father’s severity. A chambermaid, who could neither read nor write, was + able to carry letters between the lovers. For five days they corresponded + thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of the youth. + </p> + <p> + The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. Both were nursing in + the depths of their heart a sentiment of hatred; they suffered, but they + suffered proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong were the ties of + love which bound them to each other, they each tried to break them, but + without success. No gentle thought came, as formerly, to brighten the + stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his Ginevra. The girl had + something savage in her eye when she looked at her father; reproach sat + enthroned on that innocent brow; she gave herself up, it is true, to happy + thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse seemed to dull her eyes. It was not + difficult to believe that she could never enjoy, peacefully, any happiness + which caused sorrow to her parents. + </p> + <p> + With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesitations of this period + caused by the native goodness of their souls were, nevertheless, compelled + to give way before their pride and the rancor of their Corsican nature. + They encouraged each other in their anger, and closed their eyes to the + future. Perhaps they mutually flattered themselves that the one would + yield to the other. + </p> + <p> + At last, on Ginevra’s birthday, her mother, in despair at the estrangement + which, day by day, assumed a more serious character, meditated an attempt + to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of the memories of this + family anniversary. They were all three sitting in Bartolomeo’s study. + Ginevra guessed her mother’s intention by the timid hesitation on her + face, and she smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a servant announced two notaries, accompanied by witnesses. + Bartolomeo looked fixedly at these persons, whose cold and formal faces + were grating to souls so passionately strained as those of the three chief + actors in this scene. The old man turned to his daughter and looked at her + uneasily. He saw upon her face a smile of triumph which made him expect + some shock; but, after the manner of savages, he affected to maintain a + deceitful indifference as he gazed at the notaries with an assumed air of + calm curiosity. The strangers sat down, after being invited to do so by a + gesture of the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?” began the oldest of the + notaries. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight inclination of the head, looked + at Ginevra with a sly expression, took out his snuff-box, opened it, and + slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words with which to open his + errand; then, while uttering them, he made continual pauses (an oratorical + manoeuvre very imperfectly represented by the printer’s dash—). + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said, “I am Monsieur Roguin, your daughter’s notary, and we + have come—my colleague and I—to fulfil the intentions of the + law and—put an end to the divisions which—appear—to + exist—between yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter,—on the + subject—of—her—marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta.” + </p> + <p> + This speech, pedantically delivered, probably seemed to Monsieur Roguin so + fine that his hearer could not at once understand it. He paused, and + looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of the mere business + lawyer, a mixture of servility with familiarity. Accustomed to feign much + interest in the persons with whom they deal, notaries have at last + produced upon their features a grimace of their own, which they take on + and off as an official “pallium.” This mask of benevolence, the mechanism + of which is so easy to perceive, irritated Bartolomeo to such an extent + that he was forced to collect all the powers of his reason to prevent him + from throwing Monsieur Roguin through the window. An expression of anger + ran through his wrinkles, which caused the notary to think to himself: + “I’ve produced an effect.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” he continued, in a honeyed tone, “Monsieur le baron, on such + occasions our duties are preceded by—efforts at—conciliation—Deign, + therefore, to have the goodness to listen to me—It is in evidence + that Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo—attains this very day—the + age at which the law allows a respectful summons before proceeding to the + celebration of a marriage—in spite of the non-consent of the + parents. Now—it is usual in families—who enjoy a certain + consideration—who belong to society—who preserve some dignity—to + whom, in short, it is desirable not to let the public into the secret of + their differences—and who, moreover, do not wish to injure + themselves by blasting with reprobation the future of a young couple (for—that + is injuring themselves), it is usual, I say—among these honorable + families—not to allow these summonses—to take place—or + remain—a monument to—divisions which should end—by + ceasing—Whenever, monsieur, a young lady has recourse to respectful + summons, she exhibits a determination too marked to allow of a father—of + a mother,” here he turned to the baroness, “hoping or expecting that she + will follow their wishes—Paternal resistance being null—by + reason of this fact—in the first place—and also from its being + nullified by law, it is customary—for every sensible man—after + making a final remonstrance to his child—and before she proceeds to + the respectful summons—to leave her at liberty to—” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might talk on for two hours + without obtaining any answer; he felt, moreover, a singular emotion at the + aspect of the man he was attempting to convert. An extraordinary + revolution had taken place on Piombo’s face; his wrinkles, contracting + into narrow lines, gave him a look of indescribable cruelty, and he cast + upon the notary the glance of a tiger. The baroness was mute and passive. + Ginevra, calm and resolute, waited silently; she knew that the notary’s + voice was more potent than hers, and she seemed to have decided to say + nothing. At the moment when Roguin ceased speaking, the scene had become + so terrifying that the men who were there as witnesses trembled; never, + perhaps, had they known so awful a silence. The notaries looked at each + other, as if in consultation, and finally rose and walked to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever meet people born into the world like that?” asked Roguin of + his brother notary. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t get anything out of him,” replied the younger man. “In your + place, I should simply read the summons. That old fellow isn’t a + comfortable person; he is furious, and you’ll gain nothing whatever by + arguing with him.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, containing the “respectful + summons,” prepared for the occasion; after which he proceeded to ask + Bartolomeo what answer he made to it. + </p> + <p> + “Are there laws in France which destroy paternal authority?—” + demanded the Corsican. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur—” said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. + </p> + <p> + “Which tear a daughter from her father?—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur—” + </p> + <p> + “Which deprive an old man of his last consolation?—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you if—” + </p> + <p> + “And kill him?—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, permit me—” + </p> + <p> + There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and precise reasoning of + notaries amid the many passionate scenes in which they are accustomed to + take part. + </p> + <p> + The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his eyes, escaped from + hell; his repressed and concentrated rage knew no longer any bounds as the + calm and fluted voice of the little notary uttered the words: “permit me.” + By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger that was hanging to a nail + above the fireplace, and rushed toward his daughter. The younger of the + two notaries and one of the witnesses threw themselves before Ginevra; but + Piombo knocked them violently down, his face on fire, and his eyes casting + flames more terrifying than the glitter of the dagger. When Ginevra saw + him approach her she looked at him with an air of triumph, and advancing + slowly, knelt down. “No, no! I cannot!” he cried, flinging away the + weapon, which buried itself in the wainscot. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then! have mercy! have pity!” she said. “You hesitate to be my + death, and you refuse me life! Oh! father, never have I loved you as I do + at this moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon my knees: a + daughter can humiliate herself before her father. My Luigi, give me my + Luigi, or I die!” + </p> + <p> + The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped her words, for she had + no voice; her convulsive movements showed plainly that she lay, as it + were, between life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from him. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” he said. “The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be a Piombo. I have no + daughter. I have not the strength to curse you, but I cast you off; you + have no father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here,” he said, in a deep + voice, pressing violently on his heart. “Go, leave my house, unhappy + girl,” he added, after a moment’s silence. “Go, and never come into my + sight again.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate of the house and + silently put her out. + </p> + <p> + “Luigi!” cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodging of her lover,—“my + Luigi, we have no other fortune than our love.” + </p> + <p> + “Then am I richer than the kings of the earth!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “My father and my mother have cast me off,” she said, in deepest sadness. + </p> + <p> + “I will love you in place of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us be happy,—we WILL be happy!” she cried, with a gayety + in which there was something dreadful. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. MARRIAGE + </h2> + <p> + The day after Ginevra was driven from her father’s house she went to ask + Madame Servin for asylum and protection until the period fixed by law for + her marriage to Luigi. + </p> + <p> + Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble which the world strews + about the path of those who do not follow its conventions. Madame Servin + received her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm which Ginevra’s + affair had inflicted on her husband, and told her, in politely cautious + words, that she must not count on her help in future. Too proud to + persist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto unknown to her, the girl + took a room in the lodging-house that was nearest to that of Luigi. The + son of the Portas passed all his days at the feet of his future wife; and + his youthful love, the purity of his words, dispersed the clouds from the + mind of the banished daughter; the future was so beautiful as he painted + it that she ended by smiling joyfully, though without forgetting her + father’s severity. + </p> + <p> + One morning the servant of the lodging house brought to Ginevra’s room a + number of trunks and packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and a + great quantity of other articles necessary for a young wife in setting up + a home of her own. In this welcome provision she recognized her mother’s + foresight, and, on examining the gifts, she found a purse, in which the + baroness had put the money belonging to her daughter, adding to it the + amount of her own savings. The purse was accompanied by a letter, in which + the mother implored the daughter to forego the fatal marriage if it were + still possible to do so. It had cost her, she said, untold difficulty to + send these few things to her daughter; she entreated her not to think her + hard if, henceforth, she were forced to abandon her to want; she feared + she could never again assist her; but she blessed her and prayed for her + happiness in this fatal marriage, if, indeed, she persisted in making it, + assuring her that she should never cease to think of her darling child. + Here the falling tears had effaced some words of the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother!” cried Ginevra, deeply moved. + </p> + <p> + She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the blessed air of her + father’s house, to fling herself at his feet, to see her mother. She was + springing forward to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At the mere + sight of him her filial emotion vanished; her tears were stopped, and she + no longer had the strength to abandon that loving and unfortunate youth. + To be the sole hope of a noble being, to love him and then abandon him!—that + sacrifice is the treachery of which young hearts are incapable. Ginevra + had the generosity to bury her own grief and suffering silently in her + soul. + </p> + <p> + The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend with her. While she was + dressing, Luigi fetched the witnesses necessary to sign the certificate of + marriage. These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a cavalry sergeant, + was under obligations to Luigi, contracted on the battlefield, obligations + which are never obliterated from the heart of an honest man; the other, a + master-mason, was the proprietor of the house in which the young couple + had hired an apartment for their future home. Each witness brought a + friend, and all four, with Luigi, came to escort the bride. Little + accustomed to social functions, and seeing nothing in the service they + were rendering to Luigi but a simple matter of business, they were dressed + in their ordinary clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about them + denoted the usual joy of a marriage procession. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her present fortunes; and + yet her beauty was so noble and so imposing that the words of greeting + died away on the lips of the witnesses, who supposed themselves obliged to + pay her some usual compliments. They bowed to her with respect, and she + returned the bow; but they did so in silence, looking at her with + admiration. This reserve cast a chill over the whole party. Joy never + bursts forth freely except among those who are equals. Thus chance + determined that all should be dull and grave around the bridal pair; + nothing reflected, outwardly, the happiness that reigned within their + hearts. + </p> + <p> + The church and the mayor’s office being near by, Luigi and Ginevra, + followed by the four witnesses required by law, walked the distance, with + a simplicity that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in social life. + They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the mayor’s court-yard; and when + they reached the great hall where the civil marriages take place, they + found two other wedding-parties impatiently awaiting the mayor’s arrival. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long bench; their witnesses + remained standing, for want of seats. Two brides, elaborately dressed in + white, with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and crowned with orange-blossoms + whose satiny petals nodded beneath their veils, were surrounded by joyous + families, and accompanied by their mothers, to whom they looked up, now + and then, with eyes that were content and timid both; the faces of all the + rest reflected happiness, and seemed to be invoking blessings on the + youthful pairs. Fathers, witnesses, brothers, and sisters went and came, + like a happy swarm of insects disporting in the sun. Each seemed to be + impressed with the value of this passing moment of life, when the heart + finds itself within two hopes,—the wishes of the past, the promises + of the future. + </p> + <p> + As she watched them, Ginevra’s heart swelled within her; she pressed + Luigi’s arm, and gave him a look. A tear rolled from the eyes of the young + Corsican; never did he so well understand the joys that his Ginevra was + sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her to forget all else but + him,—even the abandonment in which she sat there. Love poured down + its treasures of light upon their hearts; they saw nought else but + themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they were there alone, in + that crowd, as they were destined to be, henceforth, in life. Their + witnesses, indifferent to what was happening, conversed quietly on their + own affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Oats are very dear,” said the sergeant to the mason. + </p> + <p> + “But they have not gone up like lime, relatively speaking,” replied the + contractor. + </p> + <p> + Then they walked round the hall. + </p> + <p> + “How one loses time here,” said the mason, replacing a thick silver watch + in his fob. + </p> + <p> + Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, seemed like one person. + A poet would have admired their two heads, inspired by the same sentiment, + colored in the same tones, silent and saddened in presence of that humming + happiness sparkling in diamonds, gay with flowers,—a gayety in which + there was something fleeting. The joy of those noisy and splendid groups + was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi was buried in their bosom. On one + side the tumult of common pleasure, on the other, the delicate silence of + happy souls,—earth and heaven! + </p> + <p> + But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weaknesses of women. + Superstitious as an Italian, she saw an omen in this contrast, and in her + heart there lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, opened a folding-door. + Silence reigned, and his voice was heard, like the yapping of a dog, + calling Monsieur Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo. This + caused some embarrassment to the young pair. The celebrity of the bride’s + name attracted attention, and the spectators seemed to wonder that the + wedding was not more sumptuous. Ginevra rose, took Luigi’s arm, and + advanced firmly, followed by the witnesses. A murmur of surprise, which + went on increasing, and a general whispering reminded Ginevra that all + present were wondering at the absence of her parents; her father’s wrath + seemed present to her. + </p> + <p> + “Call in the families,” said the mayor to the clerk whose business it was + to read aloud the certificates. + </p> + <p> + “The father and mother protest,” replied the clerk, phlegmatically. + </p> + <p> + “On both sides?” inquired the mayor. + </p> + <p> + “The groom is an orphan.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are the witnesses?” + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said the clerk, pointing to the four men, who stood with arms + folded, like so many statues. + </p> + <p> + “But if the parents protest—” began the mayor. + </p> + <p> + “The respectful summons has been duly served,” replied the clerk, rising, + to lay before the mayor the papers annexed to the marriage certificate. + </p> + <p> + This bureaucratic decision had something blighting about it; in a few + words it contained the whole story. The hatred of the Portas and the + Piombos and their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of the + civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it may be, in one word + only,—Napoleon, Robespierre) are engraved on a tombstone. Ginevra + trembled. Like the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to rest + its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge only in the eyes of + Luigi from the cold and dreary waste around her. + </p> + <p> + The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and his clerk looked up at + the couple with malicious curiosity. No marriage was ever so little + festal. Like other human beings when deprived of their accessories, it + became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. + </p> + <p> + After a few questions, to which the bride and bridegroom responded, and a + few words mumbled by the mayor, and after signing the registers, with + their witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. Then the wedded + pair walked back through two lines of joyous relations who did not belong + to them, and whose only interest in their marriage was the delay caused to + their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. When, at last, Ginevra found + herself in the mayor’s court-yard, under the open sky, a sigh escaped her + breast. + </p> + <p> + “Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove my gratitude for + your courage and tenderness, my Ginevra?” said Luigi. + </p> + <p> + At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride forgot her sufferings; + for she had indeed suffered in presenting herself before the public to + obtain a happiness her parents refused to sanction. + </p> + <p> + “Why should others come between us?” she said with an artlessness of + feeling that delighted Luigi. + </p> + <p> + A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step of the young pair + lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor earth, nor houses; they flew, as it + were, on wings to the church. When they reached a dark little chapel in + one corner of the building, and stood before a plain undecorated altar, an + old priest married them. There, as in the mayor’s office, two other + marriages were taking place, still pursuing them with pomp. The church, + filled with friends and relations, echoed with the roll of carriages, and + the hum of beadles, sextons, and priests. Altars were resplendent with + sacramental luxury; the wreaths of orange-flowers that crowned the figures + of the Virgin were fresh. Flowers, incense, gleaming tapers, velvet + cushions embroidered with gold, were everywhere. When the time came to + hold above the heads of Luigi and Ginevra the symbol of eternal union,—that + yoke of satin, white, soft, brilliant, light for some, lead for most,—the + priest looked about him in vain for the acolytes whose place it was to + perform that joyous function. Two of the witnesses fulfilled it for them. + The priest addressed a hasty homily to the pair on the perils of life, on + the duties they must, some day, inculcate upon their children,—throwing + in, at this point, an indirect reproach to Ginevra on the absence of her + parents; then, after uniting them before God, as the mayor had united them + before the law, he left the now married couple. + </p> + <p> + “God bless them!” said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to the mason, when they + reached the church porch. “No two creatures were ever more fitted for one + another. The parents of the girl are foolish. I don’t know a braver + soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole army had behaved like him, + ‘l’autre’ would be here still.” + </p> + <p> + This blessing of the old soldier, the only one bestowed upon their + marriage-day, shed a balm on Ginevra’s heart. + </p> + <p> + They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi thanked his landlord. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, ‘mon brave,’” he said to the sergeant. “I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am now and ever at your service, colonel,—soul, body, horses, and + carriages; all that is mine is yours.” + </p> + <p> + “How he loves you!” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were to occupy. Their modest + apartment was soon reached; and there, when the door closed upon them, + Luigi took his wife in his arms, exclaiming,— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is our true wedding. Here,” he + added, “all things will smile upon us.” + </p> + <p> + Together they went through the three rooms contained in their lodging. The + room first entered served as salon and dining-room in one; on the right + was a bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had arranged for + his wife; in it she found easels, color-boxes, lay-figures, casts, + pictures, portfolios,—in short, the paraphernalia of an artist. + </p> + <p> + “So here I am to work!” she said, with an expression of childlike + happiness. + </p> + <p> + She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, turning again and again + to thank Luigi, for there was something that approached magnificence in + the little retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite books; a piano + filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon a divan, drew Luigi to her + side, and said, in a caressing voice, her hand in his,— + </p> + <p> + “You have good taste.” + </p> + <p> + “Those words make me happy,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “But let me see all,” said Ginevra, to whom Luigi had made a mystery of + the adornment of the rooms. + </p> + <p> + They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white as a virgin. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! come away,” said Luigi, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “But I wish to see all.” + </p> + <p> + And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of furniture with the + minute care of an antiquary examining a coin; she touched the silken + hangings, and went over every article with the artless satisfaction of a + bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. + </p> + <p> + “We begin by ruining ourselves,” she said, in a half-joyous, half-anxious + tone. + </p> + <p> + “True! for all my back pay is there,” replied Luigi. “I have mortgaged it + to a worthy fellow named Gigonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do so?” she said, in a tone of reproach, through which could + be heard her inward satisfaction. “Do you believe I should be less happy + in a garret? But,” she added, “it is all charming, and—it is ours!” + </p> + <p> + Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she lowered her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us see the rest,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a study for Luigi, a kitchen, + and a servant’s-room. Ginevra was much pleased with her little domain, + although the view from the windows was limited by the high wall of a + neighboring house, and the court-yard, from which their light was derived, + was gloomy. But the two lovers were so happy in heart, hope so adorned + their future, that they chose to see nothing but what was charming in + their hidden nest. They were there in that vast house, lost in the + immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their shell in the depths of ocean; + to all others it might have seemed a prison; to them it was paradise. + </p> + <p> + The first few days of their union were given to love. The effort to turn + at once to work was too difficult; they could not resist the charm of + their own passion. Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his wife, admiring + the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, the enchanting socket + of her eyes, the purity and whiteness of the two arches beneath which the + eyes themselves turned slowly, expressing the happiness of a satisfied + love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, never weary of gazing at + what she called his “belta folgorante,” and the delicacy of his features. + She was constantly charmed by the nobility of his manners, as she herself + attracted him by the grace of hers. + </p> + <p> + They played together, like children, with nothings,—nothings that + brought them ever back to their love,—ceasing their play only to + fall into a revery of the “far niente.” An air sung by Ginevra reproduced + to their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their passion. + Together, uniting their steps as they did their souls, they roamed about + the country, finding everywhere their love,—in the flowers, in the + sky, in the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in even the + capricious vapors which met and struggled in the ether. Each day resembled + in nothing its predecessors; their love increased, and still increased, + because it was a true love. They had tested each other in what seemed only + a short time; and, instinctively, they recognized that their souls were of + a kind whose inexhaustible riches promised for the future unceasing joys. + </p> + <p> + Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its interminable + conversations, unfinished speeches, long silences, oriental reposes, and + oriental ardor. Luigi and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like the + ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called monotonous by common + souls, whereas some privileged beings can pass their lives in admiring it, + and in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that enchant them. + </p> + <p> + Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the young couple from their + Eden; it was necessary to work to live. Ginevra, who possessed a special + talent for imitating old paintings, took up the business of copying, and + soon found many customers among the picture-dealers. Luigi, on his side, + sought long and actively for occupation, but it was hard for a young + officer whose talents had been restricted to the study of strategy to find + anything to do in Paris. + </p> + <p> + At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with despair at seeing the + whole burden of their subsistence falling on Ginevra, it occurred to him + to make use of his handwriting, which was excellent. With a persistency of + which he saw an example in his wife, he went round among the layers and + notaries of Paris, asking for papers to copy. The frankness of his manners + and his situation interested many in his favor; he soon obtained enough + work to be obliged to find young men to assist him; and this employment + became, little by little, a regular business. The profits of his office + and the sale of Ginevra’s pictures gave the young couple a competence of + which they were justly proud, for it was the fruit of their industry. + </p> + <p> + This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of their lives. The days + flowed rapidly by, filled with occupation and the joys of their love. At + night, after working all day, they met with delight in Ginevra’s studio. + Music refreshed their weariness. No expression of regret or melancholy + obscured the happy features of the young wife, and never did she utter a + complaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a smile upon her lips and her + eyes beaming. Each cherished a ruling thought which would have made them + take pleasure in a labor still more severe; Ginevra said in her heart that + she worked for Luigi, and Luigi the same for Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the thought of the perfect + happiness she might have had if this life of love could have been lived in + the presence of her father and mother overcame the young wife; and then, + as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped into melancholy; + mournful pictures passed like shadows across her imagination; she saw her + old father alone, or her mother weeping in secret lest the inexorable + Piombo should perceive her tears. The two white, solemn heads rose + suddenly before her, and the thought came that never again should she see + them except in memory. This thought pursued her like a presentiment. + </p> + <p> + She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by giving her husband a + portrait he had long desired,—that of his Ginevra, painted by + herself. Never had the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside from + the resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the purity of her feelings, the + happiness of love were there depicted by a sort of magic. This masterpiece + of her art and her joy was a votive offering to their wedded felicity. + </p> + <p> + Another year of ease and comfort went by. The history of their life may be + given in three words: <i>They were happy.</i> No event happened to them of + sufficient importance to be recorded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. RETRIBUTION + </h2> + <p> + At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers requested Ginevra to + give them something beside copies; for competition had so increased that + they could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame Porta then + perceived the mistake she had made in not exercising her talent for + “genre” painting, which might, by this time, have brought her reputation. + She now attempted portrait-painting. But here she was forced to compete + against a crowd of artists in greater need of money than herself. However, + as Luigi and Ginevra had laid by a few savings, they were not, as yet, + uneasy about the future. + </p> + <p> + Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi worked without + intermission. He, too, was struggling against competitors. The payment for + writing had so decreased that he found it impossible to employ assistance; + he was forced, therefore, to work a much longer time himself to obtain the + same emolument. His wife had finished several pictures which were not + without merit; but the dealers were scarcely buying those of artists with + reputations; consequently, her paintings had little chance. Ginevra + offered them for almost nothing, but without success. + </p> + <p> + The situation of the household now began to be alarming. The souls of the + husband and wife floated on the ocean of their happiness, love overwhelmed + them with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a skeleton, amid their + harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they hid from each other their secret + anxiety. When Ginevra felt like weeping as she watched Luigi’s worn and + suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; and Luigi, keeping his dark + forebodings in the depths of his soul, expressed to his Ginevra the + tenderest love. They sought a compensation for their troubles in exalting + their feelings; and their words, their joys, their caresses became + suffused, as it were, with a species of frenzy. They feared the future. + What feeling can be compared in strength with that of a passion which may + cease on the morrow, killed by death or want? When they talked together of + their poverty each felt the necessity of deceiving the other, and they + fastened with mutual ardor on the slightest hope. + </p> + <p> + One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her side. She rose in terror. + A faint light shining on the opposite wall of the little court-yard + revealed to her that her husband was working in his study at night. Luigi + was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was asleep, and then going + up to his garret to write. Four o’clock struck. Ginevra lay down again, + and pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi returned, overcome with fatigue + and drowsiness. Ginevra looked sadly on the beautiful, worn face, where + toil and care were already drawing lines of wrinkles. + </p> + <p> + “It is for me he spends his nights in writing,” she said to herself, + weeping. + </p> + <p> + A thought dried her tears. She would imitate Luigi. That same day she went + to a print-shop, and, by help of a letter of recommendation she had + obtained from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she obtained an + order for the coloring of lithographs. During the day she painted her + pictures and attended to the cares of the household; then, when night + came, she colored the engravings. This loving couple entered their nuptial + bed only to deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and left it,—Luigi, + as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra as soon as he had + gone. + </p> + <p> + One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under + which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of his + garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, the burden + of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the reflection of + Ginevra’s lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow guessed the + truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his wife in her + studio, coloring engravings. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ginevra!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Could I be idle,” she asked, her eyes filling with tears, “when I know + that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should die if I + could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common between us: + pains and pleasures, both.” + </p> + <p> + “She is cold!” cried Luigi, in despair. “Wrap your shawl closer round you, + my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly.” + </p> + <p> + They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her + beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence, + they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening. + Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing + luminous. + </p> + <p> + “See!” said Ginevra. “It is an omen. We shall be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in heaven,” replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. “Oh, Ginevra! you + who deserved all the treasures upon earth—” + </p> + <p> + “I have your heart,” she said, in tones of joy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I complain no more!” he answered, straining her tightly to him, and + covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the freshness of + youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender that he could + not look at it and not be comforted. + </p> + <p> + “What silence!” said Ginevra, presently. “Dear friend, I take great + pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it awes, it + inspires. There is I know not what great power in the thought: all sleep, + I wake.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Ginevra,” he cried, “it is not to-night alone I feel how + delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,—come + and sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ginevra, “if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much that + night I first discovered that you were waking while I slept.” + </p> + <p> + The courage with which these two young people fought with misery received + for a while its due reward; but an event which usually crowns the + happiness of a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a son, who was, + to use the popular expression, “as beautiful as the day.” The sense of + motherhood doubled the strength of the young wife. Luigi borrowed money to + meet the expenses of Ginevra’s confinement. At first she did not feel the + fresh burden of their situation; and the pair gave themselves wholly up to + the joy of possessing a child. It was their last happiness. + </p> + <p> + Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a current, these two + Corsican souls struggled courageously; but sometimes they gave way to an + apathy which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon they were + obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty appeared to them suddenly,—not + hideous, but plainly clothed, almost easy to endure; its voice had nothing + terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, nor rags; but it + made them lose the memory and the habits of comfort; it dried the springs + of pride. Then, before they knew it, came want,—want in all its + horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot all human sentiments. + </p> + <p> + Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Bartolomeo, it would + have been hard to see in the mother who suckled her sickly babe the + original of the beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of the + squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, the graceful outlines of + Ginevra’s figure were slowly destroyed; her cheeks grew white as + porcelain, and her eyes dulled as though the springs of life were drying + up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored child, she felt no + suffering but for that young misery; and Luigi had no courage to smile + upon his son. + </p> + <p> + “I have wandered over Paris,” he said, one day. “I know no one; can I ask + help of strangers? Vergniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a + conspiracy, and they have put him in prison; besides, he has already lent + me all he could spare. As for our landlord, it is over a year since he + asked me for any rent.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are not in want,” replied Ginevra, gently, affecting calmness. + </p> + <p> + “Every hour brings some new difficulty,” continued Luigi, in a tone of + terror. + </p> + <p> + Another day Luigi took Ginevra’s pictures, her portrait, and the few + articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold them + for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless household + for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed the sublimity + of her nature and the extent of her resignation. + </p> + <p> + Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up + against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying son, + performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and sufficed for + all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi’s lips a smile of + surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one poor room where they + had taken refuge. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you,” she said, one evening, when he + returned, worn-out. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her words + to take the food of which she had deprived herself. + </p> + <p> + Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given in + 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme moments + two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi, + comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the + fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that some + business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest poison + than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was left in his + home. + </p> + <p> + He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the bosom + of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; he hurried past + the windows of the money-changers where gold was glittering; and at last + he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute for military service, + hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra, and that her father, during + his absence, would take her home. + </p> + <p> + He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt a + sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial guard. + </p> + <p> + “It is two days since I have eaten anything,” he said to him in a slow, + weak voice. “My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered one word of + complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God’s sake, comrade,” he + added, bitterly, “buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no longer in the + service, and I—” + </p> + <p> + The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to + procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped the + gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying out at + times:— + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!” + </p> + <p> + It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very + softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he had + left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the garret + window, were fading from Ginevra’s face as she sat sleeping in her chair, + and holding her child upon her breast. + </p> + <p> + “Wake, my dear one,” he said, not observing the infant, which shone, at + that moment, with supernatural light. + </p> + <p> + Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi’s look, and + smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely recognized his + wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he showed her the + gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly she cried, in a + dreadful voice:— + </p> + <p> + “The child, Luigi, he is cold!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead. Luigi + took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she clasped + with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he went out to + seek help. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my God!” he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. “I have gold, + gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, too! Help + me!” + </p> + <p> + He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, and + also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the needs of + so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans had carefully + hidden it from a feeling of pride. + </p> + <p> + Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on + which lay his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Father! take care of my son, who bears your name,” she was saying in her + delirium. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my angel! be calm,” said Luigi, kissing her; “our good days are + coming back to us.” + </p> + <p> + “My Luigi,” she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, “listen + to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered too much; + besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for. Yes, my Luigi, + be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to live again I would + again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret you more than I regret + my child—My child!” she added, in a hollow voice. + </p> + <p> + Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little body + she had no power to warm. + </p> + <p> + “Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra,” she said. “Tell him + I have never blamed him.” + </p> + <p> + Her head fell upon her husband’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “No, you cannot die!” cried Luigi. “The doctor is coming. We have food. + Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with us, angel!” + </p> + <p> + But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra turned + her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was conscious of + nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now losing memory of + earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped his icy hand + tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to save herself from + some precipice down which she feared to fall. + </p> + <p> + “Dear,” she said, at last, “you are cold; I will warm you.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. + </p> + <p> + Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, bringing + all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their despair. + These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they had entered, + an awful silence filled the room. + </p> + <p> + While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were sitting in + their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast fireplace, where a + glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of their salon. The clock + told midnight. + </p> + <p> + For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At the + present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their dotage, + gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted salon, so + filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single lamp which + seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon the hearth, they + might soon have been in total darkness. + </p> + <p> + A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been sitting, + remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo was casting + glances at that chair,—glances full of thoughts, crowding one upon + another like remorse,—for the empty chair was Ginevra’s. Elisa + Piombo watched the expressions that now began to cross her husband’s + pallid face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings from the + changeful agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so threatening, and + anon so melancholy that she felt she could no longer read a soul that was + now incomprehensible, even to her. + </p> + <p> + Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that chair? + Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for the first + time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy struck,—that + hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now? + </p> + <p> + These reflections shook the mother’s heart successively. For an instant + her husband’s countenance became so terrible that she trembled at having + used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra’s name. The + night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so sharply against + the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard a gentle rustling. + Ginevra’s mother dropped her head to hide her tears. Suddenly a sigh burst + from the old man’s breast; his wife looked at him; he seemed to her + crushed. Then she risked speaking—for the second time in three long + years—of his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra may be cold,” she said, softly. + </p> + <p> + Piombo quivered. + </p> + <p> + “She may be hungry,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + The old man dropped a tear. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!” said + the mother, in accents of despair. + </p> + <p> + “Let her come! let her come to me!” cried Piombo. “Oh! my precious child, + thou hast conquered me.” + </p> + <p> + The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door + opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of + humanity, stood suddenly before them. + </p> + <p> + “Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is all + that remains of her,” he said, laying Ginevra’s long black hair upon the + table. + </p> + <p> + The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had blasted + them. + </p> + <p> + Luigi no longer stood before them. + </p> + <p> + “He has spared me a shot, for he is dead,” said Bartolomeo, slowly, gazing + on the ground at his feet. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> + <h3> + The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bidault (known as Gigonnet) + The Government Clerks + Gobseck + Cesar Birotteau + The Firm of Nucingen + A Daughter of Eve + + Bonaparte, Napoleon + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Seamy Side of History + A Woman of Thirty + + Bonaparte, Lucien + The Gondreville Mystery + + Camusot de Marville, Madame + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Cousin Pons + + Magus, Elie + A Marriage Settlement + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Cousin Pons + + Murat, Joachim, Prince + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Country Doctor + + Rapp + The Gondreville Mystery + + Roguin + Cesar Birotteau + Eugenie Grandet + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierrette + + Thirion + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + + Tiphaine, Madame + Pierrette + + Vergniaud, Louis + Colonel Chabert +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1374 ***</div> +</body> +</html> 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..7a6a9c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1374 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1374) diff --git a/old/1374-0.txt b/old/1374-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea36fcc --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1374-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3364 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + +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: Vendetta + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Katharine Prescott Wormeley + +Release Date: July, 1997 [Etext #1374] +Posting Date: February 23, 2010 +Last Updated: November 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny + + + + + +VENDETTA + + +By Honore De Balzac + + + +Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + + + DEDICATION + + To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor. + + + + + +VENDETTA + + + +CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE + + +In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, accompanied +by a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time in front of +the palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled +down, at the point where in our day the wing begins which was intended +to unite the chateau of Catherine de Medici with the Louvre of the +Valois. + +The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he +sometimes raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at +his wife, who was sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed +wholly occupied with the little girl of nine or ten years of age, whose +long black hair she amused herself by handling, she lost not a single +glance of those her companion cast on her. Some sentiment other than +love united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety their +movements and their thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most powerful of +all ties. + +The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick +hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The jet +black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his +features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his evident +strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over sixty +years of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign country. +Though the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed +the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm +countenance whenever her husband looked at her. + +The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the +youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast +of countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched +brows, a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those who +passed them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group, +who made no effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the +expression of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy, +characteristic of Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the +stranger saw himself the object of attention, he looked at his observer +with so savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his step as +though he had trod upon a serpent. + +After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly +passed his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the thoughts +that were ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate +resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he drew +a dagger from his breast and gave it to his companion, saying in +Italian:-- + +“I will see if the Bonapartes remember us.” + +Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the +palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular +guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this +man’s obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in the +form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at that +moment, and the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the stranger the +spot where the commander of the post was standing. + +“Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with him,” + said the Italian to the captain on duty. + +In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see the +First Consul without having previously requested an audience in writing; +the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The +officer stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with the +order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, casting +a terrible look at the captain, as if he made him responsible for the +misfortunes that this refusal might occasion. Then he kept silence, +folded his arms tightly across his breast, and took up his station +under the portico which serves as an avenue of communication between +the garden and the court-yard of the Tuileries. Persons who will things +intensely are very apt to be helped by chance. At the moment when +Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the stone posts which +was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from which Lucien Bonaparte, +minister of the interior, issued. + +“Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!” cried the stranger. + +These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment +when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot, +and recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear, +he took the Corsican away with him. + +Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the First +Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in appearance +as Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the arm and +led him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a few words with +his brother, the First Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and +Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to have seen it, in order +to remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to him sharply, and the +aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First +Consul, who listened for Rapp’s step in the adjoining salon, opened +the door suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp close to the wall of the +cabinet. + +“Do you choose not to understand me?” said the First Consul. “I wish to +be alone with my compatriot.” + +“A Corsican!” replied the aide-de-camp. “I distrust those fellows too +much to--” + +The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful +officer by the shoulders. + +“Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?” said Napoleon. + +“To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican,” + replied Bartolomeo, roughly. + +“What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the +most--” + +“I have killed all the Portas,” replied the Corsican, in a deep voice, +frowning heavily. + +The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise. + +“Do you mean to betray me?” cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at +Bonaparte. “Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?” + +Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. + +“Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?” he said. + +Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at +Piombo and said:-- + +“Why did you kill the Portas?” + +“We had made friends,” replied the man; “the Barbantis reconciled us. +The day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home +because I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and +set fire to my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My +daughter Ginevra and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, +escaped; the Virgin protected them. When I returned I found no house; +my feet were in its ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck +against the body of Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. ‘The +Portas have dealt me this blow,’ I said; and, forthwith, I went to +the woods, and there I called together all the men whom I had ever +served,--do you hear me, Bonaparte?--and we marched to the vineyard of +the Portas. We got there at five in the morning; at seven they were all +before God. Giacomo declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. But +I myself bound him to his bed before setting fire to the house. I have +left the island with my wife and child without being able to discover +whether, indeed, Luigi Porta is alive.” + +Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise. + +“How many were there?” asked Lucien. + +“Seven,” replied Piombo. “All of them were your persecutors in the olden +times.” + +These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two +brothers. + +“Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!” cried Piombo, with a sort of despair. +“Farewell. In other days I protected you,” he added, in a reproachful +tone. “Without me, your mother would never have reached Marseille,” he +said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, who was silent and thoughtful, +his elbow resting on a mantel-shelf. + +“As a matter of duty, Piombo,” said Napoleon at last, “I cannot take you +under my wing. I have become the leader of a great nation; I command the +Republic; I am bound to execute the laws.” + +“Ha! ha!” said Bartolomeo, scornfully. + +“But I can shut my eyes,” continued Bonaparte. “The tradition of the +Vendetta will long prevent the reign of law in Corsica,” he added, as if +speaking to himself. “But it _must_ be destroyed, at any cost.” + +Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien made a sign to Piombo +not to speak. The Corsican was swaying his head from right to left in +deep disapproval. + +“Live here, in Paris,” resumed the First Consul, addressing Bartolomeo; +“we will know nothing of this affair. I will cause your property in +Corsica to be bought, to give you enough to live on for the present. +Later, before long, we will think of you. But, remember, no more +vendetta! There are no woods here to fly to. If you play with daggers, +you must expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all citizens; and no +one is allowed to do justice for himself.” + +“He has made himself the head of a singular nation,” said Bartolomeo, +taking Lucien’s hand and pressing it. “But you have both recognized me +in misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may +dispose as you will of the Piombos.” + +With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in +satisfaction. + +“You are not badly off here,” he said, smiling, as if he meant to lodge +there himself. “You are all in red, like a cardinal.” + +“Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also,” + said Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. “It will often +happen that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can confide.” + +A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his +hand to the First Consul, saying:-- + +“The Corsican is in you still.” + +Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it +were, a waft of air from his own land,--from that isle where he had been +so miraculously saved from the hatred of the “English party”; the land +he was never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who then took +Piombo away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the financial condition +of the former protector of their family. Piombo took him to a window and +showed him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a heap of stones. + +“We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny,” he +said. + +Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him the +next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of +the family. The value of Piombo’s property in Corsica, if sold, would +scarcely maintain him honorably in Paris. + +Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo’s arrival with his +family in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely +intelligible to the reader without this narrative of the foregoing +circumstances. + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE STUDIO + + +Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to conceive +of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to take +lessons in painting. + +About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given up +to his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter of +a general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their daughters +themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send them alone, +after knowing the master’s principles and the pains he took to deserve +their confidence. + +It was the artist’s intention to take no pupils but young ladies +belonging to rich families of good position, in order to meet with no +complaints as to the composition of his classes. He even refused to +take girls who wished to become artists; for to them he would have +been obliged to give certain instructions without which no talent could +advance in the profession. Little by little his prudence and the ability +with which he initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty each +mother felt that her daughter was in company with none but well-bred +young girls, and the fact of the artist’s marriage, gave him an +excellent reputation as a teacher in society. When a young girl wished +to learn to draw, and her mother asked advice of her friends, the answer +was, invariably: “Send her to Servin’s.” + +Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a specialty; like Herbault +for bonnets, Leroy for gowns, and Chevet for eatables. It was recognized +that a young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was capable of +judging the paintings of the Musee conclusively, of making a striking +portrait, copying an ancient master, or painting a genre picture. The +artist thus sufficed for the educational needs of the aristocracy. But +in spite of these relations with the best families in Paris, he was +independent and patriotic, and he maintained among them that easy, +brilliant, half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment which +characterize painters. + +He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the arrangements of the +locality where his pupils studied. The entrance to the attic above his +apartments was walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a harem, +it was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase made within his own +rooms. The studio, occupying nearly the whole attic floor under the +roof, presented to the eye those vast proportions which surprise +inquirers when, after attaining sixty feet above the ground-floor, they +expect to find an artist squeezed into a gutter. + +This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from above, through +enormous panes of glass furnished with those green linen shades by means +of which all artists arrange the light. A quantity of caricatures, heads +drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the point of a knife, on +walls painted in a dark gray, proved that, barring a difference in +expression, the most distinguished young girls have as much fun and +folly in their minds as men. A small stove with a large pipe, which +described a fearful zigzag before it reached the upper regions of the +roof, was the necessary and infallible ornament of the room. A shelf +ran round the walls, on which were models in plaster, heterogeneously +placed, most of them covered with gray dust. Here and there, above this +shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging to a nail, presented her pose of woe; a +Venus smiled; a hand thrust itself forward like that of a pauper asking +alms; a few “ecorches,” yellowed by smoke, looked like limbs snatched +over-night from a graveyard; besides these objects, pictures, drawings, +lay figures, frames without paintings, and paintings without frames +gave to this irregular apartment that studio physiognomy which is +distinguished for its singular jumble of ornament and bareness, poverty +and riches, care and neglect. The vast receptacle of an “atelier,” + where all seems small, even man, has something of the air of an Opera +“coulisse”; here lie ancient garments, gilded armor, fragments of +stuffs, machinery. And yet there is something mysteriously grand, like +thought, in it; genius and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside a +skull or skeleton, beauty and destruction, poesy and reality, colors +glowing in the shadows, often a whole drama, motionless and silent. +Strange symbol of an artist’s head! + +At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant July sun was +illuminating the studio, and two rays striking athwart it lengthwise, +traced diaphanous gold lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen +easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. Several young +girls were animating the scene by the variety of their expressions, +their attitudes, and the differences in their toilets. The strong +shadows cast by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the +needs of each easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, and the piquant +effects of light and shade. This group was the prettiest of all the +pictures in the studio. + +A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some distance from her +companions, working bravely and seeming to be in dread of some mishap. +No one looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the prettiest, the +most modest, and, apparently, the least rich among them. Two principal +groups, distinctly separated from each other, showed the presence of two +sets or cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where one might +suppose that rank and fortune would be forgotten. + +But, however that might be, these young girls, sitting or standing, in +the midst of their color-boxes, playing with their brushes or preparing +them, handling their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, talking, +singing, absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real selves, composed +a spectacle unknown to man. One of them, proud, haughty, capricious, +with black hair and beautiful hands, was casting the flame of her glance +here and there at random; another, light-hearted and gay, a smile upon +her lips, with chestnut hair and delicate white hands, was a typical +French virgin, thoughtless, and without hidden thoughts, living her +natural real life; a third was dreamy, melancholy, pale, bending her +head like a drooping flower; her neighbor, on the contrary, tall, +indolent, with Asiatic habits, long eyes, moist and black, said but +little, and reflected, glancing covertly at the head of Antinous. + +Among them, like the “jocoso” of a Spanish play, full of wit and +epigrammatic sallies, another girl was watching the rest with a +comprehensive glance, making them laugh, and tossing up her head, too +lively and arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first +group of girls, who were the daughters of bankers, notaries, and +merchants,--all rich, but aware of the imperceptible though cutting +slights which another group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. +The latter were led by the daughter of one of the King’s ushers, a +little creature, as silly as she was vain, proud of being the daughter +of a man with “an office at court.” She was a girl who always pretended +to understand the remarks of the master at the first word, and seemed +to do her work as a favor to him. She used an eyeglass, came very much +dressed, and always late, and entreated her companions to speak low. + +In this second group were several girls with exquisite figures and +distinguished features, but there was little in their glance or +expression that was simple and candid. Though their attitudes were +elegant and their movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it +was easy to see that they belonged to a world where polite manners +form the character from early youth, and the abuse of social pleasures +destroys sentiment and develops egotism. + +But when the whole class was here assembled, childlike heads were seen +among this bevy of young girls, ravishingly pure and virgin, faces with +lips half-opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on which a +virgin smile was flickering. The studio then resembled not a studio, but +a group of angels seated on a cloud in ether. + +By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not appeared. For some days +past he had spent most of his time in a studio which he kept elsewhere, +where he was giving the last touches to a picture for the Exposition. +All of a sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, the leader of the +aristocrats, began to speak in a low voice, and very earnestly, to +her neighbor. A great silence fell on the group of patricians, and the +commercial party, surprised, were equally silent, trying to discover the +subject of this earnest conference. The secret of the young _ultras_ was +soon revealed. + +Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, carried it to a +distance from the noble group, and placed it close to a board partition +which separated the studio from the extreme end of the attic, where all +broken casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply of wood were kept. +Amelie’s action caused a murmur of surprise, which did not prevent her +from accomplishing the change by rolling hastily to the side of the +easel the stool, the box of colors, and even the picture by Prudhon, +which the absent pupil was copying. After this coup d’etat the Right +began to work in silence, but the Left discoursed at length. + +“What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?” asked a young girl of +Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, the lively oracle of the banking group. + +“She’s not a girl to say anything,” was the reply; “but fifty years +hence she’ll remember the insult as if it were done to her the night +before, and revenge it cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don’t +want to be at war with.” + +“The slight these young ladies mean to put upon her is all the more +unkind,” said another young girl, “because yesterday, Mademoiselle +Ginevra was very sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They +ought not to add to her trouble, for she was very considerate of them +during the Hundred Days. Never did she say a word to wound them. On the +contrary, she avoided politics. But I think our _ultras_ are acting more +from jealousy than from party spite.” + +“I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle Piombo’s easel and place +it next to mine,” said Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second thoughts +made her sit down again. + +“With a character like hers,” she said, “one can’t tell how she would +take a civility; better wait events.” + +“Ecco la,” said the young girl with the black eyes, languidly. + +The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through the +studio. The words: “Here she comes!” passed from mouth to mouth, and +then the most absolute silence reigned. + +To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of +Amelie Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place toward +the end of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the Bourbons +had shaken many friendships which had held firm under the first +Restoration. At this moment families, almost all divided in opinion, +were renewing many of the deplorable scenes which stain the history +of all countries in times of civil or religious wars. Children, young +girls, old men shared the monarchial fever to which the country was +then a victim. Discord glided beneath all roofs; distrust dyed with its +gloomy colors the words and the actions of the most intimate friends. + +Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate +him? The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father. +The Baron di Piombo was among those of Napoleon’s devoted servants who +had co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of +denying his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron +remained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all +the more open to condemnation because she made no secret of the grief +which the second Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she +had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the twofold news of +Napoleon’s captivity on the “Bellerophon,” and Labedoyere’s arrest. + +The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most +devoted royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an +idea of the exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror +inspired by the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie’s +action may now seem to be, it was at that time a very natural expression +of the prevailing hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin’s first pupils, +had occupied the place that was now taken from her since the first +day of her coming to the studio. The aristocratic circle had gradually +surrounded her. To drive her from a place that in some sense belonged to +her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a species of artistic +pain; for all artists have a spot of predilection where they work. + +Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the +conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of +Servin’s pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master testified +as much admiration for the talents as for the character of his favorite +pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. In fact, +without any one being able to explain the ascendancy which this young +girl obtained over all who came in contact with her, she exercised over +the little world around her a prestige not unlike that of Bonaparte upon +his soldiers. + +The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the +fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid +the Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion’s act was, therefore, a decisive +stroke, intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the +accomplices of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by several +of these royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at home with +their political ideas, they decided, with the tactics peculiar to women, +that they should do best to keep themselves aloof from the quarrel. + +On Ginevra’s arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound +silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin’s +studio, she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her +carriage and demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which +commanded respect. Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to +radiate light, so inspired was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to +Corsicans,--which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long hair +and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion; the corners of her +mouth, too softly defined, and the lips, a trifle too marked, gave signs +of that kindliness which strong beings derive from the consciousness of +their strength. + +By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some +degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost +savage pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of a +Corsican. In that was the only link between herself and her native +land. All the rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of her +Lombard beauty, was so seductive that it was difficult for those who +looked at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen attraction that +her old father caused her, as matter of precaution, to be accompanied to +and from the studio. The only defect of this truly poetic creature came +from the very power of a beauty so fully developed; she looked a woman. +Marriage she had refused out of love to her father and mother, feeling +herself necessary to the comfort of their old age. Her taste for +painting took the place of the passions and interests which usually +absorb her sex. + +“You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles,” she said, after advancing +a little way among her companions. “Good-morning, my little Laure,” she +added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl who was +painting apart from the rest. “That head is strong,--the flesh tints a +little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent.” + +Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces beamed +with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile brightened the +lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and walked slowly to +her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and paintings on her way, +and bidding good-morning to each of the young girls of the first group, +not observing the unusual curiosity excited by her presence. She was +like a queen in the midst of her court; she paid no attention to the +profound silence that reigned among the patricians, and passed before +their camp without pronouncing a single word. Her absorption seemed so +great that she sat down before her easel, opened her color-box, took up +her brushes, drew on her brown sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at +her picture, examined her palette, without, apparently, thinking of what +she was doing. All heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned +toward her. If the young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their +impatience with the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the +less directed on Ginevra. + +“She hasn’t noticed it!” said Mademoiselle Roguin. + +At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she +had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the +group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now +separated her from them; but she said nothing. + +“It hasn’t occurred to her that they meant to insult her,” said Matilde; +“she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls will be +if she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of bounds, +mademoiselle,” she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra. + +The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. She +rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side of +the partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, and +seemed to be examining the sash through which her light came,--giving so +much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the green serge, +which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that height, her eye +was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, the real object +of her efforts, for the glance that she cast through it can be compared +only to that of a miser discovering Aladdin’s treasure. Then she sprang +down hastily and returned to her place, changed the position of her +picture, pretended to be still dissatisfied with the light, pushed +a table close to the partition, on which she placed a chair, climbed +lightly to the summit of this erection, and again looked through the +crevice. She cast but one glance into the space beyond, which was +lighted through a skylight; but what she saw produced so strong an +effect upon her that she tottered. + +“Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you’ll fall!” cried Laure. + +All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of +their coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, and +replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:-- + +“Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!” + +She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table +as far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and seemed +to be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now thrown upon +it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was wholly bent on +getting as near as possible to the closet, against the door of which she +finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare her palette in the +deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, distinctly, a sound +which had strongly excited her curiosity the evening before, and had +whirled her young imagination across vast fields of conjecture. She +recognized the firm and regular breathing of a man whom she had just +seen asleep. Her curiosity was satisfied beyond her expectations, but at +the same time she felt saddled by an immense responsibility. Through the +opening in the wall she had seen the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock +bed, faintly lighted from above, lay the form of an officer of the +Guard. She guessed all. Servin was hiding a proscribed man! + +She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to +examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath +might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political +victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to her +wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise. + +“Better that I should be here,” thought she, “to prevent some luckless +accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless betrayal.” + +This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently +shown to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because +the change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural manner; +besides, at this moment, she was too keenly preoccupied to perceive the +reason of her removal. + +Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the world, +than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech, miss its +effect through the contempt or the indifference of the intended victim. +It seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion to the height that +enemy is raised above us. Ginevra’s behavior was an enigma to all her +companions; her friends and enemies were equally surprised; for the +former claimed for her all good qualities, except that of forgiveness of +injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for displaying that vice of +nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the life of a studio, still, +the specimens she had now and then given of her vindictive disposition +had left a strong impression on the minds of her companions. + +After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion that +the Italian’s silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all praise; and +the banking circle, inspired by her, formed a project to humiliate the +aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of sarcasms which +presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie. + +Madame Servin’s arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the shrewdness +that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had noticed, analyzed, +and mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation of Ginevra’s mind, +which prevented her from even hearing the bitterly polite war of words +of which she was the object. The vengeance Mademoiselle Roguin and her +companions were inflicting on Mademoiselle Thirion and her group had, +therefore, the fatal effect of driving the young _ultras_ to search for +the cause of the silence so obstinately maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. +The beautiful Italian became the centre of all glances, and she was +henceforth watched by friends and foes alike. + +It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from +fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and mischief +ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to create or +baffle, and who know how to find too many interpretations for each +gesture, glance, and word, to fail in discovering the right one. + +At this moment, however, the presence of Madame Servin produced an +interlude in the drama thus played below the surface in these various +young hearts, the sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were +expressed by phrases that were almost allegorical, by mischievous +glances, by gestures, by silence even, more intelligible than words. As +soon as Madame Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the door +near which Ginevra was seated. Under present circumstances the fact of +this glance was not lost. Though at first none of the pupils took notice +of it, Mademoiselle Thirion recollected it later, and it explained +to her the doubt, fear, and mystery which now gave something wild and +frightened to Madame Servin’s eyes. + +“Mesdemoiselles,” she said, “Monsieur Servin cannot come to-day.” + +Then she went round complimenting each young girl, receiving in return +a volume of those feminine caresses which are given as much by the tones +of the voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently reached Ginevra, +under the influence of an uneasiness she tried in vain to disguise. They +nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said nothing; one painted, +the other stood looking at the painting. The breathing of the soldier in +the closet could be distinctly heard, but Madame Servin appeared not to +notice it; her feigned ignorance was so obvious that Ginevra recognized +it at once for wilful deafness. Presently the unknown man turned on his +pallet. + +The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, who said, without the +slightest change of face:-- + +“Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to choose between the +two I should be puzzled.” + +“Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his confidence as to this +mystery,” thought Ginevra, who, after replying to the young wife’s +speech with a gentle smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican +“canzonetta” to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. + +It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious Italian sing, that +all the other young girls looked up at her in surprise. Later, this +circumstance served as proof to the charitable suppositions of jealousy. + +Madame Servin soon went away, and the session ended without further +events; Ginevra allowed her companions to depart, and seemed to intend +to work later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her desire +to be left alone by impatient glances, ill-disguised, at the pupils who +were slow in leaving. Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the girl +who excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of jealousy that +her rival’s industry hid some purpose. By dint of watching her she was +struck by the attentive air with which Ginevra seemed to be listening to +sounds that no one else had heard. The expression of impatience she now +detected in her companion’s eyes was like a flash of light to her. + +Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio; from there she +went down to Madame Servin’s apartment and talked with her for a moment; +then she pretended to have left her bag, ran softly back to the studio, +and found Ginevra once more mounted on her frail scaffolding, and so +absorbed in the contemplation of an unknown object that she did not hear +the slight noise of her companion’s footsteps. It is true that, to use +an expression of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped as if on eggs. She hastily +withdrew outside the door and coughed. Ginevra quivered, turned her +head, saw her enemy, blushed, hastened to alter the shade to give +meaning to her position, and came down from her perch leisurely. She +soon after left the studio, bearing with her, in her memory, the image +of a man’s head, as beauteous as that of the Endymion, a masterpiece of +Girodet’s which she had lately copied. + +“To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney--” + +These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that +Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in spite +of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle Thirion +already there, having come in a carriage. + +Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they +made their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of the +mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the Imperial +eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them through the +crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. Suddenly Servin +came in, much earlier than usual. + +“Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he said, after glancing round the studio, “why +have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the +rest of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little.” + +Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial +attention. + +“Well, well!” he cried; “here, indeed, is a head extremely well done. +You’ll be another Ginevra.” + +The master then went from easel to easel, scolding, flattering, jesting, +and making, as usual, his jests more dreaded than his reprimands. +Ginevra had not obeyed the professor’s order, but remained at her post, +firmly resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of paper and began +to sketch in sepia the head of the hidden man. A work done under the +impulse of an emotion has always a stamp of its own. The faculty of +giving to representations of nature or of thought their true coloring +constitutes genius, and often, in this respect, passion takes the place +of it. So, under the circumstances in which Ginevra now found herself, +the intuition which she owed to a powerful effect upon her memory, or, +possibly, to necessity, that mother of great things, lent her, for the +moment, a supernatural talent. The head of the young officer was dashed +upon the paper in the midst of an awkward trembling which she mistook +for fear, and in which a physiologist would have recognized the fire of +inspiration. From time to time she glanced furtively at her companions, +in order to hide the sketch if any of them came near her. But in +spite of her watchfulness, there was a moment when she did not see the +eyeglass of the pitiless Amelie turned full upon the drawing from the +shelter of a great portfolio. Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the +portrait of the mysterious man, showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra +hastily covered the sheet of paper. + +“Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?” asked the +professor, gravely. + +The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the +sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:-- + +“Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not +better remain here?” + +Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, +Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden emotion +of master and pupil. + +“You are right,” said Servin; “but really,” he added, with a forced +laugh, “you will soon come to know more than I do.” + +A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of the +officer’s head. + +“It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!” he exclaimed, with the +energy of an artist. + +All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted +forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, +the prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra +knocked over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to +laugh; but she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before Amelie +could get to her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin descanted on the +beauty of the copy which his favorite pupil was then making, and the +whole class was duped by this stratagem, except Amelie, who, slipping +behind her companions, attempted to open the portfolio where she had +seen Ginevra throw the sketch. But the latter took it up without a word, +and placed it in front of her. The two young girls then looked at each +other fixedly, in silence. + +“Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places,” said Servin. “If you wish +to do as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn’t be always talking +fashions and balls, and trifling away your time as you do.” + +When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down beside +Ginevra. + +“Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery +rather than the others?” asked the girl, in a low voice. + +“Yes,” replied the painter, “you are one of us, a patriot; but even if +you were not, I should still have confided the matter to you.” + +Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared to +ask:-- + +“Who is he?” + +“An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other +man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment +with the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and +was at Waterloo.” + +“Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with +citizen’s clothes?” said Ginevra, impatiently. + +“He will have them to-night.” + +“You ought to have closed the studio for some days.” + +“He is going away.” + +“Then they’ll kill him,” said the girl. “Let him stay here with you till +the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in France where +a man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?” she asked. + +“No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my +hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during the +campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him from +the claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to defend the +general, foolish fellow!” + +“Do you call him that!” cried Ginevra, casting a glance of astonishment +at the painter, who was silent for a moment. + +“My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able to keep him in his +own house,” he resumed. “So he brought him to me, by night, about a week +ago. I hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only spot in +the house where he could be safe.” + +“If I can be useful to you, employ me,” said Ginevra. “I know the +Marechal de Feltre.” + +“Well, we’ll see,” replied the painter. + +This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed by all the other +girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round once more to each easel, and gave +such long lessons that he was still there at the hour when the pupils +were in the habit of leaving. + +“You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thirion,” said the professor, +running after the girl, who was now condescending to the work of a spy +to satisfy her jealousy. + +The baffled pupil returned for the bag, expressing surprise at her +carelessness; but this act of Servin’s was to her fresh proof of the +existence of a mystery, the importance of which was evident. She now ran +noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door which opened into the +Servins’ apartment, to give an impression that she had gone; then she +softly returned and stationed herself outside the door of the studio. + + + + +CHAPTER III. LABEDOYERE’S FRIEND + + +When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves alone, Servin rapped in +a peculiar manner on the door of the dark garret, which turned at once +on its rusty and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and well-made +young man, whose Imperial uniform set her heart to beating. The officer +had one arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face revealed sharp +suffering. Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. + +Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the door being closed, was +afraid to stay longer; she was satisfied with having heard the opening +of the garret door, and departed noiselessly. + +“Fear nothing,” said the painter to the officer. “Mademoiselle is the +daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di Piombo.” + +The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra’s patriotism as soon +as he saw her. + +“You are wounded,” she said. + +“Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle,” he replied; “the wound is healing.” + +Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came +up from the street: “Condemned to death!” They all trembled, and the +soldier was the first to hear a name that turned him pale. + +“Labedoyere!” he cried, falling on a stool. + +They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid +forehead of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in one +hand with a gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra’s easel. + +“After all,” he said, rising abruptly, “Labedoyere and I knew what we +were doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from +triumph or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding myself!” + +He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra +reached it, and barred his way. + +“Can you restore the Emperor?” she said. “Do you expect to raise that +giant who could not maintain himself?” + +“But what can I do?” said the young man, addressing the two friends whom +chance had sent to him. “I have not a relation in the world. Labedoyere +was my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. To-morrow I +myself may be condemned; my only fortune was my pay. I spent my last +penny to come here and try to snatch Labedoyere from his fate; death +is, therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides to die he ought +to know how to sell his life to the executioner. I was thinking just now +that the life of an honest man is worth that of two traitors, and the +blow of a dagger well placed may give immortality.” + +This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even Ginevra, whose own +nature comprehended that of the young man. She admired his handsome face +and his delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely lessened +by its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, she poured a balm upon the +wounds of the unfortunate man:-- + +“Monsieur,” she said, “as for your pecuniary distress, permit me to +offer you my savings. My father is rich; I am his only child; he loves +me, and I am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting +my offer; our property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a +penny that is not the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude +to him to assist his faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as +indifferently as I offer them. It is only money!” she added, in a tone +of contempt. “Now, as for friends,--those you shall have.” + +She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling +brilliancy. + +“The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save yours,” + she went on. “Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape and take +service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here; or in the +French army, if you are.” + +In the comfort that women give there is always a delicacy which has +something maternal, foreseeing, and complete about it. But when +the words of hope and peace are said with grace of gesture and that +eloquence of tone which comes from the heart, and when, above all, the +benefactress is beautiful, a young man does not resist. The prisoner +breathed in love through all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his white +cheeks; his eyes lost something of the sadness that dulled them, and he +said, in a peculiar tone of voice:-- + +“You are an angle of goodness--But Labedoyere!” he added. “Oh, +Labedoyere!” + +At this cry they all three looked at one another in silence, each +comprehending the others’ thoughts. No longer friends of twenty minutes +only, they were friends of twenty years. + +“Dear friend,” said Servin, “can you save him?” + +“I can avenge him.” + +Ginevra quivered. Though the stranger was handsome, his appearance had +not influenced her; the soft pity in a woman’s heart for miseries that +are not ignoble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to hear +a cry of vengeance, to find in that proscribed being an Italian soul, +devotion to Napoleon, Corsican generosity!--ah! that was, indeed, too +much for her. She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion which +shook his heart. For the first time in her life a man had caused her a +keen emotion. She now, like other women, put the soul of the stranger on +a par with the noble beauty of his features and the happy proportions of +his figure, which she admired as an artist. Led by accidental curiosity +to pity, from pity to a powerful interest, she came, through that +interest, to such profound sensations that she felt she was in danger if +she stayed there longer. + +“Until to-morrow, then,” she said, giving the officer a gentle smile by +way of a parting consolation. + +Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Ginevra’s features, the +stranger forgot all else for an instant. + +“To-morrow,” he said, sadly; “but to-morrow, Labedoyere--” + +Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked at him, as if to +say: “Be calm, be prudent.” + +And the young man cried out in his own language: + +“Ah! Dio! che non vorrei vivere dopo averla veduta?--who would not wish +to live after seeing her?” + +The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the words made Ginevra +quiver. + +“Are you Corsican?” she cried, returning toward him with a beating +heart. + +“I was born in Corsica,” he replied; “but I was brought, while very +young, to Genoa, and as soon as I was old enough for military service I +enlisted.” + +The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent to him by his +attachment to the Emperor, his wound, his misfortunes, his danger, +all disappeared to Ginevra’s mind, or, rather, all were blended in one +sentiment,--a new and delightful sentiment. This persecuted man was +a child of Corsica; he spoke its cherished language! She stood, for a +moment, motionless; held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a +living picture, to which all human sentiments, united by chance, gave +vivid colors. By Servin’s invitation, the officer had seated himself on +a divan, and the painter, after removing the sling which supported the +arm of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order to dress the wound. +Ginevra shuddered when she saw the long, broad gash made by the blade of +a sabre on the young man’s forearm, and a moan escaped her. The stranger +raised his head and smiled to her. There was something touching which +went to the soul, in the care with which Servin lifted the lint and +touched the lacerated flesh, while the face of the wounded man, though +pale and sickly, expressed, as he looked at the girl, more pleasure than +suffering. An artist would have admired, involuntarily, this opposition +of sentiments, together with the contrasts produced by the whiteness of +the linen and the bared arm to the red and blue uniform of the officer. + +At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio; but a parting ray +of the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated the spot where the soldier +sat, so that his noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his clothes +were bathed in its glow. The effect was simple enough, but to the girl’s +Italian imagination it was a happy omen. The stranger seemed to her a +celestial messenger, speaking the language of her own country. He thus +unconsciously put her under the spell of childhood’s memories, while +in her heart there dawned another feeling as fresh, as pure as her +own innocence. For a short, very short moment, she was motionless +and dreamy, as though she were plunged in boundless thought. Then she +blushed at having allowed her absorption to be noticed, exchanged one +soft and rapid glance with the wounded man, and fled with the vision of +him still before her eyes. + +The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came to the studio, and +the prisoner was free to sit beside her easel. Servin, who had a sketch +to finish, played the part of mentor to the two young people, who talked +to each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the sufferings of +the retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, he had made +the passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man left of +his regiment. He described, in words of fire, the great disaster of +Waterloo. His voice was music itself to the Italian girl. Brought up as +a Corsican, Ginevra was, in some sense, a child of Nature; falseness +was a thing unknown to her; she gave herself up without reserve to her +impressions; she acknowledged them, or, rather, allowed them to be +seen without the affectations of petty and calculating coquetry, +characteristic of Parisian girlhood. During this day she sat more than +once with her palette in one hand, her brushes in another, without +touching a color. With her eyes fastened on the officer, and her lips +slightly apart, she listened, in the attitude of painting a stroke which +was never painted. She was not surprised to see such softness in the +eyes of the young man, for she felt that her own were soft in spite +of her will to keep them stern and calm. After periods like this she +painted diligently, without raising her head, for he was there, near +her, watching her work. The first time he sat down beside her to +contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of some emotion, after a +long pause:-- + +“Does it amuse you to see me paint?” + +That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it was +agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see each +other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to inform him +by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon. + +The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the +class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, +a young man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed +himself in the garret beyond the studio. + +“You, who take her part,” she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, “watch her +carefully, and you will see how she spends her time.” + +Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They +listened to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she +supposed that no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively +upon her. Thus enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly +the emotions that crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,--her +gestures, the peculiar tones in which she hummed a tune, and the +attention with which they saw her listen to sounds which only she could +hear through the partition. + +By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Servin’s fifteen pupils +who had resisted the temptation of looking at Luigi through the crevice +of the partition; and she, through an instinct of weakness, still +defended her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin endeavored to make +her wait on the staircase after the class dispersed, that she might +prove to her the intimacy of Ginevra and the young man by entering the +studio and surprising them together. But Laure refused to condescend to +an act of espial which no curiosity could justify, and she consequently +became the object of much reprobation. + +Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that she thought it improper +to attend the classes of a painter whose opinions were tainted with +patriotism and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were synonymous), +and she ceased her attendance at the studio. But, although she herself +forgot Ginevra, the harm she had planted bore fruit. Little by little, +the other young girls revealed to their mothers the strange events which +were happening at the studio. One day Matilde Roguin did not come; the +next day another girl was missing, and so on, till the last three or +four who were left came no more. Ginevra and Laure, her little friend, +were the sole occupants of the deserted studio for three or four days. + +Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the cause of her +companions’ absence. As soon as she had invented means of communication +with Luigi she lived in the studio in a delightful solitude, alone +amid her own world, thinking only of the officer and the dangers that +threatened him. Though a sincere admirer of noble characters that never +betray their political faiths, she nevertheless urged Luigi to submit +himself to the royal authority, that he might be released from his +present life and remain in France. But to this he would not consent. +If passions are born and nourished, as they say, under the influence of +romantic causes, never did so many circumstances of that kind concur in +uniting two young souls by one and the same sentiment. The friendship of +Ginevra for Luigi and that of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress in a +month than a friendship in society would make in ten years. Adversity +is the touchstone of character. Ginevra was able, therefore, to study +Luigi, to know him; and before long they mutually esteemed each other. +The girl, who was older than Luigi, found a charm in being courted by +a youth already so grand, so tried by fate,--a youth who joined to the +experience of a man the graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his side, felt +an unspeakable pleasure in allowing himself to be apparently protected +by a woman, now twenty-five years of age. Was it not a proof of love? +The union of gentleness and pride, strength and weakness in Ginevra +were, to him, irresistible attractions, and he was utterly subjugated +by her. In short, before long, they loved each other so profoundly +that they felt no need of denying to each other their love, nor yet of +telling it. + +One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accustomed signal. Luigi +scratched with a pin on the woodwork in a manner that produced no more +noise than a spider might make as he fastened his thread. The signal +meant that he wished to come out of his retreat. + +Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing Laure, opened the +door; but as she did so Luigi caught sight of the little pupil and +abruptly retired. Surprised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw +Laure, and said, as she went up to the girl’s easel:-- + +“You are staying late, my dear. That head seems to me finished; you only +want a high-light,--see! on that knot of hair.” + +“You would do me a great kindness,” said Laure, in a trembling voice, +“if you would give this copy a few touches; for then I could carry away +with me something to remind me of you.” + +“Willingly,” said Ginevra, painting a few strokes on the picture. “But I +thought it was a long way from your home to the studio, and it is late.” + +“Oh! Ginevra, I am going away, never to return,” cried the poor girl, +sadly. + +“You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!” exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, +however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. + +“Haven’t you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have +been alone in the studio?” + +“True,” said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection. “Are all +those young ladies ill, or going to be married, or are their fathers on +duty at court?” + +“They have left Monsieur Servin,” replied Laure. + +“Why?” + +“On your account, Ginevra.” + +“My account!” repeated the Corsican, springing up, with a threatening +brow and her eyes flashing. + +“Oh! don’t be angry, my kind Ginevra,” cried Laure, in deep distress. +“My mother insists on my leaving the studio. The young ladies say that +you have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows the young man +whom you love to stay in the dark attic. I have never believed these +calumnies nor said a word to my mother about them. But last night Madame +Roguin met her at a ball and asked her if she still sent me here. When +my mother answered yes, Madame Roguin told her the falsehoods of those +young ladies. Mamma scolded me severely; she said I must have known +it all, and that I had failed in proper confidence between mother and +daughter by not telling her. Oh! my dear Ginevra! I, who took you for my +model, oh! how grieved I am that I can’t be your companion any longer.” + +“We shall meet again in life; girls marry--” said Ginevra. + +“When they are rich,” signed Laure. + +“Come and see me; my father has a fortune--” + +“Ginevra,” continued Laure, tenderly. “Madame Roguin and my mother are +coming to see Monsieur Servin to-morrow and reproach him; hadn’t you +better warn him.” + +A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra’s feet could not have astonished her +more than this revelation. + +“What matter is it to them?” she asked, naively. + +“Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral.” + +“And you, Laure, what do you say?” + +The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure +could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend’s +breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. + +“Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he cried, with enthusiasm, “I have finished my +picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, meanwhile? +Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or are they in +the country?” + +Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away. + +“The studio has been deserted for some days,” replied Ginevra, “and the +young ladies are not coming back.” + +“Pooh!” + +“Oh! don’t laugh,” said Ginevra. “Listen: I am the involuntary cause of +the loss of your reputation--” + +The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his pupil:-- + +“My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture will make it at the +Exposition.” + +“That relates to your talent,” replied the girl. “I am speaking of your +morality. Those young ladies have told their mothers that Luigi was shut +up here, and that you lent yourself--to--our love.” + +“There is some truth in that, mademoiselle,” replied the professor. +“The mothers of those young ladies are foolish women; if they had come +straight to me I should have explained the matter. But I don’t care a +straw about it! Life is short, anyhow.” + +And the painter snapped his fingers above his head. Luigi, who had heard +part of the conversation, came in. + +“You have lost all your scholars,” he cried. “I have ruined you!” + +The artist took Luigi’s hand and that of Ginevra, and joined them. + +“Marry one another, my children,” he said, with fatherly kindness. + +They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was the first avowal +they had made to each other of their love. + +“You will surely be happy,” said Servin. “There is nothing in life to +equal the happiness of two beings like yourselves when bound together in +love.” + +Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at first being able to +utter a word; but presently he said, in a voice of emotion:-- + +“To you I owe it all.” + +“Be happy! I bless and wed you,” said the painter, with comic unction, +laying his hands upon the heads of the lovers. + +This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. All three looked +at one another and laughed merrily. Ginevra pressed Luigi’s hand in a +strong clasp, with a simplicity of action worthy of the customs of her +native land. + +“Ah ca, my dear children,” resumed Servin, “you think that all will go +right now, but you are much mistaken.” + +The lovers looked at him in astonishment. + +“Don’t be anxious. I’m the only one that your romance will harm. But the +fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don’t really see +how we are to settle it with her.” + +“Heavens! and I forgot to tell you,” exclaimed Ginevra, “that Madame +Roguin and Laure’s mother are coming here to-morrow to--” + +“I understand,” said the painter. + +“But you can easily justify yourself,” continued the girl, with a proud +movement of her head. “Monsieur Luigi,” she added, turning to him with +an arch look, “will no longer object to entering the royal service. +Well, then,” after receiving a smile from the young man, “to-morrow +morning I will send a petition to one of the most influential persons at +the ministry of War,--a man who will refuse nothing to the daughter of +the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a ‘tacit’ pardon for Captain Luigi, +for, of course, they will not allow him the rank of major. And then,” + she added, addressing Servin, “you can confound the mothers of my +charitable companions by telling them the truth.” + +“You are an angel!” cried Servin. + +While this scene was passing at the studio the father and mother of +Ginevra were becoming impatient at her non-return. + +“It is six o’clock, and Ginevra not yet home!” cried Bartolomeo. + +“She was never so late before,” said his wife. + +The two old people looked at each other with an anxiety that was not +usual with them. Too anxious to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose +and walked about the salon with an active step for a man who was over +seventy-seven years of age. Thanks to his robust constitution, he had +changed but little since the day of his arrival in Paris, and, despite +his tall figure, he walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left +uncovered a broad and protuberant skull, which gave a strong idea of his +character and firmness. His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had taken, +with age, a nobler expression, preserving the pallid tones which inspire +veneration. The ardor of passions still lived in the fire of his eyes, +while the eyebrows, which were not wholly whitened, retained their +terrible mobility. The aspect of the head was stern, but it conveyed +the impression that Piombo had a right to be so. His kindness, his +gentleness were known only to his wife and daughter. In his functions, +or in presence of strangers, he never laid aside the majesty that time +had impressed upon his person; and the habit of frowning with his heavy +eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his face, and giving to his eyes a +Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of accosting others icy. + +During the course of his political life he had been so generally feared +that he was thought unsocial, and it is not difficult to explain the +causes of that opinion. The life, morals, and fidelity of Piombo made +him obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that delicate +missions were constantly intrusted to his discretion which to any other +man about the court would have proved lucrative, he possessed an income +of not more than thirty thousand francs from an investment in the Grand +Livre. If we recall the cheapness of government securities under the +Empire, and the liberality of Napoleon towards those of his faithful +servants who knew how to ask for it, we can readily see that the Baron +di Piombo must have been a man of stern integrity. He owed his plumage +as baron to the necessity Napoleon felt of giving him a title before +sending him on missions to foreign courts. + +Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the traitors with whom +Napoleon surrounded himself, expecting to bind them to his cause by dint +of victories. It was he of whom it is told that he made three steps to +the door of the Emperor’s cabinet after advising him to get rid of three +men in France on the eve of Napoleon’s departure for his celebrated +and admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of the Bourbons +Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of honor. No man +offered a finer image of those old Republicans, incorruptible friends +to the Empire, who remained the living relics of the two most energetic +governments the world has ever seen. Though the Baron di Piombo +displeased mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, and Carnots with +him as friends. As for the rest of the politicians, he cared not a whiff +of his cigar’s smoke for them, especially since Waterloo. + +Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which Madame +Mere, the Emperor’s mother, had paid him for his estates in Corsica, the +old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had made no changes. +Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he did not occupy this +house until after the catastrophe of Fontainebleau. Following the habits +of simple persons of strict virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed +to external splendor; their furniture was that which they bought with +the mansion. The grand apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide +mirrors in gilded frames that were almost black, the furniture of the +period of Louis XIV. were in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, +personages worthy of antiquity. + +Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising +functions that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had maintained +a great establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor to his office +than from any desire to shine himself. His life and that of his wife +were so frugal, so tranquil, that their modest fortune sufficed for all +their wants. To them, their daughter Ginevra was more precious than the +wealth of the whole world. When, therefore, in May, 1814, the Baron di +Piombo resigned his office, dismissed his crowd of servants, and closed +his stable door, Ginevra, quiet, simple and unpretending like her +parents, saw nothing to regret in the change. Like all great souls, she +found her luxury in strength of feeling, and derived her happiness from +quietness and work. These three beings loved each other too well for the +externals of existence to be of value in their eyes. + +Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon, +Bartolomeo and his wife passed delightful evenings alone with their +daughter, listening while she sang and played. To them there was a vast +secret pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that child; +their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; they heard her step in the +court-yard, lightly as she trod. Like lovers, the three would often +sit silently together, understanding thus, better than by speech, the +eloquence of their souls. This profound sentiment, the life itself of +the two old people, animated their every thought. Here were not three +existences, but one,--one only, which, like the flame on the hearth, +divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, occasionally, some memory +of Napoleon’s benefits and misfortunes, if the public events of the +moment distracted the minds of the old people from this source of their +constant solicitude, they could always talk of those interests without +affecting their community of thought, for Ginevra shared their political +passions. What more natural, therefore, than the ardor with which they +found a refuge in the heart of their only child? + +Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed the energy of the +Baron di Piombo; but after leaving those employments he felt the need of +casting that energy into the last sentiment that remained to him. Apart +from the ties of parentage, there may have been, unknown to these three +despotic souls, another powerful reason for the intensity of their +reciprocal love: it was love undivided. Ginevra’s whole heart belonged +to her father, as Piombo’s whole heart belonged to his child; and if it +be true that we are bound to one another more by our defects than by +our virtues, Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the passions of her +father. There lay the sole imperfection of this triple life. Ginevra was +born unyielding of will, vindictive, and passionate, like her father in +his youth. + +The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these savage sentiments in +the heart of his daughter, precisely as a lion teaches the lion-cubs to +spring upon their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance having +no means of action in their family life, it came to pass that Ginevra +turned the principle against her father; as a child she forgave him +nothing, and he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more than +childish nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the child was +all the while acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. In the midst, +however, of the tempests which the father was fond of exciting, a look, +a word of tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls, and often +they were never so near to a kiss as when they were threatening each +other vehemently. + +Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her +father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love +which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got +the better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had +resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother on +the footing of an equality which is always dangerous. + +Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to +study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had +studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,--taking up and +leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had +proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble woman +had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of enlightening her +mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature; her defects came +from the fatal education which the old Corsican had found delight in +giving her. + +After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the bell; +a servant entered. + +“Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra,” said his master. + +“I always regret our carriage on her account,” remarked the baroness. + +“She said she did not want one,” replied Piombo, looking at his wife, +who, accustomed for forty years to habits of obedience, lowered her eyes +and said no more. + +Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and wrinkled, the +baroness exactly resembled those old women whom Schnetz puts into the +Italian scenes of his “genre” pictures. She was so habitually +silent that she might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; but, +occasionally, a word, look, or gesture betrayed that her feelings still +retained all the vigor and the freshness of their youth. Her dress, +devoid of coquetry, was often in bad taste. She usually sat passive, +buried in a low sofa, like a Sultana Valide, awaiting or admiring her +Ginevra, her pride, her life. The beauty, toilet, and grace of her +daughter seemed to have become her own. All was well with her if Ginevra +was happy. Her hair was white, and a few strands only were seen above +her white and wrinkled forehead, or beside her hollow cheeks. + +“It is now fifteen days,” she said, “since Ginevra made a practice of +being late.” + +“Jean is so slow!” cried the impatient old man, buttoning up his blue +coat and seizing his hat, which he dashed upon his head as he took his +cane and departed. + +“You will not get far,” said his wife, calling after him. + +As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, and the old mother +heard the steps of her Ginevra in the court-yard. Bartolomeo almost +instantly reappeared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in his arms. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. LOVE + + +“Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!” + cried the old man. + +“Oh, father, you hurt me!” + +Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her +head with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her +cry, as if to say, “Don’t be alarmed, it was only a trick to get away.” + +The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even +assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,--with him +the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he +saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers who +served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of his +face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. +These two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of a +drooping plant to which a little water has given fresh life after long +dryness. + +“Now, to dinner! to dinner!” cried the baron, offering his large hand to +his daughter, whom he called “Signora Piombellina,”--another symptom of +gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile. + +“Ah ca!” said Piombo, as they left the table, “your mother has called +my attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much longer +than usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you than +your parents--” + +“Oh, father!” + +“Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think,” said the mother. + +“A picture of your own! will you bring us that?” cried the Corsican, +clapping his hands. + +“Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio,” replied Ginevra, rather +slowly. + +“What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!” cried her mother. + +“No!” exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,--“no! it shall +never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie.” + +Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their +daughter in astonishment. + +“I love a young man,” she added, in a voice of emotion. + +Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large +eyelids as if to veil the fire of her eyes. + +“Is he a prince?” asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice which +made the mother quail. + +“No, father,” she said, gently, “he is a young man without fortune.” + +“Is he very handsome?” + +“He is very unfortunate.” + +“What is he?” + +“Labedoyere’s comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin +concealed him, and--” + +“Servin is a good fellow, who has done well,” cried Piombo; “but you, my +daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father.” + +“It does not depend on me to love, or not to love,” replied Ginevra, +still gently. + +“I flattered myself,” continued her father, “that my Ginevra would be +faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother +would suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness would +find a rival in her soul, and--” + +“Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?” said +Ginevra. “Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me +for months together when you went on missions. I bore your absence +courageously. Life has necessities to which we must all submit.” + +“Ginevra!” + +“No, you don’t love me for myself; your reproaches betray your +intolerable egotism.” + +“You dare to blame your father’s love!” exclaimed Piombo, his eyes +flashing. + +“Father, I don’t blame you,” replied Ginevra, with more gentleness than +her trembling mother expected. “You have grounds for your egotism, as I +have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has ever fulfilled +her duty to her parents better than I have done to you. I have never +felt anything but love and happiness where others often see obligation. +It is now fifteen years that I have never left your protecting wing, +and it has been a most dear pleasure to me to charm your life. But am I +ungrateful for all this in giving myself up to the joy of loving; is it +ingratitude to desire a husband who will protect me hereafter?” + +“What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?” said Piombo, +in a dangerous tone. + +A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. +Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending +tone:-- + +“Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot +have you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await your +liberty.” + +“But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to +love you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath me. +You will be doubly cherished by me and by him,--by him who is my other +self, by me who am all his.” + +“Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!” cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; “why +did you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did +you not take the counts and dukes he presented to you?” + +“They loved me to order,” said the girl. “Besides, they would have made +me live with them, and I did not wish to leave you alone.” + +“You don’t wish to leave me alone,” said Piombo, “and yet you +marry!--that is leaving me alone. I know you, my daughter; in that case, +you would cease to love us. Elisa,” he added, looking at his wife, who +remained motionless, and as if stupefied, “we have no longer a daughter; +she wishes to marry.” + +The old man sat down, after raising his hands to heaven with a gesture +of invoking the Divine power; then he bowed himself over as if weighed +down with sorrow. + +Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which he put upon his +anger touched her to the heart; she expected some violent crisis, +some ungovernable fury; she had not armed her soul against paternal +gentleness. + +“Father,” she said, in a tender voice, “no, you shall never be abandoned +by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If you know how +he loves me! Ah! _He_ would never make me unhappy!” + +“Comparisons already!” cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. “No, I can +never endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve +to be loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a +dagger through him.” + +The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body trembled, +but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to endure his +glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was worthy of the +sire. + +“Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?” continued Piombo. +“To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there worthy to be +your husband?” + +“_He_,” said Ginevra; “he of whom I am not worthy.” + +“He?” repeated Piombo, mechanically; “who is _he_?” + +“He whom I love.” + +“How can he know you enough to love you?” + +“Father,” said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, “whether he loves +me or not, if I love him--” + +“You love him?” cried Piombo. + +Ginevra bent her head softly. + +“You love him more than you love us?” + +“The two feelings cannot be compared,” she replied. + +“Is one stronger than the other?” + +“I think it is,” said Ginevra. + +“You shall not marry him,” cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the +window-panes. + +“I shall marry him,” replied Ginevra, tranquilly. + +“Oh, God!” cried the mother, “how will this quarrel end? Santa Virgina! +place thyself between them!” + +The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated +himself; an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his +daughter, and said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,-- + +“Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night--let +me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his knees, his +white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you--” + +“Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it,” she replied. “I am +your daughter.” + +“She is right,” said the baroness. “We are sent into the world to +marry.” + +“Do you encourage her in disobedience?” said the baron to his wife, who, +terrified by the word, now changed to marble. + +“Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedience,” said Ginevra. + +“No order can be unjust from the lips of your father, my daughter. Why +do you judge my action? The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on +high, sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil.” + +“The only evil could be that he did not love me.” + +“Always _he_!” + +“Yes, always,” she answered. “He is my life, my good, my thought. Even +if I obeyed you he would be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him +is to make me hate you.” + +“You love us not!” cried Piombo. + +“Oh!” said Ginevra, shaking her head. + +“Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After we are gone--you +understand?” + +“Father, do you wish me to long for your death?” cried Ginevra. + +“I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor their parents die +early,” said the father, driven to exasperation. + +“All the more reason why I should marry and be happy,” she replied. + +This coolness and power of argument increased Piombo’s trouble; the +blood rushed violently to his head, and his face turned purple. Ginevra +shuddered; she sprang like a bird on her father’s knee, threw her arms +around his neck, and caressed his white hair, exclaiming, tenderly:-- + +“Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never survive you, my father, +my kind father!” + +“Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!” replied Piombo, whose anger melted +under this caress like snow beneath the rays of the sun. + +“It was time you ceased,” said the baroness, in a trembling voice. + +“Poor mother!” + +“Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra!” + +And the father played with his daughter as though she were a child of +six. He amused himself by releasing the waving volume of her hair, +by dandling her on his knee; there was something of madness in these +expressions of his love. Presently his daughter scolded while kissing +him, and tried, by jesting, to obtain admission for Luigi; but her +father, also jesting, refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once +more, and sulked again, until, by the end of the evening, she was forced +to be content with having impressed upon her father’s mind both her love +for Luigi and the idea of an approaching marriage. + +The next day she said no more about her love; she was more caressing to +her father than she had ever been, and testified the utmost gratitude, +as if to thank him for the consent he seemed to have given by his +silence. That evening she sang and played to him for a long time, +exclaiming now and then: “We want a man’s voice for this nocturne.” + Ginevra was an Italian, and that says all. + +At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She went; and Elisa +Piombo whispered in her ear:-- + +“I have persuaded your father to receive him.” + +“Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!” + +That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on the arm of her Luigi. +The officer came out of his hiding-place for the second time only. The +earnest appeals which Ginevra made to the Duc de Feltre, then minister +of war, had been crowned with complete success. Luigi’s name was +replaced upon the roll of officers awaiting orders. This was the first +great step toward better things. Warned by Ginevra of the difficulties +he would encounter with her father, the young man dared not express his +fear of finding it impossible to please the old man. Courageous under +adversity, brave on a battlefield, he trembled at the thought of +entering Piombo’s salon. Ginevra felt him tremble, and this emotion, the +source of which lay in her, was, to her eyes, another proof of love. + +“How pale you are!” she said to him when they reached the door of the +house. + +“Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only!--” + +Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of the formal +presentation Ginevra was to make of her lover, he would not advance to +meet him, but remained seated in his usual arm-chair, and the sternness +of his brow was awful. + +“Father,” said Ginevra, “I bring you a person you will no doubt +be pleased to see,--a soldier who fought beside the Emperor at +Mont-Saint-Jean.” + +The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance at Luigi, and said, in a sardonic +tone:-- + +“Monsieur is not decorated.” + +“I no longer wear the Legion of honor,” replied Luigi, timidly, still +standing. + +Ginevra, mortified by her father’s incivility, dragged forward a chair. +The officer’s answer seemed to satisfy the old servant of Napoleon. +Madame Piombo, observing that her husband’s eyebrows were resuming their +natural position, said, by way of conversation: + +“Monsieur’s resemblance to a person we knew in Corsica, Nina Porta, is +really surprising.” + +“Nothing could be more natural,” replied the young man, on whose face +Piombo’s flaming eyes now rested. “Nina was my sister.” + +“Are you Luigi Porta?” asked the old man. + +“Yes.” + +Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against a chair and +beckon to his wife. Elisa Piombo came to him. Then the two old people, +silently, each supporting the other, left the room, abandoning their +daughter with a sort of horror. + +Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had turned as white as a +marble statue, and stood gazing at the door through which her father and +mother had disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed to her +so solemn that, for the first time, in her whole life, a feeling of fear +entered her soul. She struck her hands together with great force, and +said, in a voice so shaken that none but a lover could have heard the +words:-- + +“What misery in a word!” + +“In the name of our love, what have I said?” asked Luigi Porta. + +“My father,” she replied, “never spoke to me of our deplorable history, +and I was too young when we left Corsica to know anything about it.” + +“Are we in vendetta?” asked Luigi, trembling. + +“Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas killed my brother and +burned our house. My father then massacred the whole family. How is it +that you survived?--for you were tied to the posts of the bed before +they set fire to the house.” + +“I do not know,” replied Luigi. “I was taken to Genoa when six years +old, and given in charge of an old man named Colonna. No detail about +my family was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, and without +property. Old Colonna was a father to me; and I bore his name until I +entered the army. In order to do that, I had to show my certificate of +birth in order to prove my identity. Colonna then told me, still a +mere child, that I had enemies. And he advised me to take Luigi as my +surname, and so evade them.” + +“Go, go, Luigi!” cried Ginevra. “No, stay; I must go with you. So long +as you are in my father’s house you have nothing to fear; but the moment +you leave it, take care! you will go from danger to danger. My father +has two Corsicans in his service, and if he does not lie in wait to kill +you, they will.” + +“Ginevra,” he said, “this feud, does it exist between you and me?” + +The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presently she raised it, and +said, with a sort of pride:-- + +“Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, indeed, to give me +strength to tread the path I am about to enter. But it involves a +happiness that will last throughout our lives, will it not?” + +Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. + +Ginevra comprehended that true love could despise all vulgar +protestations at such a moment. This calm and restrained expression +of his feelings foreshadowed, in some sense, their strength and their +duration. + +The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. Ginevra foresaw a +cruel struggle, but the idea of abandoning Luigi--an idea which may have +floated in her soul--vanished completely. His forever, she dragged him +suddenly, with a desperate sort of energy, from her father’s house, +and did not leave him till she saw him reach the house where Servin had +engaged a modest lodging. + +By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained to that serenity +which is caused by a firm resolution; no sign in her manner betrayed +uneasiness. She turned on her father and mother, whom she found in the +act of sitting down to dinner, a glance of exceeding gentleness devoid +of hardihood. She saw that her mother had been weeping; the redness of +those withered eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emotion. No one +touched the dinner which was served to them. A horror of food is one of +the chief symptoms which reveal a great crisis in life. All three rose +from table without having addressed a single word to one another. + +When Ginevra had placed herself between her father and mother in the +great and gloomy salon, Piombo tried to speak, but his voice failed him; +he tried to walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned to his +seat and rang the bell. + +“Pietro,” he said, at last, to the footman, “light the fire; I am cold.” + +Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anxiously. The struggle +within him must have been horrible, for his face was distorted. Ginevra +knew the extent of the peril before her, but she did not flinch. +Bartolomeo, meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his daughter, as if he +feared a character whose violence was the work of his own hands. + +Between such natures all things must be extreme. The certainty of some +impending change in the feelings of father and daughter gave to the worn +and weary face of the baroness an expression of terror. + +“Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family,” said Piombo, at last, not +daring to look at his daughter. + +“That is true,” she replied. + +“You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a part of our being. Whoso +does not share my vengeance is not a member of my family.” + +“My choice is made,” replied Ginevra, calmly. + +His daughter’s tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. + +“Oh! my dear child!” he cried, letting her see his eyes moistened with +tears, the first and only tears he ever shed in life. + +“I shall be his wife,” said Ginevra, abruptly. + +Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he recovered his coolness +instantly, and replied:-- + +“The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I will never consent +to it.” + +Ginevra kept silence. + +“Ginevra,” continued the baron, “have you reflected that Luigi is the +son of the man who killed your brother?” + +“He was six years old when that crime was committed; he was, therefore, +not guilty of it,” she replied. + +“He is a Porta!” cried Bartolomeo. + +“I have never shared that hatred,” said Ginevra, eagerly. “You did not +bring me up to think a Porta must be a monster. How could I know that +one of those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is it not natural +that you should now yield your vendetta to my feelings?” + +“A Porta!” repeated Piombo. “If his father had found you in your bed you +would not be living now; he would have taken your life a hundred times.” + +“It may be so,” she answered; “but his son has given me life, and more +than life. To see Luigi is a happiness without which I cannot live. +Luigi has revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, perhaps, have +seen faces more beautiful than his, but none has ever charmed me thus; +I may have heard voices--no, no, never any so melodious! Luigi loves me; +he will be my husband.” + +“Never,” said Piombo. “I would rather see you in your coffin, Ginevra.” + +The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and down the salon, +dropping the following sentences, one by one, after pauses which +betrayed his agitation. + +“You think you can bend my will. Undeceive yourself. A Porta shall never +be my son; that is my decree. Let there be no further question of this +between us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, Ginevra?” + +“Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those words?” she asked, +coldly. + +“They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not fear man’s justice. +Corsicans explain themselves to God.” + +“And I,” said the daughter, rising, “am Ginevra Piombo, and I declare +that within six months I shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a +tyrant, my father,” she added, after a terrifying pause. + +Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on the marble of the +chimneypiece. + +“Ah! we are in Paris!” he muttered. + +Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head on his breast, and +said not another word during the whole evening. + +After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra affected inconceivable +coolness. She opened the piano and sang, played charming nocturnes and +scherzos with a grace and sentiment which displayed a perfect freedom +of mind, thus triumphing over her father, whose darkling face showed +no softening. The old man was cruelly hurt by this tacit insult; he +gathered in this one moment the bitter fruits of the training he had +given to his daughter. Respect is a barrier which protects parents as it +does children, sparing grief to the former, remorse to the latter. + +The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the house at the hour when +she usually went to the studio, she found the gates of the mansion +closed to her. She said nothing, but soon found means to inform Luigi +Porta of her father’s severity. A chambermaid, who could neither read +nor write, was able to carry letters between the lovers. For five days +they corresponded thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of the youth. + +The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. Both were nursing in +the depths of their heart a sentiment of hatred; they suffered, but they +suffered proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong were the ties +of love which bound them to each other, they each tried to break them, +but without success. No gentle thought came, as formerly, to brighten +the stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his Ginevra. The girl +had something savage in her eye when she looked at her father; reproach +sat enthroned on that innocent brow; she gave herself up, it is true, to +happy thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse seemed to dull her eyes. It +was not difficult to believe that she could never enjoy, peacefully, any +happiness which caused sorrow to her parents. + +With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesitations of this period +caused by the native goodness of their souls were, nevertheless, +compelled to give way before their pride and the rancor of their +Corsican nature. They encouraged each other in their anger, and closed +their eyes to the future. Perhaps they mutually flattered themselves +that the one would yield to the other. + +At last, on Ginevra’s birthday, her mother, in despair at the +estrangement which, day by day, assumed a more serious character, +meditated an attempt to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of +the memories of this family anniversary. They were all three sitting in +Bartolomeo’s study. Ginevra guessed her mother’s intention by the timid +hesitation on her face, and she smiled sadly. + +At this moment a servant announced two notaries, accompanied by +witnesses. Bartolomeo looked fixedly at these persons, whose cold and +formal faces were grating to souls so passionately strained as those of +the three chief actors in this scene. The old man turned to his daughter +and looked at her uneasily. He saw upon her face a smile of triumph +which made him expect some shock; but, after the manner of savages, +he affected to maintain a deceitful indifference as he gazed at the +notaries with an assumed air of calm curiosity. The strangers sat down, +after being invited to do so by a gesture of the old man. + +“Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?” began the oldest of the +notaries. + +Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight inclination of the head, +looked at Ginevra with a sly expression, took out his snuff-box, opened +it, and slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words with which +to open his errand; then, while uttering them, he made continual pauses +(an oratorical manoeuvre very imperfectly represented by the printer’s +dash--). + +“Monsieur,” he said, “I am Monsieur Roguin, your daughter’s notary, +and we have come--my colleague and I--to fulfil the intentions +of the law and--put an end to the divisions which--appear--to +exist--between yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter,--on the +subject--of--her--marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta.” + +This speech, pedantically delivered, probably seemed to Monsieur Roguin +so fine that his hearer could not at once understand it. He paused, and +looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of the mere business +lawyer, a mixture of servility with familiarity. Accustomed to feign +much interest in the persons with whom they deal, notaries have at last +produced upon their features a grimace of their own, which they take +on and off as an official “pallium.” This mask of benevolence, the +mechanism of which is so easy to perceive, irritated Bartolomeo to such +an extent that he was forced to collect all the powers of his reason +to prevent him from throwing Monsieur Roguin through the window. An +expression of anger ran through his wrinkles, which caused the notary to +think to himself: “I’ve produced an effect.” + +“But,” he continued, in a honeyed tone, “Monsieur le baron, on such +occasions our duties are preceded by--efforts at--conciliation--Deign, +therefore, to have the goodness to listen to me--It is in evidence that +Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo--attains this very day--the age at which +the law allows a respectful summons before proceeding to the celebration +of a marriage--in spite of the non-consent of the parents. Now--it is +usual in families--who enjoy a certain consideration--who belong to +society--who preserve some dignity--to whom, in short, it is desirable +not to let the public into the secret of their differences--and who, +moreover, do not wish to injure themselves by blasting with reprobation +the future of a young couple (for--that is injuring themselves), it +is usual, I say--among these honorable families--not to allow these +summonses--to take place--or remain--a monument to--divisions which +should end--by ceasing--Whenever, monsieur, a young lady has recourse to +respectful summons, she exhibits a determination too marked to allow +of a father--of a mother,” here he turned to the baroness, “hoping or +expecting that she will follow their wishes--Paternal resistance being +null--by reason of this fact--in the first place--and also from its +being nullified by law, it is customary--for every sensible man--after +making a final remonstrance to his child--and before she proceeds to the +respectful summons--to leave her at liberty to--” + +Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might talk on for two hours +without obtaining any answer; he felt, moreover, a singular emotion at +the aspect of the man he was attempting to convert. An extraordinary +revolution had taken place on Piombo’s face; his wrinkles, contracting +into narrow lines, gave him a look of indescribable cruelty, and he +cast upon the notary the glance of a tiger. The baroness was mute and +passive. Ginevra, calm and resolute, waited silently; she knew that the +notary’s voice was more potent than hers, and she seemed to have decided +to say nothing. At the moment when Roguin ceased speaking, the scene had +become so terrifying that the men who were there as witnesses trembled; +never, perhaps, had they known so awful a silence. The notaries looked +at each other, as if in consultation, and finally rose and walked to the +window. + +“Did you ever meet people born into the world like that?” asked Roguin +of his brother notary. + +“You can’t get anything out of him,” replied the younger man. “In +your place, I should simply read the summons. That old fellow isn’t a +comfortable person; he is furious, and you’ll gain nothing whatever by +arguing with him.” + +Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, containing the “respectful +summons,” prepared for the occasion; after which he proceeded to ask +Bartolomeo what answer he made to it. + +“Are there laws in France which destroy paternal authority?--” demanded +the Corsican. + +“Monsieur--” said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. + +“Which tear a daughter from her father?--” + +“Monsieur--” + +“Which deprive an old man of his last consolation?--” + +“Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you if--” + +“And kill him?--” + +“Monsieur, permit me--” + +There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and precise reasoning +of notaries amid the many passionate scenes in which they are accustomed +to take part. + +The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his eyes, escaped from +hell; his repressed and concentrated rage knew no longer any bounds +as the calm and fluted voice of the little notary uttered the words: +“permit me.” By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger that was hanging +to a nail above the fireplace, and rushed toward his daughter. The +younger of the two notaries and one of the witnesses threw themselves +before Ginevra; but Piombo knocked them violently down, his face on +fire, and his eyes casting flames more terrifying than the glitter of +the dagger. When Ginevra saw him approach her she looked at him with an +air of triumph, and advancing slowly, knelt down. “No, no! I cannot!” he +cried, flinging away the weapon, which buried itself in the wainscot. + +“Well, then! have mercy! have pity!” she said. “You hesitate to be my +death, and you refuse me life! Oh! father, never have I loved you as I +do at this moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon my knees: +a daughter can humiliate herself before her father. My Luigi, give me my +Luigi, or I die!” + +The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped her words, for she +had no voice; her convulsive movements showed plainly that she lay, as +it were, between life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from him. + +“Go,” he said. “The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be a Piombo. I have no +daughter. I have not the strength to curse you, but I cast you off; you +have no father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here,” he said, in a deep +voice, pressing violently on his heart. “Go, leave my house, unhappy +girl,” he added, after a moment’s silence. “Go, and never come into my +sight again.” + +So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate of the house and +silently put her out. + +“Luigi!” cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodging of her lover,--“my +Luigi, we have no other fortune than our love.” + +“Then am I richer than the kings of the earth!” he cried. + +“My father and my mother have cast me off,” she said, in deepest +sadness. + +“I will love you in place of them.” + +“Then let us be happy,--we WILL be happy!” she cried, with a gayety in +which there was something dreadful. + + + + +CHAPTER V. MARRIAGE + + +The day after Ginevra was driven from her father’s house she went to ask +Madame Servin for asylum and protection until the period fixed by law +for her marriage to Luigi. + +Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble which the world strews +about the path of those who do not follow its conventions. Madame Servin +received her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm which Ginevra’s +affair had inflicted on her husband, and told her, in politely cautious +words, that she must not count on her help in future. Too proud to +persist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto unknown to her, the girl +took a room in the lodging-house that was nearest to that of Luigi. The +son of the Portas passed all his days at the feet of his future wife; +and his youthful love, the purity of his words, dispersed the clouds +from the mind of the banished daughter; the future was so beautiful +as he painted it that she ended by smiling joyfully, though without +forgetting her father’s severity. + +One morning the servant of the lodging house brought to Ginevra’s room +a number of trunks and packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and +a great quantity of other articles necessary for a young wife in setting +up a home of her own. In this welcome provision she recognized her +mother’s foresight, and, on examining the gifts, she found a purse, in +which the baroness had put the money belonging to her daughter, adding +to it the amount of her own savings. The purse was accompanied by a +letter, in which the mother implored the daughter to forego the fatal +marriage if it were still possible to do so. It had cost her, she +said, untold difficulty to send these few things to her daughter; she +entreated her not to think her hard if, henceforth, she were forced to +abandon her to want; she feared she could never again assist her; but +she blessed her and prayed for her happiness in this fatal marriage, if, +indeed, she persisted in making it, assuring her that she should never +cease to think of her darling child. Here the falling tears had effaced +some words of the letter. + +“Oh, mother!” cried Ginevra, deeply moved. + +She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the blessed air of her +father’s house, to fling herself at his feet, to see her mother. She was +springing forward to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At the +mere sight of him her filial emotion vanished; her tears were +stopped, and she no longer had the strength to abandon that loving and +unfortunate youth. To be the sole hope of a noble being, to love him and +then abandon him!--that sacrifice is the treachery of which young hearts +are incapable. Ginevra had the generosity to bury her own grief and +suffering silently in her soul. + +The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend with her. While she was +dressing, Luigi fetched the witnesses necessary to sign the certificate +of marriage. These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a cavalry +sergeant, was under obligations to Luigi, contracted on the battlefield, +obligations which are never obliterated from the heart of an honest man; +the other, a master-mason, was the proprietor of the house in which the +young couple had hired an apartment for their future home. Each witness +brought a friend, and all four, with Luigi, came to escort the bride. +Little accustomed to social functions, and seeing nothing in the service +they were rendering to Luigi but a simple matter of business, they were +dressed in their ordinary clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about +them denoted the usual joy of a marriage procession. + +Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her present fortunes; +and yet her beauty was so noble and so imposing that the words of +greeting died away on the lips of the witnesses, who supposed themselves +obliged to pay her some usual compliments. They bowed to her with +respect, and she returned the bow; but they did so in silence, looking +at her with admiration. This reserve cast a chill over the whole party. +Joy never bursts forth freely except among those who are equals. Thus +chance determined that all should be dull and grave around the bridal +pair; nothing reflected, outwardly, the happiness that reigned within +their hearts. + +The church and the mayor’s office being near by, Luigi and Ginevra, +followed by the four witnesses required by law, walked the distance, +with a simplicity that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in +social life. They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the mayor’s +court-yard; and when they reached the great hall where the civil +marriages take place, they found two other wedding-parties impatiently +awaiting the mayor’s arrival. + +Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long bench; their +witnesses remained standing, for want of seats. Two brides, elaborately +dressed in white, with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and crowned with +orange-blossoms whose satiny petals nodded beneath their veils, were +surrounded by joyous families, and accompanied by their mothers, to +whom they looked up, now and then, with eyes that were content and timid +both; the faces of all the rest reflected happiness, and seemed to be +invoking blessings on the youthful pairs. Fathers, witnesses, brothers, +and sisters went and came, like a happy swarm of insects disporting +in the sun. Each seemed to be impressed with the value of this passing +moment of life, when the heart finds itself within two hopes,--the +wishes of the past, the promises of the future. + +As she watched them, Ginevra’s heart swelled within her; she pressed +Luigi’s arm, and gave him a look. A tear rolled from the eyes of the +young Corsican; never did he so well understand the joys that his +Ginevra was sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her to forget +all else but him,--even the abandonment in which she sat there. Love +poured down its treasures of light upon their hearts; they saw nought +else but themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they were there +alone, in that crowd, as they were destined to be, henceforth, in life. +Their witnesses, indifferent to what was happening, conversed quietly on +their own affairs. + +“Oats are very dear,” said the sergeant to the mason. + +“But they have not gone up like lime, relatively speaking,” replied the +contractor. + +Then they walked round the hall. + +“How one loses time here,” said the mason, replacing a thick silver +watch in his fob. + +Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, seemed like one +person. A poet would have admired their two heads, inspired by the same +sentiment, colored in the same tones, silent and saddened in presence +of that humming happiness sparkling in diamonds, gay with flowers,--a +gayety in which there was something fleeting. The joy of those noisy +and splendid groups was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi was buried +in their bosom. On one side the tumult of common pleasure, on the other, +the delicate silence of happy souls,--earth and heaven! + +But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weaknesses of women. +Superstitious as an Italian, she saw an omen in this contrast, and in +her heart there lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. + +Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, opened a folding-door. +Silence reigned, and his voice was heard, like the yapping of a dog, +calling Monsieur Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo. +This caused some embarrassment to the young pair. The celebrity of the +bride’s name attracted attention, and the spectators seemed to wonder +that the wedding was not more sumptuous. Ginevra rose, took Luigi’s arm, +and advanced firmly, followed by the witnesses. A murmur of surprise, +which went on increasing, and a general whispering reminded Ginevra that +all present were wondering at the absence of her parents; her father’s +wrath seemed present to her. + +“Call in the families,” said the mayor to the clerk whose business it +was to read aloud the certificates. + +“The father and mother protest,” replied the clerk, phlegmatically. + +“On both sides?” inquired the mayor. + +“The groom is an orphan.” + +“Where are the witnesses?” + +“Here,” said the clerk, pointing to the four men, who stood with arms +folded, like so many statues. + +“But if the parents protest--” began the mayor. + +“The respectful summons has been duly served,” replied the clerk, +rising, to lay before the mayor the papers annexed to the marriage +certificate. + +This bureaucratic decision had something blighting about it; in a few +words it contained the whole story. The hatred of the Portas and the +Piombos and their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of the +civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it may be, in one word +only,--Napoleon, Robespierre) are engraved on a tombstone. Ginevra +trembled. Like the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to +rest its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge only in the eyes +of Luigi from the cold and dreary waste around her. + +The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and his clerk looked up +at the couple with malicious curiosity. No marriage was ever so little +festal. Like other human beings when deprived of their accessories, it +became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. + +After a few questions, to which the bride and bridegroom responded, and +a few words mumbled by the mayor, and after signing the registers, with +their witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. Then the wedded +pair walked back through two lines of joyous relations who did not +belong to them, and whose only interest in their marriage was the +delay caused to their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. When, at last, +Ginevra found herself in the mayor’s court-yard, under the open sky, a +sigh escaped her breast. + +“Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove my gratitude for +your courage and tenderness, my Ginevra?” said Luigi. + +At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride forgot her sufferings; +for she had indeed suffered in presenting herself before the public to +obtain a happiness her parents refused to sanction. + +“Why should others come between us?” she said with an artlessness of +feeling that delighted Luigi. + +A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step of the young pair +lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor earth, nor houses; they flew, as +it were, on wings to the church. When they reached a dark little chapel +in one corner of the building, and stood before a plain undecorated +altar, an old priest married them. There, as in the mayor’s office, two +other marriages were taking place, still pursuing them with pomp. The +church, filled with friends and relations, echoed with the roll of +carriages, and the hum of beadles, sextons, and priests. Altars were +resplendent with sacramental luxury; the wreaths of orange-flowers that +crowned the figures of the Virgin were fresh. Flowers, incense, gleaming +tapers, velvet cushions embroidered with gold, were everywhere. When +the time came to hold above the heads of Luigi and Ginevra the symbol +of eternal union,--that yoke of satin, white, soft, brilliant, light +for some, lead for most,--the priest looked about him in vain for the +acolytes whose place it was to perform that joyous function. Two of the +witnesses fulfilled it for them. The priest addressed a hasty homily +to the pair on the perils of life, on the duties they must, some day, +inculcate upon their children,--throwing in, at this point, an indirect +reproach to Ginevra on the absence of her parents; then, after uniting +them before God, as the mayor had united them before the law, he left +the now married couple. + +“God bless them!” said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to the mason, when they +reached the church porch. “No two creatures were ever more fitted for +one another. The parents of the girl are foolish. I don’t know a braver +soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole army had behaved like him, +‘l’autre’ would be here still.” + +This blessing of the old soldier, the only one bestowed upon their +marriage-day, shed a balm on Ginevra’s heart. + +They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi thanked his landlord. + +“Adieu, ‘mon brave,’” he said to the sergeant. “I thank you.” + +“I am now and ever at your service, colonel,--soul, body, horses, and +carriages; all that is mine is yours.” + +“How he loves you!” said Ginevra. + +Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were to occupy. Their +modest apartment was soon reached; and there, when the door closed upon +them, Luigi took his wife in his arms, exclaiming,-- + +“Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is our true wedding. Here,” + he added, “all things will smile upon us.” + +Together they went through the three rooms contained in their lodging. +The room first entered served as salon and dining-room in one; on +the right was a bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had +arranged for his wife; in it she found easels, color-boxes, lay-figures, +casts, pictures, portfolios,--in short, the paraphernalia of an artist. + +“So here I am to work!” she said, with an expression of childlike +happiness. + +She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, turning again +and again to thank Luigi, for there was something that approached +magnificence in the little retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite +books; a piano filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon a divan, +drew Luigi to her side, and said, in a caressing voice, her hand in +his,-- + +“You have good taste.” + +“Those words make me happy,” he replied. + +“But let me see all,” said Ginevra, to whom Luigi had made a mystery of +the adornment of the rooms. + +They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white as a virgin. + +“Oh! come away,” said Luigi, smiling. + +“But I wish to see all.” + +And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of furniture with the +minute care of an antiquary examining a coin; she touched the silken +hangings, and went over every article with the artless satisfaction of a +bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. + +“We begin by ruining ourselves,” she said, in a half-joyous, +half-anxious tone. + +“True! for all my back pay is there,” replied Luigi. “I have mortgaged +it to a worthy fellow named Gigonnet.” + +“Why did you do so?” she said, in a tone of reproach, through which +could be heard her inward satisfaction. “Do you believe I should be +less happy in a garret? But,” she added, “it is all charming, and--it is +ours!” + +Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she lowered her eyes. + +“Now let us see the rest,” she cried. + +Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a study for Luigi, a +kitchen, and a servant’s-room. Ginevra was much pleased with her little +domain, although the view from the windows was limited by the high wall +of a neighboring house, and the court-yard, from which their light was +derived, was gloomy. But the two lovers were so happy in heart, hope +so adorned their future, that they chose to see nothing but what was +charming in their hidden nest. They were there in that vast house, lost +in the immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their shell in the depths +of ocean; to all others it might have seemed a prison; to them it was +paradise. + +The first few days of their union were given to love. The effort to turn +at once to work was too difficult; they could not resist the charm of +their own passion. Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his wife, admiring +the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, the enchanting +socket of her eyes, the purity and whiteness of the two arches beneath +which the eyes themselves turned slowly, expressing the happiness of a +satisfied love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, never weary of +gazing at what she called his “belta folgorante,” and the delicacy of +his features. She was constantly charmed by the nobility of his manners, +as she herself attracted him by the grace of hers. + +They played together, like children, with nothings,--nothings that +brought them ever back to their love,--ceasing their play only to fall +into a revery of the “far niente.” An air sung by Ginevra reproduced +to their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their passion. +Together, uniting their steps as they did their souls, they roamed about +the country, finding everywhere their love,--in the flowers, in the +sky, in the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in even +the capricious vapors which met and struggled in the ether. Each day +resembled in nothing its predecessors; their love increased, and still +increased, because it was a true love. They had tested each other in +what seemed only a short time; and, instinctively, they recognized that +their souls were of a kind whose inexhaustible riches promised for the +future unceasing joys. + +Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its interminable +conversations, unfinished speeches, long silences, oriental reposes, and +oriental ardor. Luigi and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like the +ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called monotonous by +common souls, whereas some privileged beings can pass their lives in +admiring it, and in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that +enchant them. + +Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the young couple from their +Eden; it was necessary to work to live. Ginevra, who possessed a special +talent for imitating old paintings, took up the business of copying, and +soon found many customers among the picture-dealers. Luigi, on his side, +sought long and actively for occupation, but it was hard for a young +officer whose talents had been restricted to the study of strategy to +find anything to do in Paris. + +At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with despair at seeing +the whole burden of their subsistence falling on Ginevra, it occurred +to him to make use of his handwriting, which was excellent. With a +persistency of which he saw an example in his wife, he went round +among the layers and notaries of Paris, asking for papers to copy. The +frankness of his manners and his situation interested many in his favor; +he soon obtained enough work to be obliged to find young men to assist +him; and this employment became, little by little, a regular business. +The profits of his office and the sale of Ginevra’s pictures gave the +young couple a competence of which they were justly proud, for it was +the fruit of their industry. + +This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of their lives. The days +flowed rapidly by, filled with occupation and the joys of their love. At +night, after working all day, they met with delight in Ginevra’s studio. +Music refreshed their weariness. No expression of regret or melancholy +obscured the happy features of the young wife, and never did she utter a +complaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a smile upon her lips and her +eyes beaming. Each cherished a ruling thought which would have made them +take pleasure in a labor still more severe; Ginevra said in her heart +that she worked for Luigi, and Luigi the same for Ginevra. + +Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the thought of the perfect +happiness she might have had if this life of love could have been lived +in the presence of her father and mother overcame the young wife; +and then, as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped +into melancholy; mournful pictures passed like shadows across her +imagination; she saw her old father alone, or her mother weeping in +secret lest the inexorable Piombo should perceive her tears. The two +white, solemn heads rose suddenly before her, and the thought came that +never again should she see them except in memory. This thought pursued +her like a presentiment. + +She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by giving her husband a +portrait he had long desired,--that of his Ginevra, painted by herself. +Never had the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside from the +resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the purity of her feelings, +the happiness of love were there depicted by a sort of magic. This +masterpiece of her art and her joy was a votive offering to their wedded +felicity. + +Another year of ease and comfort went by. The history of their life may +be given in three words: _They were happy._ No event happened to them of +sufficient importance to be recorded. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. RETRIBUTION + + +At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers requested Ginevra +to give them something beside copies; for competition had so increased +that they could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame Porta then +perceived the mistake she had made in not exercising her talent +for “genre” painting, which might, by this time, have brought her +reputation. She now attempted portrait-painting. But here she was forced +to compete against a crowd of artists in greater need of money than +herself. However, as Luigi and Ginevra had laid by a few savings, they +were not, as yet, uneasy about the future. + +Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi worked without +intermission. He, too, was struggling against competitors. The payment +for writing had so decreased that he found it impossible to employ +assistance; he was forced, therefore, to work a much longer time himself +to obtain the same emolument. His wife had finished several pictures +which were not without merit; but the dealers were scarcely buying those +of artists with reputations; consequently, her paintings had little +chance. Ginevra offered them for almost nothing, but without success. + +The situation of the household now began to be alarming. The souls +of the husband and wife floated on the ocean of their happiness, +love overwhelmed them with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a +skeleton, amid their harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they hid from +each other their secret anxiety. When Ginevra felt like weeping as she +watched Luigi’s worn and suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; and +Luigi, keeping his dark forebodings in the depths of his soul, expressed +to his Ginevra the tenderest love. They sought a compensation for their +troubles in exalting their feelings; and their words, their joys, their +caresses became suffused, as it were, with a species of frenzy. They +feared the future. What feeling can be compared in strength with that of +a passion which may cease on the morrow, killed by death or want? +When they talked together of their poverty each felt the necessity +of deceiving the other, and they fastened with mutual ardor on the +slightest hope. + +One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her side. She rose in +terror. A faint light shining on the opposite wall of the little +court-yard revealed to her that her husband was working in his study at +night. Luigi was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was asleep, +and then going up to his garret to write. Four o’clock struck. Ginevra +lay down again, and pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi returned, +overcome with fatigue and drowsiness. Ginevra looked sadly on the +beautiful, worn face, where toil and care were already drawing lines of +wrinkles. + +“It is for me he spends his nights in writing,” she said to herself, +weeping. + +A thought dried her tears. She would imitate Luigi. That same day she +went to a print-shop, and, by help of a letter of recommendation she had +obtained from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she obtained an +order for the coloring of lithographs. During the day she painted her +pictures and attended to the cares of the household; then, when night +came, she colored the engravings. This loving couple entered their +nuptial bed only to deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and left +it,--Luigi, as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra as soon +as he had gone. + +One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under +which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of +his garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, the +burden of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the reflection +of Ginevra’s lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow guessed +the truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his wife in her +studio, coloring engravings. + +“Oh, Ginevra!” he cried. + +She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. + +“Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?” she said. + +“But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way,” he answered. + +“Could I be idle,” she asked, her eyes filling with tears, “when I know +that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should die if +I could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common between us: +pains and pleasures, both.” + +“She is cold!” cried Luigi, in despair. “Wrap your shawl closer round +you, my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly.” + +They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her +beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence, +they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening. +Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing +luminous. + +“See!” said Ginevra. “It is an omen. We shall be happy.” + +“Yes, in heaven,” replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. “Oh, Ginevra! you +who deserved all the treasures upon earth--” + +“I have your heart,” she said, in tones of joy. + +“Ah! I complain no more!” he answered, straining her tightly to him, and +covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the freshness +of youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender that he +could not look at it and not be comforted. + +“What silence!” said Ginevra, presently. “Dear friend, I take great +pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it awes, +it inspires. There is I know not what great power in the thought: all +sleep, I wake.” + +“Oh, my Ginevra,” he cried, “it is not to-night alone I feel how +delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,--come and +sleep.” + +“Yes,” replied Ginevra, “if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much +that night I first discovered that you were waking while I slept.” + +The courage with which these two young people fought with misery +received for a while its due reward; but an event which usually crowns +the happiness of a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a son, +who was, to use the popular expression, “as beautiful as the day.” + The sense of motherhood doubled the strength of the young wife. Luigi +borrowed money to meet the expenses of Ginevra’s confinement. At first +she did not feel the fresh burden of their situation; and the pair gave +themselves wholly up to the joy of possessing a child. It was their last +happiness. + +Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a current, these two +Corsican souls struggled courageously; but sometimes they gave way to +an apathy which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon they were +obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty appeared to them suddenly,--not +hideous, but plainly clothed, almost easy to endure; its voice had +nothing terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, nor +rags; but it made them lose the memory and the habits of comfort; it +dried the springs of pride. Then, before they knew it, came want,--want +in all its horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot all human +sentiments. + +Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Bartolomeo, it would +have been hard to see in the mother who suckled her sickly babe the +original of the beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of the +squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, the graceful outlines +of Ginevra’s figure were slowly destroyed; her cheeks grew white as +porcelain, and her eyes dulled as though the springs of life were drying +up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored child, she felt no +suffering but for that young misery; and Luigi had no courage to smile +upon his son. + +“I have wandered over Paris,” he said, one day. “I know no one; can I +ask help of strangers? Vergniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a +conspiracy, and they have put him in prison; besides, he has already +lent me all he could spare. As for our landlord, it is over a year since +he asked me for any rent.” + +“But we are not in want,” replied Ginevra, gently, affecting calmness. + +“Every hour brings some new difficulty,” continued Luigi, in a tone of +terror. + +Another day Luigi took Ginevra’s pictures, her portrait, and the few +articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold +them for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless +household for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed +the sublimity of her nature and the extent of her resignation. + +Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up +against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying son, +performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and sufficed +for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi’s lips a smile +of surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one poor room where +they had taken refuge. + +“Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you,” she said, one evening, when he +returned, worn-out. + +“And you?” + +“I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more.” + +And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her words +to take the food of which she had deprived herself. + +Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given +in 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme +moments two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi, +comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the +fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that +some business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest +poison than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was +left in his home. + +He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the +bosom of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; +he hurried past the windows of the money-changers where gold was +glittering; and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute +for military service, hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra, and +that her father, during his absence, would take her home. + +He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt a +sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial guard. + +“It is two days since I have eaten anything,” he said to him in a slow, +weak voice. “My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered one word +of complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God’s sake, comrade,” + he added, bitterly, “buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no longer in +the service, and I--” + +The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to +procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped the +gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying out at +times:-- + +“Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!” + +It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very +softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he +had left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the garret +window, were fading from Ginevra’s face as she sat sleeping in her +chair, and holding her child upon her breast. + +“Wake, my dear one,” he said, not observing the infant, which shone, at +that moment, with supernatural light. + +Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi’s +look, and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely +recognized his wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he +showed her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly +she cried, in a dreadful voice:-- + +“The child, Luigi, he is cold!” + +She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead. Luigi +took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she clasped +with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he went out to +seek help. + +“Oh! my God!” he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. “I have +gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, +too! Help me!” + +He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, +and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the +needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans had +carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride. + +Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on +which lay his wife. + +“Father! take care of my son, who bears your name,” she was saying in +her delirium. + +“Oh, my angel! be calm,” said Luigi, kissing her; “our good days are +coming back to us.” + +“My Luigi,” she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, +“listen to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered +too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for. +Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to live +again I would again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret you +more than I regret my child--My child!” she added, in a hollow voice. + +Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little +body she had no power to warm. + +“Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra,” she said. “Tell +him I have never blamed him.” + +Her head fell upon her husband’s arm. + +“No, you cannot die!” cried Luigi. “The doctor is coming. We have +food. Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with us, +angel!” + +But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra +turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was conscious +of nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now losing +memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped his +icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to save +herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall. + +“Dear,” she said, at last, “you are cold; I will warm you.” + +She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. + +Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, +bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their +despair. These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they had +entered, an awful silence filled the room. + +While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were sitting +in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast fireplace, where a +glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of their salon. The clock +told midnight. + +For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At the +present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their dotage, +gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted salon, so +filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single lamp which +seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon the hearth, +they might soon have been in total darkness. + +A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been sitting, +remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo was casting +glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding one upon +another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra’s. Elisa Piombo +watched the expressions that now began to cross her husband’s pallid +face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings from the changeful +agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so threatening, and anon +so melancholy that she felt she could no longer read a soul that was now +incomprehensible, even to her. + +Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that chair? +Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for the +first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy +struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now? + +These reflections shook the mother’s heart successively. For an instant +her husband’s countenance became so terrible that she trembled at having +used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra’s name. The +night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so sharply +against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard a gentle +rustling. Ginevra’s mother dropped her head to hide her tears. Suddenly +a sigh burst from the old man’s breast; his wife looked at him; he +seemed to her crushed. Then she risked speaking--for the second time in +three long years--of his daughter. + +“Ginevra may be cold,” she said, softly. + +Piombo quivered. + +“She may be hungry,” she continued. + +The old man dropped a tear. + +“Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!” + said the mother, in accents of despair. + +“Let her come! let her come to me!” cried Piombo. “Oh! my precious +child, thou hast conquered me.” + +The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door +opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of +humanity, stood suddenly before them. + +“Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is +all that remains of her,” he said, laying Ginevra’s long black hair upon +the table. + +The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had +blasted them. + +Luigi no longer stood before them. + +“He has spared me a shot, for he is dead,” said Bartolomeo, slowly, +gazing on the ground at his feet. + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + + Bidault (known as Gigonnet) + The Government Clerks + Gobseck + Cesar Birotteau + The Firm of Nucingen + A Daughter of Eve + + Bonaparte, Napoleon + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Seamy Side of History + A Woman of Thirty + + Bonaparte, Lucien + The Gondreville Mystery + + Camusot de Marville, Madame + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Cousin Pons + + Magus, Elie + A Marriage Settlement + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Cousin Pons + + Murat, Joachim, Prince + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Country Doctor + + Rapp + The Gondreville Mystery + + Roguin + Cesar Birotteau + Eugenie Grandet + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierrette + + Thirion + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + + Tiphaine, Madame + Pierrette + + Vergniaud, Louis + Colonel Chabert + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + +***** This file should be named 1374-0.txt or 1374-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/7/1374/ + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny + +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. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://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. diff --git a/old/1374-0.zip b/old/1374-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a05e991 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1374-0.zip diff --git a/old/1374-h.zip b/old/1374-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f44b360 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1374-h.zip diff --git a/old/1374-h/1374-h.htm b/old/1374-h/1374-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e514ebb --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1374-h/1374-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4058 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + +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: Vendetta + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Katharine Prescott Wormeley + +Release Date: February 23, 2010 [EBook #1374] +Last Updated: November 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + VENDETTA + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Honore De Balzac + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + DEDICATION<br /><br /> To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor.<br /> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>VENDETTA</b> </a> + </h3> + <h3> + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </td> + <td> + PROLOGUE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE STUDIO + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </td> + <td> + LABEDOYERE’S FRIEND + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + LOVE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </td> + <td> + MARRIAGE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + RETRIBUTION + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> ADDENDUM </a> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + VENDETTA + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE + </h2> + <p> + In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, accompanied by + a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time in front of the + palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled down, + at the point where in our day the wing begins which was intended to unite + the chateau of Catherine de Medici with the Louvre of the Valois. + </p> + <p> + The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he sometimes + raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at his wife, who was + sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed wholly occupied with + the little girl of nine or ten years of age, whose long black hair she + amused herself by handling, she lost not a single glance of those her + companion cast on her. Some sentiment other than love united these two + beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety their movements and their + thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most powerful of all ties. + </p> + <p> + The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick + hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The jet + black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his + features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his evident + strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over sixty years + of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign country. Though + the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed the deepest + sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm countenance whenever + her husband looked at her. + </p> + <p> + The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the + youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast of + countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched brows, + a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those who passed + them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group, who made no + effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the expression of it + was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy, characteristic of + Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the stranger saw himself + the object of attention, he looked at his observer with so savage an air + that the boldest lounger hurried his step as though he had trod upon a + serpent. + </p> + <p> + After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly passed + his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the thoughts that were + ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate resolution. + Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he drew a dagger from his + breast and gave it to his companion, saying in Italian:— + </p> + <p> + “I will see if the Bonapartes remember us.” + </p> + <p> + Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the + palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular + guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this man’s + obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in the form of + an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at that moment, and + the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the stranger the spot where + the commander of the post was standing. + </p> + <p> + “Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with him,” + said the Italian to the captain on duty. + </p> + <p> + In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see the + First Consul without having previously requested an audience in writing; + the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The officer + stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with the order of this + singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, casting a terrible look at + the captain, as if he made him responsible for the misfortunes that this + refusal might occasion. Then he kept silence, folded his arms tightly + across his breast, and took up his station under the portico which serves + as an avenue of communication between the garden and the court-yard of the + Tuileries. Persons who will things intensely are very apt to be helped by + chance. At the moment when Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of + the stone posts which was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from + which Lucien Bonaparte, minister of the interior, issued. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!” cried the stranger. + </p> + <p> + These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment + when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot, and + recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear, he took + the Corsican away with him. + </p> + <p> + Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the First + Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in appearance as + Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the arm and led + him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a few words with his + brother, the First Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and + Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to have seen it, in order to + remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to him sharply, and the + aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First Consul, + who listened for Rapp’s step in the adjoining salon, opened the door + suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp close to the wall of the cabinet. + </p> + <p> + “Do you choose not to understand me?” said the First Consul. “I wish to be + alone with my compatriot.” + </p> + <p> + “A Corsican!” replied the aide-de-camp. “I distrust those fellows too much + to—” + </p> + <p> + The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful + officer by the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?” said Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + “To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican,” + replied Bartolomeo, roughly. + </p> + <p> + “What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the + most—” + </p> + <p> + “I have killed all the Portas,” replied the Corsican, in a deep voice, + frowning heavily. + </p> + <p> + The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to betray me?” cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at + Bonaparte. “Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?” + </p> + <p> + Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. + </p> + <p> + “Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at + Piombo and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Why did you kill the Portas?” + </p> + <p> + “We had made friends,” replied the man; “the Barbantis reconciled us. The + day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home because + I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and set fire to + my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My daughter Ginevra + and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, escaped; the Virgin + protected them. When I returned I found no house; my feet were in its + ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck against the body of + Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. ‘The Portas have dealt me + this blow,’ I said; and, forthwith, I went to the woods, and there I + called together all the men whom I had ever served,—do you hear me, + Bonaparte?—and we marched to the vineyard of the Portas. We got + there at five in the morning; at seven they were all before God. Giacomo + declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. But I myself bound him to + his bed before setting fire to the house. I have left the island with my + wife and child without being able to discover whether, indeed, Luigi Porta + is alive.” + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise. + </p> + <p> + “How many were there?” asked Lucien. + </p> + <p> + “Seven,” replied Piombo. “All of them were your persecutors in the olden + times.” + </p> + <p> + These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two + brothers. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!” cried Piombo, with a sort of despair. + “Farewell. In other days I protected you,” he added, in a reproachful + tone. “Without me, your mother would never have reached Marseille,” he + said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, who was silent and thoughtful, his + elbow resting on a mantel-shelf. + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of duty, Piombo,” said Napoleon at last, “I cannot take you + under my wing. I have become the leader of a great nation; I command the + Republic; I am bound to execute the laws.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha!” said Bartolomeo, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “But I can shut my eyes,” continued Bonaparte. “The tradition of the + Vendetta will long prevent the reign of law in Corsica,” he added, as if + speaking to himself. “But it <i>must</i> be destroyed, at any cost.” + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien made a sign to Piombo + not to speak. The Corsican was swaying his head from right to left in deep + disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “Live here, in Paris,” resumed the First Consul, addressing Bartolomeo; + “we will know nothing of this affair. I will cause your property in + Corsica to be bought, to give you enough to live on for the present. + Later, before long, we will think of you. But, remember, no more vendetta! + There are no woods here to fly to. If you play with daggers, you must + expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all citizens; and no one is + allowed to do justice for himself.” + </p> + <p> + “He has made himself the head of a singular nation,” said Bartolomeo, + taking Lucien’s hand and pressing it. “But you have both recognized me in + misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may dispose + as you will of the Piombos.” + </p> + <p> + With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “You are not badly off here,” he said, smiling, as if he meant to lodge + there himself. “You are all in red, like a cardinal.” + </p> + <p> + “Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also,” said + Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. “It will often happen + that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can confide.” + </p> + <p> + A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his hand + to the First Consul, saying:— + </p> + <p> + “The Corsican is in you still.” + </p> + <p> + Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it were, + a waft of air from his own land,—from that isle where he had been so + miraculously saved from the hatred of the “English party”; the land he was + never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who then took Piombo + away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the financial condition of the + former protector of their family. Piombo took him to a window and showed + him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a heap of stones. + </p> + <p> + “We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him the + next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of the + family. The value of Piombo’s property in Corsica, if sold, would scarcely + maintain him honorably in Paris. + </p> + <p> + Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo’s arrival with his family + in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely intelligible to + the reader without this narrative of the foregoing circumstances. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE STUDIO + </h2> + <p> + Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to conceive + of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to take lessons + in painting. + </p> + <p> + About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given up to + his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter of a + general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their daughters + themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send them alone, + after knowing the master’s principles and the pains he took to deserve + their confidence. + </p> + <p> + It was the artist’s intention to take no pupils but young ladies belonging + to rich families of good position, in order to meet with no complaints as + to the composition of his classes. He even refused to take girls who + wished to become artists; for to them he would have been obliged to give + certain instructions without which no talent could advance in the + profession. Little by little his prudence and the ability with which he + initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty each mother felt that her + daughter was in company with none but well-bred young girls, and the fact + of the artist’s marriage, gave him an excellent reputation as a teacher in + society. When a young girl wished to learn to draw, and her mother asked + advice of her friends, the answer was, invariably: “Send her to Servin’s.” + </p> + <p> + Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a specialty; like Herbault for + bonnets, Leroy for gowns, and Chevet for eatables. It was recognized that + a young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was capable of judging the + paintings of the Musee conclusively, of making a striking portrait, + copying an ancient master, or painting a genre picture. The artist thus + sufficed for the educational needs of the aristocracy. But in spite of + these relations with the best families in Paris, he was independent and + patriotic, and he maintained among them that easy, brilliant, + half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment which characterize + painters. + </p> + <p> + He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the arrangements of the + locality where his pupils studied. The entrance to the attic above his + apartments was walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a harem, it + was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase made within his own rooms. + The studio, occupying nearly the whole attic floor under the roof, + presented to the eye those vast proportions which surprise inquirers when, + after attaining sixty feet above the ground-floor, they expect to find an + artist squeezed into a gutter. + </p> + <p> + This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from above, through + enormous panes of glass furnished with those green linen shades by means + of which all artists arrange the light. A quantity of caricatures, heads + drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the point of a knife, on walls + painted in a dark gray, proved that, barring a difference in expression, + the most distinguished young girls have as much fun and folly in their + minds as men. A small stove with a large pipe, which described a fearful + zigzag before it reached the upper regions of the roof, was the necessary + and infallible ornament of the room. A shelf ran round the walls, on which + were models in plaster, heterogeneously placed, most of them covered with + gray dust. Here and there, above this shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging to a + nail, presented her pose of woe; a Venus smiled; a hand thrust itself + forward like that of a pauper asking alms; a few “ecorches,” yellowed by + smoke, looked like limbs snatched over-night from a graveyard; besides + these objects, pictures, drawings, lay figures, frames without paintings, + and paintings without frames gave to this irregular apartment that studio + physiognomy which is distinguished for its singular jumble of ornament and + bareness, poverty and riches, care and neglect. The vast receptacle of an + “atelier,” where all seems small, even man, has something of the air of an + Opera “coulisse”; here lie ancient garments, gilded armor, fragments of + stuffs, machinery. And yet there is something mysteriously grand, like + thought, in it; genius and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside a + skull or skeleton, beauty and destruction, poesy and reality, colors + glowing in the shadows, often a whole drama, motionless and silent. + Strange symbol of an artist’s head! + </p> + <p> + At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant July sun was + illuminating the studio, and two rays striking athwart it lengthwise, + traced diaphanous gold lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen + easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. Several young girls + were animating the scene by the variety of their expressions, their + attitudes, and the differences in their toilets. The strong shadows cast + by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the needs of each + easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, and the piquant effects of light + and shade. This group was the prettiest of all the pictures in the studio. + </p> + <p> + A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some distance from her + companions, working bravely and seeming to be in dread of some mishap. No + one looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the prettiest, the most + modest, and, apparently, the least rich among them. Two principal groups, + distinctly separated from each other, showed the presence of two sets or + cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where one might suppose that + rank and fortune would be forgotten. + </p> + <p> + But, however that might be, these young girls, sitting or standing, in the + midst of their color-boxes, playing with their brushes or preparing them, + handling their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, talking, singing, + absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real selves, composed a spectacle + unknown to man. One of them, proud, haughty, capricious, with black hair + and beautiful hands, was casting the flame of her glance here and there at + random; another, light-hearted and gay, a smile upon her lips, with + chestnut hair and delicate white hands, was a typical French virgin, + thoughtless, and without hidden thoughts, living her natural real life; a + third was dreamy, melancholy, pale, bending her head like a drooping + flower; her neighbor, on the contrary, tall, indolent, with Asiatic + habits, long eyes, moist and black, said but little, and reflected, + glancing covertly at the head of Antinous. + </p> + <p> + Among them, like the “jocoso” of a Spanish play, full of wit and + epigrammatic sallies, another girl was watching the rest with a + comprehensive glance, making them laugh, and tossing up her head, too + lively and arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first group of + girls, who were the daughters of bankers, notaries, and merchants,—all + rich, but aware of the imperceptible though cutting slights which another + group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. The latter were led by + the daughter of one of the King’s ushers, a little creature, as silly as + she was vain, proud of being the daughter of a man with “an office at + court.” She was a girl who always pretended to understand the remarks of + the master at the first word, and seemed to do her work as a favor to him. + She used an eyeglass, came very much dressed, and always late, and + entreated her companions to speak low. + </p> + <p> + In this second group were several girls with exquisite figures and + distinguished features, but there was little in their glance or expression + that was simple and candid. Though their attitudes were elegant and their + movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it was easy to see that + they belonged to a world where polite manners form the character from + early youth, and the abuse of social pleasures destroys sentiment and + develops egotism. + </p> + <p> + But when the whole class was here assembled, childlike heads were seen + among this bevy of young girls, ravishingly pure and virgin, faces with + lips half-opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on which a + virgin smile was flickering. The studio then resembled not a studio, but a + group of angels seated on a cloud in ether. + </p> + <p> + By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not appeared. For some days past + he had spent most of his time in a studio which he kept elsewhere, where + he was giving the last touches to a picture for the Exposition. All of a + sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, the leader of the aristocrats, began + to speak in a low voice, and very earnestly, to her neighbor. A great + silence fell on the group of patricians, and the commercial party, + surprised, were equally silent, trying to discover the subject of this + earnest conference. The secret of the young <i>ultras</i> was soon + revealed. + </p> + <p> + Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, carried it to a distance + from the noble group, and placed it close to a board partition which + separated the studio from the extreme end of the attic, where all broken + casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply of wood were kept. Amelie’s + action caused a murmur of surprise, which did not prevent her from + accomplishing the change by rolling hastily to the side of the easel the + stool, the box of colors, and even the picture by Prudhon, which the + absent pupil was copying. After this coup d’etat the Right began to work + in silence, but the Left discoursed at length. + </p> + <p> + “What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?” asked a young girl of + Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, the lively oracle of the banking group. + </p> + <p> + “She’s not a girl to say anything,” was the reply; “but fifty years hence + she’ll remember the insult as if it were done to her the night before, and + revenge it cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don’t want to be at + war with.” + </p> + <p> + “The slight these young ladies mean to put upon her is all the more + unkind,” said another young girl, “because yesterday, Mademoiselle Ginevra + was very sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They ought not to + add to her trouble, for she was very considerate of them during the + Hundred Days. Never did she say a word to wound them. On the contrary, she + avoided politics. But I think our <i>ultras</i> are acting more from + jealousy than from party spite.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle Piombo’s easel and place + it next to mine,” said Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second thoughts made + her sit down again. + </p> + <p> + “With a character like hers,” she said, “one can’t tell how she would take + a civility; better wait events.” + </p> + <p> + “Ecco la,” said the young girl with the black eyes, languidly. + </p> + <p> + The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through the + studio. The words: “Here she comes!” passed from mouth to mouth, and then + the most absolute silence reigned. + </p> + <p> + To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of Amelie + Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place toward the end + of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the Bourbons had shaken + many friendships which had held firm under the first Restoration. At this + moment families, almost all divided in opinion, were renewing many of the + deplorable scenes which stain the history of all countries in times of + civil or religious wars. Children, young girls, old men shared the + monarchial fever to which the country was then a victim. Discord glided + beneath all roofs; distrust dyed with its gloomy colors the words and the + actions of the most intimate friends. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate him? + The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father. The Baron + di Piombo was among those of Napoleon’s devoted servants who had + co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of denying + his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron remained in + Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all the more open to + condemnation because she made no secret of the grief which the second + Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she had so far shed in + life were drawn from her by the twofold news of Napoleon’s captivity on + the “Bellerophon,” and Labedoyere’s arrest. + </p> + <p> + The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most devoted + royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an idea of the + exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror inspired by the + Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie’s action may now seem + to be, it was at that time a very natural expression of the prevailing + hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin’s first pupils, had occupied the + place that was now taken from her since the first day of her coming to the + studio. The aristocratic circle had gradually surrounded her. To drive her + from a place that in some sense belonged to her was not only to insult + her, but to cause her a species of artistic pain; for all artists have a + spot of predilection where they work. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the + conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of + Servin’s pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master testified + as much admiration for the talents as for the character of his favorite + pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. In fact, without + any one being able to explain the ascendancy which this young girl + obtained over all who came in contact with her, she exercised over the + little world around her a prestige not unlike that of Bonaparte upon his + soldiers. + </p> + <p> + The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the + fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid the + Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion’s act was, therefore, a decisive stroke, + intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the accomplices + of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by several of these + royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at home with their + political ideas, they decided, with the tactics peculiar to women, that + they should do best to keep themselves aloof from the quarrel. + </p> + <p> + On Ginevra’s arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound + silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin’s studio, + she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her carriage and + demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which commanded respect. + Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to radiate light, so inspired + was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to Corsicans,—which does not, + however, preclude calmness. Her long hair and her black eyes and lashes + expressed passion; the corners of her mouth, too softly defined, and the + lips, a trifle too marked, gave signs of that kindliness which strong + beings derive from the consciousness of their strength. + </p> + <p> + By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some + degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost savage + pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of a Corsican. + In that was the only link between herself and her native land. All the + rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of her Lombard beauty, + was so seductive that it was difficult for those who looked at her to give + her pain. She inspired such keen attraction that her old father caused + her, as matter of precaution, to be accompanied to and from the studio. + The only defect of this truly poetic creature came from the very power of + a beauty so fully developed; she looked a woman. Marriage she had refused + out of love to her father and mother, feeling herself necessary to the + comfort of their old age. Her taste for painting took the place of the + passions and interests which usually absorb her sex. + </p> + <p> + “You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles,” she said, after advancing a + little way among her companions. “Good-morning, my little Laure,” she + added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl who was + painting apart from the rest. “That head is strong,—the flesh tints + a little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent.” + </p> + <p> + Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces beamed + with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile brightened the + lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and walked slowly to her + easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and paintings on her way, and + bidding good-morning to each of the young girls of the first group, not + observing the unusual curiosity excited by her presence. She was like a + queen in the midst of her court; she paid no attention to the profound + silence that reigned among the patricians, and passed before their camp + without pronouncing a single word. Her absorption seemed so great that she + sat down before her easel, opened her color-box, took up her brushes, drew + on her brown sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at her picture, examined + her palette, without, apparently, thinking of what she was doing. All + heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned toward her. If the young + ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their impatience with the same + frankness, their sidelong glances were none the less directed on Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “She hasn’t noticed it!” said Mademoiselle Roguin. + </p> + <p> + At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she had + been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the group of + aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now separated + her from them; but she said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “It hasn’t occurred to her that they meant to insult her,” said Matilde; + “she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls will be if she + likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of bounds, + mademoiselle,” she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. She + rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side of the + partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, and seemed + to be examining the sash through which her light came,—giving so + much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the green serge, + which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that height, her eye + was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, the real object of + her efforts, for the glance that she cast through it can be compared only + to that of a miser discovering Aladdin’s treasure. Then she sprang down + hastily and returned to her place, changed the position of her picture, + pretended to be still dissatisfied with the light, pushed a table close to + the partition, on which she placed a chair, climbed lightly to the summit + of this erection, and again looked through the crevice. She cast but one + glance into the space beyond, which was lighted through a skylight; but + what she saw produced so strong an effect upon her that she tottered. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you’ll fall!” cried Laure. + </p> + <p> + All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of their + coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, and + replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:— + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!” + </p> + <p> + She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table as + far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and seemed to + be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now thrown upon it. + Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was wholly bent on + getting as near as possible to the closet, against the door of which she + finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare her palette in the + deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, distinctly, a sound which + had strongly excited her curiosity the evening before, and had whirled her + young imagination across vast fields of conjecture. She recognized the + firm and regular breathing of a man whom she had just seen asleep. Her + curiosity was satisfied beyond her expectations, but at the same time she + felt saddled by an immense responsibility. Through the opening in the wall + she had seen the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock bed, faintly lighted + from above, lay the form of an officer of the Guard. She guessed all. + Servin was hiding a proscribed man! + </p> + <p> + She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to + examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath + might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political + victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to her + wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise. + </p> + <p> + “Better that I should be here,” thought she, “to prevent some luckless + accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless betrayal.” + </p> + <p> + This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently shown + to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because the + change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural manner; + besides, at this moment, she was too keenly preoccupied to perceive the + reason of her removal. + </p> + <p> + Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the world, + than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech, miss its + effect through the contempt or the indifference of the intended victim. It + seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion to the height that + enemy is raised above us. Ginevra’s behavior was an enigma to all her + companions; her friends and enemies were equally surprised; for the former + claimed for her all good qualities, except that of forgiveness of + injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for displaying that vice of + nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the life of a studio, still, the + specimens she had now and then given of her vindictive disposition had + left a strong impression on the minds of her companions. + </p> + <p> + After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion that + the Italian’s silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all praise; and the + banking circle, inspired by her, formed a project to humiliate the + aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of sarcasms which + presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie. + </p> + <p> + Madame Servin’s arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the shrewdness + that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had noticed, analyzed, and + mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation of Ginevra’s mind, which + prevented her from even hearing the bitterly polite war of words of which + she was the object. The vengeance Mademoiselle Roguin and her companions + were inflicting on Mademoiselle Thirion and her group had, therefore, the + fatal effect of driving the young <i>ultras</i> to search for the cause of + the silence so obstinately maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. The beautiful + Italian became the centre of all glances, and she was henceforth watched + by friends and foes alike. + </p> + <p> + It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from + fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and mischief + ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to create or baffle, + and who know how to find too many interpretations for each gesture, + glance, and word, to fail in discovering the right one. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, however, the presence of Madame Servin produced an + interlude in the drama thus played below the surface in these various + young hearts, the sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were expressed + by phrases that were almost allegorical, by mischievous glances, by + gestures, by silence even, more intelligible than words. As soon as Madame + Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the door near which Ginevra + was seated. Under present circumstances the fact of this glance was not + lost. Though at first none of the pupils took notice of it, Mademoiselle + Thirion recollected it later, and it explained to her the doubt, fear, and + mystery which now gave something wild and frightened to Madame Servin’s + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mesdemoiselles,” she said, “Monsieur Servin cannot come to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Then she went round complimenting each young girl, receiving in return a + volume of those feminine caresses which are given as much by the tones of + the voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently reached Ginevra, + under the influence of an uneasiness she tried in vain to disguise. They + nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said nothing; one painted, the + other stood looking at the painting. The breathing of the soldier in the + closet could be distinctly heard, but Madame Servin appeared not to notice + it; her feigned ignorance was so obvious that Ginevra recognized it at + once for wilful deafness. Presently the unknown man turned on his pallet. + </p> + <p> + The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, who said, without the + slightest change of face:— + </p> + <p> + “Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to choose between the two + I should be puzzled.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his confidence as to this + mystery,” thought Ginevra, who, after replying to the young wife’s speech + with a gentle smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican “canzonetta” + to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious Italian sing, that all the + other young girls looked up at her in surprise. Later, this circumstance + served as proof to the charitable suppositions of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + Madame Servin soon went away, and the session ended without further + events; Ginevra allowed her companions to depart, and seemed to intend to + work later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her desire to be + left alone by impatient glances, ill-disguised, at the pupils who were + slow in leaving. Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the girl who + excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of jealousy that her + rival’s industry hid some purpose. By dint of watching her she was struck + by the attentive air with which Ginevra seemed to be listening to sounds + that no one else had heard. The expression of impatience she now detected + in her companion’s eyes was like a flash of light to her. + </p> + <p> + Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio; from there she went + down to Madame Servin’s apartment and talked with her for a moment; then + she pretended to have left her bag, ran softly back to the studio, and + found Ginevra once more mounted on her frail scaffolding, and so absorbed + in the contemplation of an unknown object that she did not hear the slight + noise of her companion’s footsteps. It is true that, to use an expression + of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped as if on eggs. She hastily withdrew + outside the door and coughed. Ginevra quivered, turned her head, saw her + enemy, blushed, hastened to alter the shade to give meaning to her + position, and came down from her perch leisurely. She soon after left the + studio, bearing with her, in her memory, the image of a man’s head, as + beauteous as that of the Endymion, a masterpiece of Girodet’s which she + had lately copied. + </p> + <p> + “To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney—” + </p> + <p> + These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that + Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in spite + of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle Thirion + already there, having come in a carriage. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they made + their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of the + mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the Imperial + eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them through the + crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. Suddenly Servin + came in, much earlier than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he said, after glancing round the studio, “why + have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the rest + of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little.” + </p> + <p> + Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial + attention. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” he cried; “here, indeed, is a head extremely well done. + You’ll be another Ginevra.” + </p> + <p> + The master then went from easel to easel, scolding, flattering, jesting, + and making, as usual, his jests more dreaded than his reprimands. Ginevra + had not obeyed the professor’s order, but remained at her post, firmly + resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of paper and began to sketch in + sepia the head of the hidden man. A work done under the impulse of an + emotion has always a stamp of its own. The faculty of giving to + representations of nature or of thought their true coloring constitutes + genius, and often, in this respect, passion takes the place of it. So, + under the circumstances in which Ginevra now found herself, the intuition + which she owed to a powerful effect upon her memory, or, possibly, to + necessity, that mother of great things, lent her, for the moment, a + supernatural talent. The head of the young officer was dashed upon the + paper in the midst of an awkward trembling which she mistook for fear, and + in which a physiologist would have recognized the fire of inspiration. + From time to time she glanced furtively at her companions, in order to + hide the sketch if any of them came near her. But in spite of her + watchfulness, there was a moment when she did not see the eyeglass of the + pitiless Amelie turned full upon the drawing from the shelter of a great + portfolio. Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the portrait of the + mysterious man, showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra hastily covered the + sheet of paper. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?” asked the + professor, gravely. + </p> + <p> + The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the + sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:— + </p> + <p> + “Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not better + remain here?” + </p> + <p> + Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, + Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden emotion of + master and pupil. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said Servin; “but really,” he added, with a forced laugh, + “you will soon come to know more than I do.” + </p> + <p> + A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of the + officer’s head. + </p> + <p> + “It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!” he exclaimed, with the + energy of an artist. + </p> + <p> + All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted + forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, the + prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra knocked + over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to laugh; but + she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before Amelie could get to + her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin descanted on the beauty of the + copy which his favorite pupil was then making, and the whole class was + duped by this stratagem, except Amelie, who, slipping behind her + companions, attempted to open the portfolio where she had seen Ginevra + throw the sketch. But the latter took it up without a word, and placed it + in front of her. The two young girls then looked at each other fixedly, in + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places,” said Servin. “If you wish to do + as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn’t be always talking fashions + and balls, and trifling away your time as you do.” + </p> + <p> + When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down beside + Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery rather + than the others?” asked the girl, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the painter, “you are one of us, a patriot; but even if you + were not, I should still have confided the matter to you.” + </p> + <p> + Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared to + ask:— + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other + man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment with + the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and was at + Waterloo.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with + citizen’s clothes?” said Ginevra, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “He will have them to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have closed the studio for some days.” + </p> + <p> + “He is going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then they’ll kill him,” said the girl. “Let him stay here with you till + the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in France where a + man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my + hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during the + campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him from the + claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to defend the + general, foolish fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call him that!” cried Ginevra, casting a glance of astonishment at + the painter, who was silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able to keep him in his own + house,” he resumed. “So he brought him to me, by night, about a week ago. + I hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only spot in the + house where he could be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can be useful to you, employ me,” said Ginevra. “I know the Marechal + de Feltre.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll see,” replied the painter. + </p> + <p> + This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed by all the other + girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round once more to each easel, and gave + such long lessons that he was still there at the hour when the pupils were + in the habit of leaving. + </p> + <p> + “You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thirion,” said the professor, + running after the girl, who was now condescending to the work of a spy to + satisfy her jealousy. + </p> + <p> + The baffled pupil returned for the bag, expressing surprise at her + carelessness; but this act of Servin’s was to her fresh proof of the + existence of a mystery, the importance of which was evident. She now ran + noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door which opened into the + Servins’ apartment, to give an impression that she had gone; then she + softly returned and stationed herself outside the door of the studio. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. LABEDOYERE’S FRIEND + </h2> + <p> + When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves alone, Servin rapped in a + peculiar manner on the door of the dark garret, which turned at once on + its rusty and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and well-made young + man, whose Imperial uniform set her heart to beating. The officer had one + arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face revealed sharp suffering. + Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. + </p> + <p> + Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the door being closed, was + afraid to stay longer; she was satisfied with having heard the opening of + the garret door, and departed noiselessly. + </p> + <p> + “Fear nothing,” said the painter to the officer. “Mademoiselle is the + daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di Piombo.” + </p> + <p> + The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra’s patriotism as soon as + he saw her. + </p> + <p> + “You are wounded,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle,” he replied; “the wound is healing.” + </p> + <p> + Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came up + from the street: “Condemned to death!” They all trembled, and the soldier + was the first to hear a name that turned him pale. + </p> + <p> + “Labedoyere!” he cried, falling on a stool. + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid forehead + of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in one hand with a + gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra’s easel. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” he said, rising abruptly, “Labedoyere and I knew what we were + doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from triumph + or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding myself!” + </p> + <p> + He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra + reached it, and barred his way. + </p> + <p> + “Can you restore the Emperor?” she said. “Do you expect to raise that + giant who could not maintain himself?” + </p> + <p> + “But what can I do?” said the young man, addressing the two friends whom + chance had sent to him. “I have not a relation in the world. Labedoyere + was my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. To-morrow I + myself may be condemned; my only fortune was my pay. I spent my last penny + to come here and try to snatch Labedoyere from his fate; death is, + therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides to die he ought to know + how to sell his life to the executioner. I was thinking just now that the + life of an honest man is worth that of two traitors, and the blow of a + dagger well placed may give immortality.” + </p> + <p> + This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even Ginevra, whose own + nature comprehended that of the young man. She admired his handsome face + and his delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely lessened by + its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, she poured a balm upon the + wounds of the unfortunate man:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, “as for your pecuniary distress, permit me to offer + you my savings. My father is rich; I am his only child; he loves me, and I + am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting my offer; our + property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a penny that is not + the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude to him to assist his + faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as indifferently as I offer + them. It is only money!” she added, in a tone of contempt. “Now, as for + friends,—those you shall have.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling brilliancy. + </p> + <p> + “The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save yours,” + she went on. “Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape and take + service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here; or in the + French army, if you are.” + </p> + <p> + In the comfort that women give there is always a delicacy which has + something maternal, foreseeing, and complete about it. But when the words + of hope and peace are said with grace of gesture and that eloquence of + tone which comes from the heart, and when, above all, the benefactress is + beautiful, a young man does not resist. The prisoner breathed in love + through all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his white cheeks; his eyes + lost something of the sadness that dulled them, and he said, in a peculiar + tone of voice:— + </p> + <p> + “You are an angle of goodness—But Labedoyere!” he added. “Oh, + Labedoyere!” + </p> + <p> + At this cry they all three looked at one another in silence, each + comprehending the others’ thoughts. No longer friends of twenty minutes + only, they were friends of twenty years. + </p> + <p> + “Dear friend,” said Servin, “can you save him?” + </p> + <p> + “I can avenge him.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra quivered. Though the stranger was handsome, his appearance had not + influenced her; the soft pity in a woman’s heart for miseries that are not + ignoble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to hear a cry of + vengeance, to find in that proscribed being an Italian soul, devotion to + Napoleon, Corsican generosity!—ah! that was, indeed, too much for + her. She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion which shook his + heart. For the first time in her life a man had caused her a keen emotion. + She now, like other women, put the soul of the stranger on a par with the + noble beauty of his features and the happy proportions of his figure, + which she admired as an artist. Led by accidental curiosity to pity, from + pity to a powerful interest, she came, through that interest, to such + profound sensations that she felt she was in danger if she stayed there + longer. + </p> + <p> + “Until to-morrow, then,” she said, giving the officer a gentle smile by + way of a parting consolation. + </p> + <p> + Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Ginevra’s features, the + stranger forgot all else for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow,” he said, sadly; “but to-morrow, Labedoyere—” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked at him, as if to say: + “Be calm, be prudent.” + </p> + <p> + And the young man cried out in his own language: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Dio! che non vorrei vivere dopo averla veduta?—who would not + wish to live after seeing her?” + </p> + <p> + The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the words made Ginevra + quiver. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Corsican?” she cried, returning toward him with a beating heart. + </p> + <p> + “I was born in Corsica,” he replied; “but I was brought, while very young, + to Genoa, and as soon as I was old enough for military service I + enlisted.” + </p> + <p> + The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent to him by his + attachment to the Emperor, his wound, his misfortunes, his danger, all + disappeared to Ginevra’s mind, or, rather, all were blended in one + sentiment,—a new and delightful sentiment. This persecuted man was a + child of Corsica; he spoke its cherished language! She stood, for a + moment, motionless; held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a + living picture, to which all human sentiments, united by chance, gave + vivid colors. By Servin’s invitation, the officer had seated himself on a + divan, and the painter, after removing the sling which supported the arm + of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order to dress the wound. + Ginevra shuddered when she saw the long, broad gash made by the blade of a + sabre on the young man’s forearm, and a moan escaped her. The stranger + raised his head and smiled to her. There was something touching which went + to the soul, in the care with which Servin lifted the lint and touched the + lacerated flesh, while the face of the wounded man, though pale and + sickly, expressed, as he looked at the girl, more pleasure than suffering. + An artist would have admired, involuntarily, this opposition of + sentiments, together with the contrasts produced by the whiteness of the + linen and the bared arm to the red and blue uniform of the officer. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio; but a parting ray of + the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated the spot where the soldier sat, + so that his noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his clothes were + bathed in its glow. The effect was simple enough, but to the girl’s + Italian imagination it was a happy omen. The stranger seemed to her a + celestial messenger, speaking the language of her own country. He thus + unconsciously put her under the spell of childhood’s memories, while in + her heart there dawned another feeling as fresh, as pure as her own + innocence. For a short, very short moment, she was motionless and dreamy, + as though she were plunged in boundless thought. Then she blushed at + having allowed her absorption to be noticed, exchanged one soft and rapid + glance with the wounded man, and fled with the vision of him still before + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came to the studio, and the + prisoner was free to sit beside her easel. Servin, who had a sketch to + finish, played the part of mentor to the two young people, who talked to + each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the sufferings of the + retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, he had made the + passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man left of his regiment. + He described, in words of fire, the great disaster of Waterloo. His voice + was music itself to the Italian girl. Brought up as a Corsican, Ginevra + was, in some sense, a child of Nature; falseness was a thing unknown to + her; she gave herself up without reserve to her impressions; she + acknowledged them, or, rather, allowed them to be seen without the + affectations of petty and calculating coquetry, characteristic of Parisian + girlhood. During this day she sat more than once with her palette in one + hand, her brushes in another, without touching a color. With her eyes + fastened on the officer, and her lips slightly apart, she listened, in the + attitude of painting a stroke which was never painted. She was not + surprised to see such softness in the eyes of the young man, for she felt + that her own were soft in spite of her will to keep them stern and calm. + After periods like this she painted diligently, without raising her head, + for he was there, near her, watching her work. The first time he sat down + beside her to contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of some + emotion, after a long pause:— + </p> + <p> + “Does it amuse you to see me paint?” + </p> + <p> + That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it was + agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see each + other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to inform him + by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon. + </p> + <p> + The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the + class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, a young + man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed himself in the + garret beyond the studio. + </p> + <p> + “You, who take her part,” she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, “watch her + carefully, and you will see how she spends her time.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They listened + to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she supposed that + no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively upon her. Thus + enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly the emotions that + crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,—her gestures, the + peculiar tones in which she hummed a tune, and the attention with which + they saw her listen to sounds which only she could hear through the + partition. + </p> + <p> + By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Servin’s fifteen pupils + who had resisted the temptation of looking at Luigi through the crevice of + the partition; and she, through an instinct of weakness, still defended + her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin endeavored to make her wait on + the staircase after the class dispersed, that she might prove to her the + intimacy of Ginevra and the young man by entering the studio and + surprising them together. But Laure refused to condescend to an act of + espial which no curiosity could justify, and she consequently became the + object of much reprobation. + </p> + <p> + Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that she thought it improper + to attend the classes of a painter whose opinions were tainted with + patriotism and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were synonymous), and + she ceased her attendance at the studio. But, although she herself forgot + Ginevra, the harm she had planted bore fruit. Little by little, the other + young girls revealed to their mothers the strange events which were + happening at the studio. One day Matilde Roguin did not come; the next day + another girl was missing, and so on, till the last three or four who were + left came no more. Ginevra and Laure, her little friend, were the sole + occupants of the deserted studio for three or four days. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the cause of her + companions’ absence. As soon as she had invented means of communication + with Luigi she lived in the studio in a delightful solitude, alone amid + her own world, thinking only of the officer and the dangers that + threatened him. Though a sincere admirer of noble characters that never + betray their political faiths, she nevertheless urged Luigi to submit + himself to the royal authority, that he might be released from his present + life and remain in France. But to this he would not consent. If passions + are born and nourished, as they say, under the influence of romantic + causes, never did so many circumstances of that kind concur in uniting two + young souls by one and the same sentiment. The friendship of Ginevra for + Luigi and that of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress in a month than a + friendship in society would make in ten years. Adversity is the touchstone + of character. Ginevra was able, therefore, to study Luigi, to know him; + and before long they mutually esteemed each other. The girl, who was older + than Luigi, found a charm in being courted by a youth already so grand, so + tried by fate,—a youth who joined to the experience of a man the + graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his side, felt an unspeakable pleasure in + allowing himself to be apparently protected by a woman, now twenty-five + years of age. Was it not a proof of love? The union of gentleness and + pride, strength and weakness in Ginevra were, to him, irresistible + attractions, and he was utterly subjugated by her. In short, before long, + they loved each other so profoundly that they felt no need of denying to + each other their love, nor yet of telling it. + </p> + <p> + One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accustomed signal. Luigi + scratched with a pin on the woodwork in a manner that produced no more + noise than a spider might make as he fastened his thread. The signal meant + that he wished to come out of his retreat. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing Laure, opened the door; + but as she did so Luigi caught sight of the little pupil and abruptly + retired. Surprised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw Laure, and + said, as she went up to the girl’s easel:— + </p> + <p> + “You are staying late, my dear. That head seems to me finished; you only + want a high-light,—see! on that knot of hair.” + </p> + <p> + “You would do me a great kindness,” said Laure, in a trembling voice, “if + you would give this copy a few touches; for then I could carry away with + me something to remind me of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly,” said Ginevra, painting a few strokes on the picture. “But I + thought it was a long way from your home to the studio, and it is late.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ginevra, I am going away, never to return,” cried the poor girl, + sadly. + </p> + <p> + “You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!” exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, + however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have been + alone in the studio?” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection. “Are all + those young ladies ill, or going to be married, or are their fathers on + duty at court?” + </p> + <p> + “They have left Monsieur Servin,” replied Laure. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “On your account, Ginevra.” + </p> + <p> + “My account!” repeated the Corsican, springing up, with a threatening brow + and her eyes flashing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t be angry, my kind Ginevra,” cried Laure, in deep distress. “My + mother insists on my leaving the studio. The young ladies say that you + have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows the young man whom you + love to stay in the dark attic. I have never believed these calumnies nor + said a word to my mother about them. But last night Madame Roguin met her + at a ball and asked her if she still sent me here. When my mother answered + yes, Madame Roguin told her the falsehoods of those young ladies. Mamma + scolded me severely; she said I must have known it all, and that I had + failed in proper confidence between mother and daughter by not telling + her. Oh! my dear Ginevra! I, who took you for my model, oh! how grieved I + am that I can’t be your companion any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall meet again in life; girls marry—” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “When they are rich,” signed Laure. + </p> + <p> + “Come and see me; my father has a fortune—” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra,” continued Laure, tenderly. “Madame Roguin and my mother are + coming to see Monsieur Servin to-morrow and reproach him; hadn’t you + better warn him.” + </p> + <p> + A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra’s feet could not have astonished her more + than this revelation. + </p> + <p> + “What matter is it to them?” she asked, naively. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Laure, what do you say?” + </p> + <p> + The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure + could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend’s + breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he cried, with enthusiasm, “I have finished my + picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, meanwhile? + Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or are they in the + country?” + </p> + <p> + Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away. + </p> + <p> + “The studio has been deserted for some days,” replied Ginevra, “and the + young ladies are not coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t laugh,” said Ginevra. “Listen: I am the involuntary cause of + the loss of your reputation—” + </p> + <p> + The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his pupil:— + </p> + <p> + “My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture will make it at the + Exposition.” + </p> + <p> + “That relates to your talent,” replied the girl. “I am speaking of your + morality. Those young ladies have told their mothers that Luigi was shut + up here, and that you lent yourself—to—our love.” + </p> + <p> + “There is some truth in that, mademoiselle,” replied the professor. “The + mothers of those young ladies are foolish women; if they had come straight + to me I should have explained the matter. But I don’t care a straw about + it! Life is short, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + And the painter snapped his fingers above his head. Luigi, who had heard + part of the conversation, came in. + </p> + <p> + “You have lost all your scholars,” he cried. “I have ruined you!” + </p> + <p> + The artist took Luigi’s hand and that of Ginevra, and joined them. + </p> + <p> + “Marry one another, my children,” he said, with fatherly kindness. + </p> + <p> + They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was the first avowal they + had made to each other of their love. + </p> + <p> + “You will surely be happy,” said Servin. “There is nothing in life to + equal the happiness of two beings like yourselves when bound together in + love.” + </p> + <p> + Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at first being able to + utter a word; but presently he said, in a voice of emotion:— + </p> + <p> + “To you I owe it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Be happy! I bless and wed you,” said the painter, with comic unction, + laying his hands upon the heads of the lovers. + </p> + <p> + This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. All three looked at + one another and laughed merrily. Ginevra pressed Luigi’s hand in a strong + clasp, with a simplicity of action worthy of the customs of her native + land. + </p> + <p> + “Ah ca, my dear children,” resumed Servin, “you think that all will go + right now, but you are much mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + The lovers looked at him in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be anxious. I’m the only one that your romance will harm. But the + fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don’t really see how + we are to settle it with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! and I forgot to tell you,” exclaimed Ginevra, “that Madame + Roguin and Laure’s mother are coming here to-morrow to—” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said the painter. + </p> + <p> + “But you can easily justify yourself,” continued the girl, with a proud + movement of her head. “Monsieur Luigi,” she added, turning to him with an + arch look, “will no longer object to entering the royal service. Well, + then,” after receiving a smile from the young man, “to-morrow morning I + will send a petition to one of the most influential persons at the + ministry of War,—a man who will refuse nothing to the daughter of + the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a ‘tacit’ pardon for Captain Luigi, + for, of course, they will not allow him the rank of major. And then,” she + added, addressing Servin, “you can confound the mothers of my charitable + companions by telling them the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an angel!” cried Servin. + </p> + <p> + While this scene was passing at the studio the father and mother of + Ginevra were becoming impatient at her non-return. + </p> + <p> + “It is six o’clock, and Ginevra not yet home!” cried Bartolomeo. + </p> + <p> + “She was never so late before,” said his wife. + </p> + <p> + The two old people looked at each other with an anxiety that was not usual + with them. Too anxious to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose and walked + about the salon with an active step for a man who was over seventy-seven + years of age. Thanks to his robust constitution, he had changed but little + since the day of his arrival in Paris, and, despite his tall figure, he + walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left uncovered a broad and + protuberant skull, which gave a strong idea of his character and firmness. + His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had taken, with age, a nobler + expression, preserving the pallid tones which inspire veneration. The + ardor of passions still lived in the fire of his eyes, while the eyebrows, + which were not wholly whitened, retained their terrible mobility. The + aspect of the head was stern, but it conveyed the impression that Piombo + had a right to be so. His kindness, his gentleness were known only to his + wife and daughter. In his functions, or in presence of strangers, he never + laid aside the majesty that time had impressed upon his person; and the + habit of frowning with his heavy eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his + face, and giving to his eyes a Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of + accosting others icy. + </p> + <p> + During the course of his political life he had been so generally feared + that he was thought unsocial, and it is not difficult to explain the + causes of that opinion. The life, morals, and fidelity of Piombo made him + obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that delicate missions + were constantly intrusted to his discretion which to any other man about + the court would have proved lucrative, he possessed an income of not more + than thirty thousand francs from an investment in the Grand Livre. If we + recall the cheapness of government securities under the Empire, and the + liberality of Napoleon towards those of his faithful servants who knew how + to ask for it, we can readily see that the Baron di Piombo must have been + a man of stern integrity. He owed his plumage as baron to the necessity + Napoleon felt of giving him a title before sending him on missions to + foreign courts. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the traitors with whom + Napoleon surrounded himself, expecting to bind them to his cause by dint + of victories. It was he of whom it is told that he made three steps to the + door of the Emperor’s cabinet after advising him to get rid of three men + in France on the eve of Napoleon’s departure for his celebrated and + admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of the Bourbons + Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of honor. No man + offered a finer image of those old Republicans, incorruptible friends to + the Empire, who remained the living relics of the two most energetic + governments the world has ever seen. Though the Baron di Piombo displeased + mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, and Carnots with him as + friends. As for the rest of the politicians, he cared not a whiff of his + cigar’s smoke for them, especially since Waterloo. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which Madame + Mere, the Emperor’s mother, had paid him for his estates in Corsica, the + old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had made no changes. + Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he did not occupy this + house until after the catastrophe of Fontainebleau. Following the habits + of simple persons of strict virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed to + external splendor; their furniture was that which they bought with the + mansion. The grand apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide mirrors + in gilded frames that were almost black, the furniture of the period of + Louis XIV. were in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, personages worthy + of antiquity. + </p> + <p> + Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising functions + that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had maintained a great + establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor to his office than from + any desire to shine himself. His life and that of his wife were so frugal, + so tranquil, that their modest fortune sufficed for all their wants. To + them, their daughter Ginevra was more precious than the wealth of the + whole world. When, therefore, in May, 1814, the Baron di Piombo resigned + his office, dismissed his crowd of servants, and closed his stable door, + Ginevra, quiet, simple and unpretending like her parents, saw nothing to + regret in the change. Like all great souls, she found her luxury in + strength of feeling, and derived her happiness from quietness and work. + These three beings loved each other too well for the externals of + existence to be of value in their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon, + Bartolomeo and his wife passed delightful evenings alone with their + daughter, listening while she sang and played. To them there was a vast + secret pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that child; + their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; they heard her step in the + court-yard, lightly as she trod. Like lovers, the three would often sit + silently together, understanding thus, better than by speech, the + eloquence of their souls. This profound sentiment, the life itself of the + two old people, animated their every thought. Here were not three + existences, but one,—one only, which, like the flame on the hearth, + divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, occasionally, some memory + of Napoleon’s benefits and misfortunes, if the public events of the moment + distracted the minds of the old people from this source of their constant + solicitude, they could always talk of those interests without affecting + their community of thought, for Ginevra shared their political passions. + What more natural, therefore, than the ardor with which they found a + refuge in the heart of their only child? + </p> + <p> + Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed the energy of the + Baron di Piombo; but after leaving those employments he felt the need of + casting that energy into the last sentiment that remained to him. Apart + from the ties of parentage, there may have been, unknown to these three + despotic souls, another powerful reason for the intensity of their + reciprocal love: it was love undivided. Ginevra’s whole heart belonged to + her father, as Piombo’s whole heart belonged to his child; and if it be + true that we are bound to one another more by our defects than by our + virtues, Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the passions of her father. + There lay the sole imperfection of this triple life. Ginevra was born + unyielding of will, vindictive, and passionate, like her father in his + youth. + </p> + <p> + The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these savage sentiments in + the heart of his daughter, precisely as a lion teaches the lion-cubs to + spring upon their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance having no + means of action in their family life, it came to pass that Ginevra turned + the principle against her father; as a child she forgave him nothing, and + he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more than childish + nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the child was all the while + acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. In the midst, however, of the + tempests which the father was fond of exciting, a look, a word of + tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls, and often they were + never so near to a kiss as when they were threatening each other + vehemently. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her + father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love + which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got the + better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had + resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother on + the footing of an equality which is always dangerous. + </p> + <p> + Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to + study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had + studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,—taking up + and leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had + proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble woman + had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of enlightening her + mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature; her defects came from + the fatal education which the old Corsican had found delight in giving + her. + </p> + <p> + After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the bell; a + servant entered. + </p> + <p> + “Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra,” said his master. + </p> + <p> + “I always regret our carriage on her account,” remarked the baroness. + </p> + <p> + “She said she did not want one,” replied Piombo, looking at his wife, who, + accustomed for forty years to habits of obedience, lowered her eyes and + said no more. + </p> + <p> + Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and wrinkled, the baroness + exactly resembled those old women whom Schnetz puts into the Italian + scenes of his “genre” pictures. She was so habitually silent that she + might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; but, occasionally, a word, + look, or gesture betrayed that her feelings still retained all the vigor + and the freshness of their youth. Her dress, devoid of coquetry, was often + in bad taste. She usually sat passive, buried in a low sofa, like a + Sultana Valide, awaiting or admiring her Ginevra, her pride, her life. The + beauty, toilet, and grace of her daughter seemed to have become her own. + All was well with her if Ginevra was happy. Her hair was white, and a few + strands only were seen above her white and wrinkled forehead, or beside + her hollow cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “It is now fifteen days,” she said, “since Ginevra made a practice of + being late.” + </p> + <p> + “Jean is so slow!” cried the impatient old man, buttoning up his blue coat + and seizing his hat, which he dashed upon his head as he took his cane and + departed. + </p> + <p> + “You will not get far,” said his wife, calling after him. + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, and the old mother + heard the steps of her Ginevra in the court-yard. Bartolomeo almost + instantly reappeared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in his arms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. LOVE + </h2> + <p> + “Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!” + cried the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father, you hurt me!” + </p> + <p> + Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her head + with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her cry, as + if to say, “Don’t be alarmed, it was only a trick to get away.” + </p> + <p> + The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even + assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,—with + him the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he + saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers who + served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of his + face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. These + two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of a drooping + plant to which a little water has given fresh life after long dryness. + </p> + <p> + “Now, to dinner! to dinner!” cried the baron, offering his large hand to + his daughter, whom he called “Signora Piombellina,”—another symptom + of gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Ah ca!” said Piombo, as they left the table, “your mother has called my + attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much longer than + usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you than your + parents—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father!” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think,” said the mother. + </p> + <p> + “A picture of your own! will you bring us that?” cried the Corsican, + clapping his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio,” replied Ginevra, rather + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!” cried her mother. + </p> + <p> + “No!” exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,—“no! it + shall never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their + daughter in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I love a young man,” she added, in a voice of emotion. + </p> + <p> + Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large eyelids + as if to veil the fire of her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is he a prince?” asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice which + made the mother quail. + </p> + <p> + “No, father,” she said, gently, “he is a young man without fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he very handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “He is very unfortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Labedoyere’s comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin + concealed him, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Servin is a good fellow, who has done well,” cried Piombo; “but you, my + daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not depend on me to love, or not to love,” replied Ginevra, still + gently. + </p> + <p> + “I flattered myself,” continued her father, “that my Ginevra would be + faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother would + suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness would find a + rival in her soul, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?” said Ginevra. + “Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me for months + together when you went on missions. I bore your absence courageously. Life + has necessities to which we must all submit.” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra!” + </p> + <p> + “No, you don’t love me for myself; your reproaches betray your intolerable + egotism.” + </p> + <p> + “You dare to blame your father’s love!” exclaimed Piombo, his eyes + flashing. + </p> + <p> + “Father, I don’t blame you,” replied Ginevra, with more gentleness than + her trembling mother expected. “You have grounds for your egotism, as I + have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has ever fulfilled her + duty to her parents better than I have done to you. I have never felt + anything but love and happiness where others often see obligation. It is + now fifteen years that I have never left your protecting wing, and it has + been a most dear pleasure to me to charm your life. But am I ungrateful + for all this in giving myself up to the joy of loving; is it ingratitude + to desire a husband who will protect me hereafter?” + </p> + <p> + “What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?” said Piombo, in + a dangerous tone. + </p> + <p> + A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. + Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending + tone:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot have + you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await your + liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to love + you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath me. You + will be doubly cherished by me and by him,—by him who is my other + self, by me who am all his.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!” cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; “why did + you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did you not + take the counts and dukes he presented to you?” + </p> + <p> + “They loved me to order,” said the girl. “Besides, they would have made me + live with them, and I did not wish to leave you alone.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t wish to leave me alone,” said Piombo, “and yet you marry!—that + is leaving me alone. I know you, my daughter; in that case, you would + cease to love us. Elisa,” he added, looking at his wife, who remained + motionless, and as if stupefied, “we have no longer a daughter; she wishes + to marry.” + </p> + <p> + The old man sat down, after raising his hands to heaven with a gesture of + invoking the Divine power; then he bowed himself over as if weighed down + with sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which he put upon his anger + touched her to the heart; she expected some violent crisis, some + ungovernable fury; she had not armed her soul against paternal gentleness. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” she said, in a tender voice, “no, you shall never be abandoned + by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If you know how + he loves me! Ah! <i>He</i> would never make me unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + “Comparisons already!” cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. “No, I can never + endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve to be + loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a dagger + through him.” + </p> + <p> + The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body trembled, + but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to endure his + glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was worthy of the sire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?” continued Piombo. + “To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there worthy to be + your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i>,” said Ginevra; “he of whom I am not worthy.” + </p> + <p> + “He?” repeated Piombo, mechanically; “who is <i>he</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “He whom I love.” + </p> + <p> + “How can he know you enough to love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, “whether he loves me + or not, if I love him—” + </p> + <p> + “You love him?” cried Piombo. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra bent her head softly. + </p> + <p> + “You love him more than you love us?” + </p> + <p> + “The two feelings cannot be compared,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Is one stronger than the other?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is,” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “You shall not marry him,” cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the + window-panes. + </p> + <p> + “I shall marry him,” replied Ginevra, tranquilly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God!” cried the mother, “how will this quarrel end? Santa Virgina! + place thyself between them!” + </p> + <p> + The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated himself; + an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his daughter, and + said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,— + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night—let + me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his knees, his + white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you—” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it,” she replied. “I am + your daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “She is right,” said the baroness. “We are sent into the world to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you encourage her in disobedience?” said the baron to his wife, who, + terrified by the word, now changed to marble. + </p> + <p> + “Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedience,” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “No order can be unjust from the lips of your father, my daughter. Why do + you judge my action? The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on high, + sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil.” + </p> + <p> + “The only evil could be that he did not love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Always <i>he</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, always,” she answered. “He is my life, my good, my thought. Even if + I obeyed you he would be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him is to + make me hate you.” + </p> + <p> + “You love us not!” cried Piombo. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Ginevra, shaking her head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After we are gone—you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Father, do you wish me to long for your death?” cried Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + “I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor their parents die early,” + said the father, driven to exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “All the more reason why I should marry and be happy,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + This coolness and power of argument increased Piombo’s trouble; the blood + rushed violently to his head, and his face turned purple. Ginevra + shuddered; she sprang like a bird on her father’s knee, threw her arms + around his neck, and caressed his white hair, exclaiming, tenderly:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never survive you, my father, my + kind father!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!” replied Piombo, whose anger melted under + this caress like snow beneath the rays of the sun. + </p> + <p> + “It was time you ceased,” said the baroness, in a trembling voice. + </p> + <p> + “Poor mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra!” + </p> + <p> + And the father played with his daughter as though she were a child of six. + He amused himself by releasing the waving volume of her hair, by dandling + her on his knee; there was something of madness in these expressions of + his love. Presently his daughter scolded while kissing him, and tried, by + jesting, to obtain admission for Luigi; but her father, also jesting, + refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once more, and sulked again, + until, by the end of the evening, she was forced to be content with having + impressed upon her father’s mind both her love for Luigi and the idea of + an approaching marriage. + </p> + <p> + The next day she said no more about her love; she was more caressing to + her father than she had ever been, and testified the utmost gratitude, as + if to thank him for the consent he seemed to have given by his silence. + That evening she sang and played to him for a long time, exclaiming now + and then: “We want a man’s voice for this nocturne.” Ginevra was an + Italian, and that says all. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She went; and Elisa Piombo + whispered in her ear:— + </p> + <p> + “I have persuaded your father to receive him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!” + </p> + <p> + That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on the arm of her Luigi. The + officer came out of his hiding-place for the second time only. The earnest + appeals which Ginevra made to the Duc de Feltre, then minister of war, had + been crowned with complete success. Luigi’s name was replaced upon the + roll of officers awaiting orders. This was the first great step toward + better things. Warned by Ginevra of the difficulties he would encounter + with her father, the young man dared not express his fear of finding it + impossible to please the old man. Courageous under adversity, brave on a + battlefield, he trembled at the thought of entering Piombo’s salon. + Ginevra felt him tremble, and this emotion, the source of which lay in + her, was, to her eyes, another proof of love. + </p> + <p> + “How pale you are!” she said to him when they reached the door of the + house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only!—” + </p> + <p> + Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of the formal presentation + Ginevra was to make of her lover, he would not advance to meet him, but + remained seated in his usual arm-chair, and the sternness of his brow was + awful. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said Ginevra, “I bring you a person you will no doubt be pleased + to see,—a soldier who fought beside the Emperor at Mont-Saint-Jean.” + </p> + <p> + The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance at Luigi, and said, in a sardonic + tone:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is not decorated.” + </p> + <p> + “I no longer wear the Legion of honor,” replied Luigi, timidly, still + standing. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra, mortified by her father’s incivility, dragged forward a chair. + The officer’s answer seemed to satisfy the old servant of Napoleon. Madame + Piombo, observing that her husband’s eyebrows were resuming their natural + position, said, by way of conversation: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur’s resemblance to a person we knew in Corsica, Nina Porta, is + really surprising.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing could be more natural,” replied the young man, on whose face + Piombo’s flaming eyes now rested. “Nina was my sister.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you Luigi Porta?” asked the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against a chair and beckon + to his wife. Elisa Piombo came to him. Then the two old people, silently, + each supporting the other, left the room, abandoning their daughter with a + sort of horror. + </p> + <p> + Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had turned as white as a + marble statue, and stood gazing at the door through which her father and + mother had disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed to her so + solemn that, for the first time, in her whole life, a feeling of fear + entered her soul. She struck her hands together with great force, and + said, in a voice so shaken that none but a lover could have heard the + words:— + </p> + <p> + “What misery in a word!” + </p> + <p> + “In the name of our love, what have I said?” asked Luigi Porta. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” she replied, “never spoke to me of our deplorable history, + and I was too young when we left Corsica to know anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we in vendetta?” asked Luigi, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas killed my brother and + burned our house. My father then massacred the whole family. How is it + that you survived?—for you were tied to the posts of the bed before + they set fire to the house.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” replied Luigi. “I was taken to Genoa when six years old, + and given in charge of an old man named Colonna. No detail about my family + was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, and without property. + Old Colonna was a father to me; and I bore his name until I entered the + army. In order to do that, I had to show my certificate of birth in order + to prove my identity. Colonna then told me, still a mere child, that I had + enemies. And he advised me to take Luigi as my surname, and so evade + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, go, Luigi!” cried Ginevra. “No, stay; I must go with you. So long as + you are in my father’s house you have nothing to fear; but the moment you + leave it, take care! you will go from danger to danger. My father has two + Corsicans in his service, and if he does not lie in wait to kill you, they + will.” + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra,” he said, “this feud, does it exist between you and me?” + </p> + <p> + The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presently she raised it, and + said, with a sort of pride:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, indeed, to give me strength + to tread the path I am about to enter. But it involves a happiness that + will last throughout our lives, will it not?” + </p> + <p> + Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra comprehended that true love could despise all vulgar protestations + at such a moment. This calm and restrained expression of his feelings + foreshadowed, in some sense, their strength and their duration. + </p> + <p> + The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. Ginevra foresaw a + cruel struggle, but the idea of abandoning Luigi—an idea which may + have floated in her soul—vanished completely. His forever, she + dragged him suddenly, with a desperate sort of energy, from her father’s + house, and did not leave him till she saw him reach the house where Servin + had engaged a modest lodging. + </p> + <p> + By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained to that serenity which + is caused by a firm resolution; no sign in her manner betrayed uneasiness. + She turned on her father and mother, whom she found in the act of sitting + down to dinner, a glance of exceeding gentleness devoid of hardihood. She + saw that her mother had been weeping; the redness of those withered + eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emotion. No one touched the + dinner which was served to them. A horror of food is one of the chief + symptoms which reveal a great crisis in life. All three rose from table + without having addressed a single word to one another. + </p> + <p> + When Ginevra had placed herself between her father and mother in the great + and gloomy salon, Piombo tried to speak, but his voice failed him; he + tried to walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned to his seat + and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Pietro,” he said, at last, to the footman, “light the fire; I am cold.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anxiously. The struggle within + him must have been horrible, for his face was distorted. Ginevra knew the + extent of the peril before her, but she did not flinch. Bartolomeo, + meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his daughter, as if he feared a + character whose violence was the work of his own hands. + </p> + <p> + Between such natures all things must be extreme. The certainty of some + impending change in the feelings of father and daughter gave to the worn + and weary face of the baroness an expression of terror. + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family,” said Piombo, at last, not + daring to look at his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a part of our being. Whoso + does not share my vengeance is not a member of my family.” + </p> + <p> + “My choice is made,” replied Ginevra, calmly. + </p> + <p> + His daughter’s tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear child!” he cried, letting her see his eyes moistened with + tears, the first and only tears he ever shed in life. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be his wife,” said Ginevra, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he recovered his coolness + instantly, and replied:— + </p> + <p> + “The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I will never consent to + it.” + </p> + <p> + Ginevra kept silence. + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra,” continued the baron, “have you reflected that Luigi is the son + of the man who killed your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “He was six years old when that crime was committed; he was, therefore, + not guilty of it,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “He is a Porta!” cried Bartolomeo. + </p> + <p> + “I have never shared that hatred,” said Ginevra, eagerly. “You did not + bring me up to think a Porta must be a monster. How could I know that one + of those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is it not natural that + you should now yield your vendetta to my feelings?” + </p> + <p> + “A Porta!” repeated Piombo. “If his father had found you in your bed you + would not be living now; he would have taken your life a hundred times.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be so,” she answered; “but his son has given me life, and more + than life. To see Luigi is a happiness without which I cannot live. Luigi + has revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, perhaps, have seen + faces more beautiful than his, but none has ever charmed me thus; I may + have heard voices—no, no, never any so melodious! Luigi loves me; he + will be my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said Piombo. “I would rather see you in your coffin, Ginevra.” + </p> + <p> + The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and down the salon, dropping + the following sentences, one by one, after pauses which betrayed his + agitation. + </p> + <p> + “You think you can bend my will. Undeceive yourself. A Porta shall never + be my son; that is my decree. Let there be no further question of this + between us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, Ginevra?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those words?” she asked, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not fear man’s justice. + Corsicans explain themselves to God.” + </p> + <p> + “And I,” said the daughter, rising, “am Ginevra Piombo, and I declare that + within six months I shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a tyrant, my + father,” she added, after a terrifying pause. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on the marble of the + chimneypiece. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! we are in Paris!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head on his breast, and + said not another word during the whole evening. + </p> + <p> + After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra affected inconceivable + coolness. She opened the piano and sang, played charming nocturnes and + scherzos with a grace and sentiment which displayed a perfect freedom of + mind, thus triumphing over her father, whose darkling face showed no + softening. The old man was cruelly hurt by this tacit insult; he gathered + in this one moment the bitter fruits of the training he had given to his + daughter. Respect is a barrier which protects parents as it does children, + sparing grief to the former, remorse to the latter. + </p> + <p> + The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the house at the hour when she + usually went to the studio, she found the gates of the mansion closed to + her. She said nothing, but soon found means to inform Luigi Porta of her + father’s severity. A chambermaid, who could neither read nor write, was + able to carry letters between the lovers. For five days they corresponded + thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of the youth. + </p> + <p> + The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. Both were nursing in + the depths of their heart a sentiment of hatred; they suffered, but they + suffered proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong were the ties of + love which bound them to each other, they each tried to break them, but + without success. No gentle thought came, as formerly, to brighten the + stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his Ginevra. The girl had + something savage in her eye when she looked at her father; reproach sat + enthroned on that innocent brow; she gave herself up, it is true, to happy + thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse seemed to dull her eyes. It was not + difficult to believe that she could never enjoy, peacefully, any happiness + which caused sorrow to her parents. + </p> + <p> + With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesitations of this period + caused by the native goodness of their souls were, nevertheless, compelled + to give way before their pride and the rancor of their Corsican nature. + They encouraged each other in their anger, and closed their eyes to the + future. Perhaps they mutually flattered themselves that the one would + yield to the other. + </p> + <p> + At last, on Ginevra’s birthday, her mother, in despair at the estrangement + which, day by day, assumed a more serious character, meditated an attempt + to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of the memories of this + family anniversary. They were all three sitting in Bartolomeo’s study. + Ginevra guessed her mother’s intention by the timid hesitation on her + face, and she smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + At this moment a servant announced two notaries, accompanied by witnesses. + Bartolomeo looked fixedly at these persons, whose cold and formal faces + were grating to souls so passionately strained as those of the three chief + actors in this scene. The old man turned to his daughter and looked at her + uneasily. He saw upon her face a smile of triumph which made him expect + some shock; but, after the manner of savages, he affected to maintain a + deceitful indifference as he gazed at the notaries with an assumed air of + calm curiosity. The strangers sat down, after being invited to do so by a + gesture of the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?” began the oldest of the + notaries. + </p> + <p> + Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight inclination of the head, looked + at Ginevra with a sly expression, took out his snuff-box, opened it, and + slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words with which to open his + errand; then, while uttering them, he made continual pauses (an oratorical + manoeuvre very imperfectly represented by the printer’s dash—). + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said, “I am Monsieur Roguin, your daughter’s notary, and we + have come—my colleague and I—to fulfil the intentions of the + law and—put an end to the divisions which—appear—to + exist—between yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter,—on the + subject—of—her—marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta.” + </p> + <p> + This speech, pedantically delivered, probably seemed to Monsieur Roguin so + fine that his hearer could not at once understand it. He paused, and + looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of the mere business + lawyer, a mixture of servility with familiarity. Accustomed to feign much + interest in the persons with whom they deal, notaries have at last + produced upon their features a grimace of their own, which they take on + and off as an official “pallium.” This mask of benevolence, the mechanism + of which is so easy to perceive, irritated Bartolomeo to such an extent + that he was forced to collect all the powers of his reason to prevent him + from throwing Monsieur Roguin through the window. An expression of anger + ran through his wrinkles, which caused the notary to think to himself: + “I’ve produced an effect.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” he continued, in a honeyed tone, “Monsieur le baron, on such + occasions our duties are preceded by—efforts at—conciliation—Deign, + therefore, to have the goodness to listen to me—It is in evidence + that Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo—attains this very day—the + age at which the law allows a respectful summons before proceeding to the + celebration of a marriage—in spite of the non-consent of the + parents. Now—it is usual in families—who enjoy a certain + consideration—who belong to society—who preserve some dignity—to + whom, in short, it is desirable not to let the public into the secret of + their differences—and who, moreover, do not wish to injure + themselves by blasting with reprobation the future of a young couple (for—that + is injuring themselves), it is usual, I say—among these honorable + families—not to allow these summonses—to take place—or + remain—a monument to—divisions which should end—by + ceasing—Whenever, monsieur, a young lady has recourse to respectful + summons, she exhibits a determination too marked to allow of a father—of + a mother,” here he turned to the baroness, “hoping or expecting that she + will follow their wishes—Paternal resistance being null—by + reason of this fact—in the first place—and also from its being + nullified by law, it is customary—for every sensible man—after + making a final remonstrance to his child—and before she proceeds to + the respectful summons—to leave her at liberty to—” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might talk on for two hours + without obtaining any answer; he felt, moreover, a singular emotion at the + aspect of the man he was attempting to convert. An extraordinary + revolution had taken place on Piombo’s face; his wrinkles, contracting + into narrow lines, gave him a look of indescribable cruelty, and he cast + upon the notary the glance of a tiger. The baroness was mute and passive. + Ginevra, calm and resolute, waited silently; she knew that the notary’s + voice was more potent than hers, and she seemed to have decided to say + nothing. At the moment when Roguin ceased speaking, the scene had become + so terrifying that the men who were there as witnesses trembled; never, + perhaps, had they known so awful a silence. The notaries looked at each + other, as if in consultation, and finally rose and walked to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever meet people born into the world like that?” asked Roguin of + his brother notary. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t get anything out of him,” replied the younger man. “In your + place, I should simply read the summons. That old fellow isn’t a + comfortable person; he is furious, and you’ll gain nothing whatever by + arguing with him.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, containing the “respectful + summons,” prepared for the occasion; after which he proceeded to ask + Bartolomeo what answer he made to it. + </p> + <p> + “Are there laws in France which destroy paternal authority?—” + demanded the Corsican. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur—” said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. + </p> + <p> + “Which tear a daughter from her father?—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur—” + </p> + <p> + “Which deprive an old man of his last consolation?—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you if—” + </p> + <p> + “And kill him?—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, permit me—” + </p> + <p> + There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and precise reasoning of + notaries amid the many passionate scenes in which they are accustomed to + take part. + </p> + <p> + The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his eyes, escaped from + hell; his repressed and concentrated rage knew no longer any bounds as the + calm and fluted voice of the little notary uttered the words: “permit me.” + By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger that was hanging to a nail + above the fireplace, and rushed toward his daughter. The younger of the + two notaries and one of the witnesses threw themselves before Ginevra; but + Piombo knocked them violently down, his face on fire, and his eyes casting + flames more terrifying than the glitter of the dagger. When Ginevra saw + him approach her she looked at him with an air of triumph, and advancing + slowly, knelt down. “No, no! I cannot!” he cried, flinging away the + weapon, which buried itself in the wainscot. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then! have mercy! have pity!” she said. “You hesitate to be my + death, and you refuse me life! Oh! father, never have I loved you as I do + at this moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon my knees: a + daughter can humiliate herself before her father. My Luigi, give me my + Luigi, or I die!” + </p> + <p> + The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped her words, for she had + no voice; her convulsive movements showed plainly that she lay, as it + were, between life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from him. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” he said. “The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be a Piombo. I have no + daughter. I have not the strength to curse you, but I cast you off; you + have no father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here,” he said, in a deep + voice, pressing violently on his heart. “Go, leave my house, unhappy + girl,” he added, after a moment’s silence. “Go, and never come into my + sight again.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate of the house and + silently put her out. + </p> + <p> + “Luigi!” cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodging of her lover,—“my + Luigi, we have no other fortune than our love.” + </p> + <p> + “Then am I richer than the kings of the earth!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “My father and my mother have cast me off,” she said, in deepest sadness. + </p> + <p> + “I will love you in place of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us be happy,—we WILL be happy!” she cried, with a gayety + in which there was something dreadful. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. MARRIAGE + </h2> + <p> + The day after Ginevra was driven from her father’s house she went to ask + Madame Servin for asylum and protection until the period fixed by law for + her marriage to Luigi. + </p> + <p> + Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble which the world strews + about the path of those who do not follow its conventions. Madame Servin + received her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm which Ginevra’s + affair had inflicted on her husband, and told her, in politely cautious + words, that she must not count on her help in future. Too proud to + persist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto unknown to her, the girl + took a room in the lodging-house that was nearest to that of Luigi. The + son of the Portas passed all his days at the feet of his future wife; and + his youthful love, the purity of his words, dispersed the clouds from the + mind of the banished daughter; the future was so beautiful as he painted + it that she ended by smiling joyfully, though without forgetting her + father’s severity. + </p> + <p> + One morning the servant of the lodging house brought to Ginevra’s room a + number of trunks and packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and a + great quantity of other articles necessary for a young wife in setting up + a home of her own. In this welcome provision she recognized her mother’s + foresight, and, on examining the gifts, she found a purse, in which the + baroness had put the money belonging to her daughter, adding to it the + amount of her own savings. The purse was accompanied by a letter, in which + the mother implored the daughter to forego the fatal marriage if it were + still possible to do so. It had cost her, she said, untold difficulty to + send these few things to her daughter; she entreated her not to think her + hard if, henceforth, she were forced to abandon her to want; she feared + she could never again assist her; but she blessed her and prayed for her + happiness in this fatal marriage, if, indeed, she persisted in making it, + assuring her that she should never cease to think of her darling child. + Here the falling tears had effaced some words of the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother!” cried Ginevra, deeply moved. + </p> + <p> + She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the blessed air of her + father’s house, to fling herself at his feet, to see her mother. She was + springing forward to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At the mere + sight of him her filial emotion vanished; her tears were stopped, and she + no longer had the strength to abandon that loving and unfortunate youth. + To be the sole hope of a noble being, to love him and then abandon him!—that + sacrifice is the treachery of which young hearts are incapable. Ginevra + had the generosity to bury her own grief and suffering silently in her + soul. + </p> + <p> + The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend with her. While she was + dressing, Luigi fetched the witnesses necessary to sign the certificate of + marriage. These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a cavalry sergeant, + was under obligations to Luigi, contracted on the battlefield, obligations + which are never obliterated from the heart of an honest man; the other, a + master-mason, was the proprietor of the house in which the young couple + had hired an apartment for their future home. Each witness brought a + friend, and all four, with Luigi, came to escort the bride. Little + accustomed to social functions, and seeing nothing in the service they + were rendering to Luigi but a simple matter of business, they were dressed + in their ordinary clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about them + denoted the usual joy of a marriage procession. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her present fortunes; and + yet her beauty was so noble and so imposing that the words of greeting + died away on the lips of the witnesses, who supposed themselves obliged to + pay her some usual compliments. They bowed to her with respect, and she + returned the bow; but they did so in silence, looking at her with + admiration. This reserve cast a chill over the whole party. Joy never + bursts forth freely except among those who are equals. Thus chance + determined that all should be dull and grave around the bridal pair; + nothing reflected, outwardly, the happiness that reigned within their + hearts. + </p> + <p> + The church and the mayor’s office being near by, Luigi and Ginevra, + followed by the four witnesses required by law, walked the distance, with + a simplicity that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in social life. + They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the mayor’s court-yard; and when + they reached the great hall where the civil marriages take place, they + found two other wedding-parties impatiently awaiting the mayor’s arrival. + </p> + <p> + Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long bench; their witnesses + remained standing, for want of seats. Two brides, elaborately dressed in + white, with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and crowned with orange-blossoms + whose satiny petals nodded beneath their veils, were surrounded by joyous + families, and accompanied by their mothers, to whom they looked up, now + and then, with eyes that were content and timid both; the faces of all the + rest reflected happiness, and seemed to be invoking blessings on the + youthful pairs. Fathers, witnesses, brothers, and sisters went and came, + like a happy swarm of insects disporting in the sun. Each seemed to be + impressed with the value of this passing moment of life, when the heart + finds itself within two hopes,—the wishes of the past, the promises + of the future. + </p> + <p> + As she watched them, Ginevra’s heart swelled within her; she pressed + Luigi’s arm, and gave him a look. A tear rolled from the eyes of the young + Corsican; never did he so well understand the joys that his Ginevra was + sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her to forget all else but + him,—even the abandonment in which she sat there. Love poured down + its treasures of light upon their hearts; they saw nought else but + themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they were there alone, in + that crowd, as they were destined to be, henceforth, in life. Their + witnesses, indifferent to what was happening, conversed quietly on their + own affairs. + </p> + <p> + “Oats are very dear,” said the sergeant to the mason. + </p> + <p> + “But they have not gone up like lime, relatively speaking,” replied the + contractor. + </p> + <p> + Then they walked round the hall. + </p> + <p> + “How one loses time here,” said the mason, replacing a thick silver watch + in his fob. + </p> + <p> + Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, seemed like one person. + A poet would have admired their two heads, inspired by the same sentiment, + colored in the same tones, silent and saddened in presence of that humming + happiness sparkling in diamonds, gay with flowers,—a gayety in which + there was something fleeting. The joy of those noisy and splendid groups + was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi was buried in their bosom. On one + side the tumult of common pleasure, on the other, the delicate silence of + happy souls,—earth and heaven! + </p> + <p> + But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weaknesses of women. + Superstitious as an Italian, she saw an omen in this contrast, and in her + heart there lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, opened a folding-door. + Silence reigned, and his voice was heard, like the yapping of a dog, + calling Monsieur Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo. This + caused some embarrassment to the young pair. The celebrity of the bride’s + name attracted attention, and the spectators seemed to wonder that the + wedding was not more sumptuous. Ginevra rose, took Luigi’s arm, and + advanced firmly, followed by the witnesses. A murmur of surprise, which + went on increasing, and a general whispering reminded Ginevra that all + present were wondering at the absence of her parents; her father’s wrath + seemed present to her. + </p> + <p> + “Call in the families,” said the mayor to the clerk whose business it was + to read aloud the certificates. + </p> + <p> + “The father and mother protest,” replied the clerk, phlegmatically. + </p> + <p> + “On both sides?” inquired the mayor. + </p> + <p> + “The groom is an orphan.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are the witnesses?” + </p> + <p> + “Here,” said the clerk, pointing to the four men, who stood with arms + folded, like so many statues. + </p> + <p> + “But if the parents protest—” began the mayor. + </p> + <p> + “The respectful summons has been duly served,” replied the clerk, rising, + to lay before the mayor the papers annexed to the marriage certificate. + </p> + <p> + This bureaucratic decision had something blighting about it; in a few + words it contained the whole story. The hatred of the Portas and the + Piombos and their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of the + civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it may be, in one word + only,—Napoleon, Robespierre) are engraved on a tombstone. Ginevra + trembled. Like the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to rest + its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge only in the eyes of + Luigi from the cold and dreary waste around her. + </p> + <p> + The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and his clerk looked up at + the couple with malicious curiosity. No marriage was ever so little + festal. Like other human beings when deprived of their accessories, it + became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. + </p> + <p> + After a few questions, to which the bride and bridegroom responded, and a + few words mumbled by the mayor, and after signing the registers, with + their witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. Then the wedded + pair walked back through two lines of joyous relations who did not belong + to them, and whose only interest in their marriage was the delay caused to + their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. When, at last, Ginevra found + herself in the mayor’s court-yard, under the open sky, a sigh escaped her + breast. + </p> + <p> + “Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove my gratitude for + your courage and tenderness, my Ginevra?” said Luigi. + </p> + <p> + At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride forgot her sufferings; + for she had indeed suffered in presenting herself before the public to + obtain a happiness her parents refused to sanction. + </p> + <p> + “Why should others come between us?” she said with an artlessness of + feeling that delighted Luigi. + </p> + <p> + A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step of the young pair + lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor earth, nor houses; they flew, as it + were, on wings to the church. When they reached a dark little chapel in + one corner of the building, and stood before a plain undecorated altar, an + old priest married them. There, as in the mayor’s office, two other + marriages were taking place, still pursuing them with pomp. The church, + filled with friends and relations, echoed with the roll of carriages, and + the hum of beadles, sextons, and priests. Altars were resplendent with + sacramental luxury; the wreaths of orange-flowers that crowned the figures + of the Virgin were fresh. Flowers, incense, gleaming tapers, velvet + cushions embroidered with gold, were everywhere. When the time came to + hold above the heads of Luigi and Ginevra the symbol of eternal union,—that + yoke of satin, white, soft, brilliant, light for some, lead for most,—the + priest looked about him in vain for the acolytes whose place it was to + perform that joyous function. Two of the witnesses fulfilled it for them. + The priest addressed a hasty homily to the pair on the perils of life, on + the duties they must, some day, inculcate upon their children,—throwing + in, at this point, an indirect reproach to Ginevra on the absence of her + parents; then, after uniting them before God, as the mayor had united them + before the law, he left the now married couple. + </p> + <p> + “God bless them!” said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to the mason, when they + reached the church porch. “No two creatures were ever more fitted for one + another. The parents of the girl are foolish. I don’t know a braver + soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole army had behaved like him, + ‘l’autre’ would be here still.” + </p> + <p> + This blessing of the old soldier, the only one bestowed upon their + marriage-day, shed a balm on Ginevra’s heart. + </p> + <p> + They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi thanked his landlord. + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, ‘mon brave,’” he said to the sergeant. “I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am now and ever at your service, colonel,—soul, body, horses, and + carriages; all that is mine is yours.” + </p> + <p> + “How he loves you!” said Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were to occupy. Their modest + apartment was soon reached; and there, when the door closed upon them, + Luigi took his wife in his arms, exclaiming,— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is our true wedding. Here,” he + added, “all things will smile upon us.” + </p> + <p> + Together they went through the three rooms contained in their lodging. The + room first entered served as salon and dining-room in one; on the right + was a bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had arranged for + his wife; in it she found easels, color-boxes, lay-figures, casts, + pictures, portfolios,—in short, the paraphernalia of an artist. + </p> + <p> + “So here I am to work!” she said, with an expression of childlike + happiness. + </p> + <p> + She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, turning again and again + to thank Luigi, for there was something that approached magnificence in + the little retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite books; a piano + filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon a divan, drew Luigi to her + side, and said, in a caressing voice, her hand in his,— + </p> + <p> + “You have good taste.” + </p> + <p> + “Those words make me happy,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “But let me see all,” said Ginevra, to whom Luigi had made a mystery of + the adornment of the rooms. + </p> + <p> + They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white as a virgin. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! come away,” said Luigi, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “But I wish to see all.” + </p> + <p> + And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of furniture with the + minute care of an antiquary examining a coin; she touched the silken + hangings, and went over every article with the artless satisfaction of a + bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. + </p> + <p> + “We begin by ruining ourselves,” she said, in a half-joyous, half-anxious + tone. + </p> + <p> + “True! for all my back pay is there,” replied Luigi. “I have mortgaged it + to a worthy fellow named Gigonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do so?” she said, in a tone of reproach, through which could + be heard her inward satisfaction. “Do you believe I should be less happy + in a garret? But,” she added, “it is all charming, and—it is ours!” + </p> + <p> + Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she lowered her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us see the rest,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a study for Luigi, a kitchen, + and a servant’s-room. Ginevra was much pleased with her little domain, + although the view from the windows was limited by the high wall of a + neighboring house, and the court-yard, from which their light was derived, + was gloomy. But the two lovers were so happy in heart, hope so adorned + their future, that they chose to see nothing but what was charming in + their hidden nest. They were there in that vast house, lost in the + immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their shell in the depths of ocean; + to all others it might have seemed a prison; to them it was paradise. + </p> + <p> + The first few days of their union were given to love. The effort to turn + at once to work was too difficult; they could not resist the charm of + their own passion. Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his wife, admiring + the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, the enchanting socket + of her eyes, the purity and whiteness of the two arches beneath which the + eyes themselves turned slowly, expressing the happiness of a satisfied + love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, never weary of gazing at + what she called his “belta folgorante,” and the delicacy of his features. + She was constantly charmed by the nobility of his manners, as she herself + attracted him by the grace of hers. + </p> + <p> + They played together, like children, with nothings,—nothings that + brought them ever back to their love,—ceasing their play only to + fall into a revery of the “far niente.” An air sung by Ginevra reproduced + to their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their passion. + Together, uniting their steps as they did their souls, they roamed about + the country, finding everywhere their love,—in the flowers, in the + sky, in the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in even the + capricious vapors which met and struggled in the ether. Each day resembled + in nothing its predecessors; their love increased, and still increased, + because it was a true love. They had tested each other in what seemed only + a short time; and, instinctively, they recognized that their souls were of + a kind whose inexhaustible riches promised for the future unceasing joys. + </p> + <p> + Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its interminable + conversations, unfinished speeches, long silences, oriental reposes, and + oriental ardor. Luigi and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like the + ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called monotonous by common + souls, whereas some privileged beings can pass their lives in admiring it, + and in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that enchant them. + </p> + <p> + Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the young couple from their + Eden; it was necessary to work to live. Ginevra, who possessed a special + talent for imitating old paintings, took up the business of copying, and + soon found many customers among the picture-dealers. Luigi, on his side, + sought long and actively for occupation, but it was hard for a young + officer whose talents had been restricted to the study of strategy to find + anything to do in Paris. + </p> + <p> + At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with despair at seeing the + whole burden of their subsistence falling on Ginevra, it occurred to him + to make use of his handwriting, which was excellent. With a persistency of + which he saw an example in his wife, he went round among the layers and + notaries of Paris, asking for papers to copy. The frankness of his manners + and his situation interested many in his favor; he soon obtained enough + work to be obliged to find young men to assist him; and this employment + became, little by little, a regular business. The profits of his office + and the sale of Ginevra’s pictures gave the young couple a competence of + which they were justly proud, for it was the fruit of their industry. + </p> + <p> + This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of their lives. The days + flowed rapidly by, filled with occupation and the joys of their love. At + night, after working all day, they met with delight in Ginevra’s studio. + Music refreshed their weariness. No expression of regret or melancholy + obscured the happy features of the young wife, and never did she utter a + complaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a smile upon her lips and her + eyes beaming. Each cherished a ruling thought which would have made them + take pleasure in a labor still more severe; Ginevra said in her heart that + she worked for Luigi, and Luigi the same for Ginevra. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the thought of the perfect + happiness she might have had if this life of love could have been lived in + the presence of her father and mother overcame the young wife; and then, + as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped into melancholy; + mournful pictures passed like shadows across her imagination; she saw her + old father alone, or her mother weeping in secret lest the inexorable + Piombo should perceive her tears. The two white, solemn heads rose + suddenly before her, and the thought came that never again should she see + them except in memory. This thought pursued her like a presentiment. + </p> + <p> + She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by giving her husband a + portrait he had long desired,—that of his Ginevra, painted by + herself. Never had the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside from + the resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the purity of her feelings, the + happiness of love were there depicted by a sort of magic. This masterpiece + of her art and her joy was a votive offering to their wedded felicity. + </p> + <p> + Another year of ease and comfort went by. The history of their life may be + given in three words: <i>They were happy.</i> No event happened to them of + sufficient importance to be recorded. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. RETRIBUTION + </h2> + <p> + At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers requested Ginevra to + give them something beside copies; for competition had so increased that + they could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame Porta then + perceived the mistake she had made in not exercising her talent for + “genre” painting, which might, by this time, have brought her reputation. + She now attempted portrait-painting. But here she was forced to compete + against a crowd of artists in greater need of money than herself. However, + as Luigi and Ginevra had laid by a few savings, they were not, as yet, + uneasy about the future. + </p> + <p> + Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi worked without + intermission. He, too, was struggling against competitors. The payment for + writing had so decreased that he found it impossible to employ assistance; + he was forced, therefore, to work a much longer time himself to obtain the + same emolument. His wife had finished several pictures which were not + without merit; but the dealers were scarcely buying those of artists with + reputations; consequently, her paintings had little chance. Ginevra + offered them for almost nothing, but without success. + </p> + <p> + The situation of the household now began to be alarming. The souls of the + husband and wife floated on the ocean of their happiness, love overwhelmed + them with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a skeleton, amid their + harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they hid from each other their secret + anxiety. When Ginevra felt like weeping as she watched Luigi’s worn and + suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; and Luigi, keeping his dark + forebodings in the depths of his soul, expressed to his Ginevra the + tenderest love. They sought a compensation for their troubles in exalting + their feelings; and their words, their joys, their caresses became + suffused, as it were, with a species of frenzy. They feared the future. + What feeling can be compared in strength with that of a passion which may + cease on the morrow, killed by death or want? When they talked together of + their poverty each felt the necessity of deceiving the other, and they + fastened with mutual ardor on the slightest hope. + </p> + <p> + One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her side. She rose in terror. + A faint light shining on the opposite wall of the little court-yard + revealed to her that her husband was working in his study at night. Luigi + was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was asleep, and then going + up to his garret to write. Four o’clock struck. Ginevra lay down again, + and pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi returned, overcome with fatigue + and drowsiness. Ginevra looked sadly on the beautiful, worn face, where + toil and care were already drawing lines of wrinkles. + </p> + <p> + “It is for me he spends his nights in writing,” she said to herself, + weeping. + </p> + <p> + A thought dried her tears. She would imitate Luigi. That same day she went + to a print-shop, and, by help of a letter of recommendation she had + obtained from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she obtained an + order for the coloring of lithographs. During the day she painted her + pictures and attended to the cares of the household; then, when night + came, she colored the engravings. This loving couple entered their nuptial + bed only to deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and left it,—Luigi, + as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra as soon as he had + gone. + </p> + <p> + One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under + which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of his + garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, the burden + of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the reflection of + Ginevra’s lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow guessed the + truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his wife in her + studio, coloring engravings. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ginevra!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. + </p> + <p> + “Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Could I be idle,” she asked, her eyes filling with tears, “when I know + that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should die if I + could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common between us: + pains and pleasures, both.” + </p> + <p> + “She is cold!” cried Luigi, in despair. “Wrap your shawl closer round you, + my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly.” + </p> + <p> + They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her + beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence, + they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening. + Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing + luminous. + </p> + <p> + “See!” said Ginevra. “It is an omen. We shall be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in heaven,” replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. “Oh, Ginevra! you + who deserved all the treasures upon earth—” + </p> + <p> + “I have your heart,” she said, in tones of joy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I complain no more!” he answered, straining her tightly to him, and + covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the freshness of + youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender that he could + not look at it and not be comforted. + </p> + <p> + “What silence!” said Ginevra, presently. “Dear friend, I take great + pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it awes, it + inspires. There is I know not what great power in the thought: all sleep, + I wake.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Ginevra,” he cried, “it is not to-night alone I feel how + delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,—come + and sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ginevra, “if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much that + night I first discovered that you were waking while I slept.” + </p> + <p> + The courage with which these two young people fought with misery received + for a while its due reward; but an event which usually crowns the + happiness of a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a son, who was, + to use the popular expression, “as beautiful as the day.” The sense of + motherhood doubled the strength of the young wife. Luigi borrowed money to + meet the expenses of Ginevra’s confinement. At first she did not feel the + fresh burden of their situation; and the pair gave themselves wholly up to + the joy of possessing a child. It was their last happiness. + </p> + <p> + Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a current, these two + Corsican souls struggled courageously; but sometimes they gave way to an + apathy which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon they were + obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty appeared to them suddenly,—not + hideous, but plainly clothed, almost easy to endure; its voice had nothing + terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, nor rags; but it + made them lose the memory and the habits of comfort; it dried the springs + of pride. Then, before they knew it, came want,—want in all its + horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot all human sentiments. + </p> + <p> + Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Bartolomeo, it would + have been hard to see in the mother who suckled her sickly babe the + original of the beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of the + squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, the graceful outlines of + Ginevra’s figure were slowly destroyed; her cheeks grew white as + porcelain, and her eyes dulled as though the springs of life were drying + up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored child, she felt no + suffering but for that young misery; and Luigi had no courage to smile + upon his son. + </p> + <p> + “I have wandered over Paris,” he said, one day. “I know no one; can I ask + help of strangers? Vergniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a + conspiracy, and they have put him in prison; besides, he has already lent + me all he could spare. As for our landlord, it is over a year since he + asked me for any rent.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are not in want,” replied Ginevra, gently, affecting calmness. + </p> + <p> + “Every hour brings some new difficulty,” continued Luigi, in a tone of + terror. + </p> + <p> + Another day Luigi took Ginevra’s pictures, her portrait, and the few + articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold them + for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless household + for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed the sublimity + of her nature and the extent of her resignation. + </p> + <p> + Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up + against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying son, + performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and sufficed for + all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi’s lips a smile of + surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one poor room where they + had taken refuge. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you,” she said, one evening, when he + returned, worn-out. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her words + to take the food of which she had deprived herself. + </p> + <p> + Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given in + 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme moments + two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi, + comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the + fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that some + business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest poison + than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was left in his + home. + </p> + <p> + He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the bosom + of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; he hurried past + the windows of the money-changers where gold was glittering; and at last + he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute for military service, + hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra, and that her father, during + his absence, would take her home. + </p> + <p> + He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt a + sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial guard. + </p> + <p> + “It is two days since I have eaten anything,” he said to him in a slow, + weak voice. “My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered one word of + complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God’s sake, comrade,” he + added, bitterly, “buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no longer in the + service, and I—” + </p> + <p> + The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to + procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped the + gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying out at + times:— + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!” + </p> + <p> + It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very + softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he had + left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the garret + window, were fading from Ginevra’s face as she sat sleeping in her chair, + and holding her child upon her breast. + </p> + <p> + “Wake, my dear one,” he said, not observing the infant, which shone, at + that moment, with supernatural light. + </p> + <p> + Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi’s look, and + smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely recognized his + wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he showed her the + gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly she cried, in a + dreadful voice:— + </p> + <p> + “The child, Luigi, he is cold!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead. Luigi + took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she clasped + with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he went out to + seek help. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my God!” he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. “I have gold, + gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, too! Help + me!” + </p> + <p> + He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, and + also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the needs of + so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans had carefully + hidden it from a feeling of pride. + </p> + <p> + Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on + which lay his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Father! take care of my son, who bears your name,” she was saying in her + delirium. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my angel! be calm,” said Luigi, kissing her; “our good days are + coming back to us.” + </p> + <p> + “My Luigi,” she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, “listen + to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered too much; + besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for. Yes, my Luigi, + be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to live again I would + again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret you more than I regret + my child—My child!” she added, in a hollow voice. + </p> + <p> + Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little body + she had no power to warm. + </p> + <p> + “Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra,” she said. “Tell him + I have never blamed him.” + </p> + <p> + Her head fell upon her husband’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “No, you cannot die!” cried Luigi. “The doctor is coming. We have food. + Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with us, angel!” + </p> + <p> + But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra turned + her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was conscious of + nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now losing memory of + earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped his icy hand + tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to save herself from + some precipice down which she feared to fall. + </p> + <p> + “Dear,” she said, at last, “you are cold; I will warm you.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. + </p> + <p> + Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, bringing + all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their despair. + These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they had entered, + an awful silence filled the room. + </p> + <p> + While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were sitting in + their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast fireplace, where a + glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of their salon. The clock + told midnight. + </p> + <p> + For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At the + present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their dotage, + gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted salon, so + filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single lamp which + seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon the hearth, they + might soon have been in total darkness. + </p> + <p> + A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been sitting, + remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo was casting + glances at that chair,—glances full of thoughts, crowding one upon + another like remorse,—for the empty chair was Ginevra’s. Elisa + Piombo watched the expressions that now began to cross her husband’s + pallid face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings from the + changeful agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so threatening, and + anon so melancholy that she felt she could no longer read a soul that was + now incomprehensible, even to her. + </p> + <p> + Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that chair? + Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for the first + time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy struck,—that + hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now? + </p> + <p> + These reflections shook the mother’s heart successively. For an instant + her husband’s countenance became so terrible that she trembled at having + used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra’s name. The + night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so sharply against + the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard a gentle rustling. + Ginevra’s mother dropped her head to hide her tears. Suddenly a sigh burst + from the old man’s breast; his wife looked at him; he seemed to her + crushed. Then she risked speaking—for the second time in three long + years—of his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Ginevra may be cold,” she said, softly. + </p> + <p> + Piombo quivered. + </p> + <p> + “She may be hungry,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + The old man dropped a tear. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!” said + the mother, in accents of despair. + </p> + <p> + “Let her come! let her come to me!” cried Piombo. “Oh! my precious child, + thou hast conquered me.” + </p> + <p> + The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door + opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of + humanity, stood suddenly before them. + </p> + <p> + “Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is all + that remains of her,” he said, laying Ginevra’s long black hair upon the + table. + </p> + <p> + The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had blasted + them. + </p> + <p> + Luigi no longer stood before them. + </p> + <p> + “He has spared me a shot, for he is dead,” said Bartolomeo, slowly, gazing + on the ground at his feet. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> + <h3> + The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bidault (known as Gigonnet) + The Government Clerks + Gobseck + Cesar Birotteau + The Firm of Nucingen + A Daughter of Eve + + Bonaparte, Napoleon + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Seamy Side of History + A Woman of Thirty + + Bonaparte, Lucien + The Gondreville Mystery + + Camusot de Marville, Madame + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Cousin Pons + + Magus, Elie + A Marriage Settlement + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Cousin Pons + + Murat, Joachim, Prince + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Country Doctor + + Rapp + The Gondreville Mystery + + Roguin + Cesar Birotteau + Eugenie Grandet + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierrette + + Thirion + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + + Tiphaine, Madame + Pierrette + + Vergniaud, Louis + Colonel Chabert +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + +***** This file should be named 1374-h.htm or 1374-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/7/1374/ + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny, and David Widger + + +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. 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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: Vendetta + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Katharine Prescott Wormeley + +Release Date: July, 1997 [Etext #1374] +Posting Date: February 23, 2010 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny + + + + + +VENDETTA + + +By Honore De Balzac + + + +Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + + + DEDICATION + + To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor. + + + + + +VENDETTA + + + +CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE + + +In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, accompanied +by a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time in front of +the palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled +down, at the point where in our day the wing begins which was intended +to unite the chateau of Catherine de Medici with the Louvre of the +Valois. + +The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he +sometimes raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at +his wife, who was sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed +wholly occupied with the little girl of nine or ten years of age, whose +long black hair she amused herself by handling, she lost not a single +glance of those her companion cast on her. Some sentiment other than +love united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety their +movements and their thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most powerful of +all ties. + +The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick +hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The jet +black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his +features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his evident +strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over sixty +years of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign country. +Though the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed +the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm +countenance whenever her husband looked at her. + +The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the +youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast +of countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched +brows, a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those who +passed them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group, +who made no effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the +expression of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy, +characteristic of Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the +stranger saw himself the object of attention, he looked at his observer +with so savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his step as +though he had trod upon a serpent. + +After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly +passed his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the thoughts +that were ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate +resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he drew +a dagger from his breast and gave it to his companion, saying in +Italian:-- + +"I will see if the Bonapartes remember us." + +Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the +palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular +guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this +man's obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in the +form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at that +moment, and the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the stranger the +spot where the commander of the post was standing. + +"Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with him," +said the Italian to the captain on duty. + +In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see the +First Consul without having previously requested an audience in writing; +the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The +officer stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with the +order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, casting +a terrible look at the captain, as if he made him responsible for the +misfortunes that this refusal might occasion. Then he kept silence, +folded his arms tightly across his breast, and took up his station +under the portico which serves as an avenue of communication between +the garden and the court-yard of the Tuileries. Persons who will things +intensely are very apt to be helped by chance. At the moment when +Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the stone posts which +was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from which Lucien Bonaparte, +minister of the interior, issued. + +"Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!" cried the stranger. + +These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment +when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot, +and recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear, +he took the Corsican away with him. + +Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the First +Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in appearance +as Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the arm and +led him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a few words with +his brother, the First Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and +Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to have seen it, in order +to remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to him sharply, and the +aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First +Consul, who listened for Rapp's step in the adjoining salon, opened +the door suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp close to the wall of the +cabinet. + +"Do you choose not to understand me?" said the First Consul. "I wish to +be alone with my compatriot." + +"A Corsican!" replied the aide-de-camp. "I distrust those fellows too +much to--" + +The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful +officer by the shoulders. + +"Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?" said Napoleon. + +"To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican," +replied Bartolomeo, roughly. + +"What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the +most--" + +"I have killed all the Portas," replied the Corsican, in a deep voice, +frowning heavily. + +The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise. + +"Do you mean to betray me?" cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at +Bonaparte. "Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?" + +Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. + +"Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?" he said. + +Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at +Piombo and said:-- + +"Why did you kill the Portas?" + +"We had made friends," replied the man; "the Barbantis reconciled us. +The day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home +because I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and +set fire to my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My +daughter Ginevra and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, +escaped; the Virgin protected them. When I returned I found no house; +my feet were in its ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck +against the body of Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. 'The +Portas have dealt me this blow,' I said; and, forthwith, I went to +the woods, and there I called together all the men whom I had ever +served,--do you hear me, Bonaparte?--and we marched to the vineyard of +the Portas. We got there at five in the morning; at seven they were all +before God. Giacomo declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. But +I myself bound him to his bed before setting fire to the house. I have +left the island with my wife and child without being able to discover +whether, indeed, Luigi Porta is alive." + +Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise. + +"How many were there?" asked Lucien. + +"Seven," replied Piombo. "All of them were your persecutors in the olden +times." + +These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two +brothers. + +"Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!" cried Piombo, with a sort of despair. +"Farewell. In other days I protected you," he added, in a reproachful +tone. "Without me, your mother would never have reached Marseille," he +said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, who was silent and thoughtful, +his elbow resting on a mantel-shelf. + +"As a matter of duty, Piombo," said Napoleon at last, "I cannot take you +under my wing. I have become the leader of a great nation; I command the +Republic; I am bound to execute the laws." + +"Ha! ha!" said Bartolomeo, scornfully. + +"But I can shut my eyes," continued Bonaparte. "The tradition of the +Vendetta will long prevent the reign of law in Corsica," he added, as if +speaking to himself. "But it _must_ be destroyed, at any cost." + +Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien made a sign to Piombo +not to speak. The Corsican was swaying his head from right to left in +deep disapproval. + +"Live here, in Paris," resumed the First Consul, addressing Bartolomeo; +"we will know nothing of this affair. I will cause your property in +Corsica to be bought, to give you enough to live on for the present. +Later, before long, we will think of you. But, remember, no more +vendetta! There are no woods here to fly to. If you play with daggers, +you must expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all citizens; and no +one is allowed to do justice for himself." + +"He has made himself the head of a singular nation," said Bartolomeo, +taking Lucien's hand and pressing it. "But you have both recognized me +in misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may +dispose as you will of the Piombos." + +With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in +satisfaction. + +"You are not badly off here," he said, smiling, as if he meant to lodge +there himself. "You are all in red, like a cardinal." + +"Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also," +said Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. "It will often +happen that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can confide." + +A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his +hand to the First Consul, saying:-- + +"The Corsican is in you still." + +Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it +were, a waft of air from his own land,--from that isle where he had been +so miraculously saved from the hatred of the "English party"; the land +he was never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who then took +Piombo away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the financial condition +of the former protector of their family. Piombo took him to a window and +showed him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a heap of stones. + +"We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny," he +said. + +Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him the +next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of +the family. The value of Piombo's property in Corsica, if sold, would +scarcely maintain him honorably in Paris. + +Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo's arrival with his +family in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely +intelligible to the reader without this narrative of the foregoing +circumstances. + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE STUDIO + + +Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to conceive +of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to take +lessons in painting. + +About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given up +to his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter of +a general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their daughters +themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send them alone, +after knowing the master's principles and the pains he took to deserve +their confidence. + +It was the artist's intention to take no pupils but young ladies +belonging to rich families of good position, in order to meet with no +complaints as to the composition of his classes. He even refused to +take girls who wished to become artists; for to them he would have +been obliged to give certain instructions without which no talent could +advance in the profession. Little by little his prudence and the ability +with which he initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty each +mother felt that her daughter was in company with none but well-bred +young girls, and the fact of the artist's marriage, gave him an +excellent reputation as a teacher in society. When a young girl wished +to learn to draw, and her mother asked advice of her friends, the answer +was, invariably: "Send her to Servin's." + +Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a specialty; like Herbault +for bonnets, Leroy for gowns, and Chevet for eatables. It was recognized +that a young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was capable of +judging the paintings of the Musee conclusively, of making a striking +portrait, copying an ancient master, or painting a genre picture. The +artist thus sufficed for the educational needs of the aristocracy. But +in spite of these relations with the best families in Paris, he was +independent and patriotic, and he maintained among them that easy, +brilliant, half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment which +characterize painters. + +He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the arrangements of the +locality where his pupils studied. The entrance to the attic above his +apartments was walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a harem, +it was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase made within his own +rooms. The studio, occupying nearly the whole attic floor under the +roof, presented to the eye those vast proportions which surprise +inquirers when, after attaining sixty feet above the ground-floor, they +expect to find an artist squeezed into a gutter. + +This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from above, through +enormous panes of glass furnished with those green linen shades by means +of which all artists arrange the light. A quantity of caricatures, heads +drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the point of a knife, on +walls painted in a dark gray, proved that, barring a difference in +expression, the most distinguished young girls have as much fun and +folly in their minds as men. A small stove with a large pipe, which +described a fearful zigzag before it reached the upper regions of the +roof, was the necessary and infallible ornament of the room. A shelf +ran round the walls, on which were models in plaster, heterogeneously +placed, most of them covered with gray dust. Here and there, above this +shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging to a nail, presented her pose of woe; a +Venus smiled; a hand thrust itself forward like that of a pauper asking +alms; a few "ecorches," yellowed by smoke, looked like limbs snatched +over-night from a graveyard; besides these objects, pictures, drawings, +lay figures, frames without paintings, and paintings without frames +gave to this irregular apartment that studio physiognomy which is +distinguished for its singular jumble of ornament and bareness, poverty +and riches, care and neglect. The vast receptacle of an "atelier," +where all seems small, even man, has something of the air of an Opera +"coulisse"; here lie ancient garments, gilded armor, fragments of +stuffs, machinery. And yet there is something mysteriously grand, like +thought, in it; genius and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside a +skull or skeleton, beauty and destruction, poesy and reality, colors +glowing in the shadows, often a whole drama, motionless and silent. +Strange symbol of an artist's head! + +At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant July sun was +illuminating the studio, and two rays striking athwart it lengthwise, +traced diaphanous gold lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen +easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. Several young +girls were animating the scene by the variety of their expressions, +their attitudes, and the differences in their toilets. The strong +shadows cast by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the +needs of each easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, and the piquant +effects of light and shade. This group was the prettiest of all the +pictures in the studio. + +A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some distance from her +companions, working bravely and seeming to be in dread of some mishap. +No one looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the prettiest, the +most modest, and, apparently, the least rich among them. Two principal +groups, distinctly separated from each other, showed the presence of two +sets or cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where one might +suppose that rank and fortune would be forgotten. + +But, however that might be, these young girls, sitting or standing, in +the midst of their color-boxes, playing with their brushes or preparing +them, handling their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, talking, +singing, absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real selves, composed +a spectacle unknown to man. One of them, proud, haughty, capricious, +with black hair and beautiful hands, was casting the flame of her glance +here and there at random; another, light-hearted and gay, a smile upon +her lips, with chestnut hair and delicate white hands, was a typical +French virgin, thoughtless, and without hidden thoughts, living her +natural real life; a third was dreamy, melancholy, pale, bending her +head like a drooping flower; her neighbor, on the contrary, tall, +indolent, with Asiatic habits, long eyes, moist and black, said but +little, and reflected, glancing covertly at the head of Antinous. + +Among them, like the "jocoso" of a Spanish play, full of wit and +epigrammatic sallies, another girl was watching the rest with a +comprehensive glance, making them laugh, and tossing up her head, too +lively and arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first +group of girls, who were the daughters of bankers, notaries, and +merchants,--all rich, but aware of the imperceptible though cutting +slights which another group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. +The latter were led by the daughter of one of the King's ushers, a +little creature, as silly as she was vain, proud of being the daughter +of a man with "an office at court." She was a girl who always pretended +to understand the remarks of the master at the first word, and seemed +to do her work as a favor to him. She used an eyeglass, came very much +dressed, and always late, and entreated her companions to speak low. + +In this second group were several girls with exquisite figures and +distinguished features, but there was little in their glance or +expression that was simple and candid. Though their attitudes were +elegant and their movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it +was easy to see that they belonged to a world where polite manners +form the character from early youth, and the abuse of social pleasures +destroys sentiment and develops egotism. + +But when the whole class was here assembled, childlike heads were seen +among this bevy of young girls, ravishingly pure and virgin, faces with +lips half-opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on which a +virgin smile was flickering. The studio then resembled not a studio, but +a group of angels seated on a cloud in ether. + +By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not appeared. For some days +past he had spent most of his time in a studio which he kept elsewhere, +where he was giving the last touches to a picture for the Exposition. +All of a sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, the leader of the +aristocrats, began to speak in a low voice, and very earnestly, to +her neighbor. A great silence fell on the group of patricians, and the +commercial party, surprised, were equally silent, trying to discover the +subject of this earnest conference. The secret of the young _ultras_ was +soon revealed. + +Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, carried it to a +distance from the noble group, and placed it close to a board partition +which separated the studio from the extreme end of the attic, where all +broken casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply of wood were kept. +Amelie's action caused a murmur of surprise, which did not prevent her +from accomplishing the change by rolling hastily to the side of the +easel the stool, the box of colors, and even the picture by Prudhon, +which the absent pupil was copying. After this coup d'etat the Right +began to work in silence, but the Left discoursed at length. + +"What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?" asked a young girl of +Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, the lively oracle of the banking group. + +"She's not a girl to say anything," was the reply; "but fifty years +hence she'll remember the insult as if it were done to her the night +before, and revenge it cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don't +want to be at war with." + +"The slight these young ladies mean to put upon her is all the more +unkind," said another young girl, "because yesterday, Mademoiselle +Ginevra was very sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They +ought not to add to her trouble, for she was very considerate of them +during the Hundred Days. Never did she say a word to wound them. On the +contrary, she avoided politics. But I think our _ultras_ are acting more +from jealousy than from party spite." + +"I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle Piombo's easel and place +it next to mine," said Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second thoughts +made her sit down again. + +"With a character like hers," she said, "one can't tell how she would +take a civility; better wait events." + +"Ecco la," said the young girl with the black eyes, languidly. + +The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through the +studio. The words: "Here she comes!" passed from mouth to mouth, and +then the most absolute silence reigned. + +To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of +Amelie Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place toward +the end of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the Bourbons +had shaken many friendships which had held firm under the first +Restoration. At this moment families, almost all divided in opinion, +were renewing many of the deplorable scenes which stain the history +of all countries in times of civil or religious wars. Children, young +girls, old men shared the monarchial fever to which the country was +then a victim. Discord glided beneath all roofs; distrust dyed with its +gloomy colors the words and the actions of the most intimate friends. + +Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate +him? The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father. +The Baron di Piombo was among those of Napoleon's devoted servants who +had co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of +denying his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron +remained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all +the more open to condemnation because she made no secret of the grief +which the second Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she +had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the twofold news of +Napoleon's captivity on the "Bellerophon," and Labedoyere's arrest. + +The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most +devoted royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an +idea of the exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror +inspired by the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie's +action may now seem to be, it was at that time a very natural expression +of the prevailing hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin's first pupils, +had occupied the place that was now taken from her since the first +day of her coming to the studio. The aristocratic circle had gradually +surrounded her. To drive her from a place that in some sense belonged to +her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a species of artistic +pain; for all artists have a spot of predilection where they work. + +Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the +conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of +Servin's pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master testified +as much admiration for the talents as for the character of his favorite +pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. In fact, +without any one being able to explain the ascendancy which this young +girl obtained over all who came in contact with her, she exercised over +the little world around her a prestige not unlike that of Bonaparte upon +his soldiers. + +The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the +fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid +the Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion's act was, therefore, a decisive +stroke, intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the +accomplices of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by several +of these royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at home with +their political ideas, they decided, with the tactics peculiar to women, +that they should do best to keep themselves aloof from the quarrel. + +On Ginevra's arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound +silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin's +studio, she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her +carriage and demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which +commanded respect. Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to +radiate light, so inspired was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to +Corsicans,--which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long hair +and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion; the corners of her +mouth, too softly defined, and the lips, a trifle too marked, gave signs +of that kindliness which strong beings derive from the consciousness of +their strength. + +By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some +degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost +savage pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of a +Corsican. In that was the only link between herself and her native +land. All the rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of her +Lombard beauty, was so seductive that it was difficult for those who +looked at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen attraction that +her old father caused her, as matter of precaution, to be accompanied to +and from the studio. The only defect of this truly poetic creature came +from the very power of a beauty so fully developed; she looked a woman. +Marriage she had refused out of love to her father and mother, feeling +herself necessary to the comfort of their old age. Her taste for +painting took the place of the passions and interests which usually +absorb her sex. + +"You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles," she said, after advancing +a little way among her companions. "Good-morning, my little Laure," she +added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl who was +painting apart from the rest. "That head is strong,--the flesh tints a +little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent." + +Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces beamed +with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile brightened the +lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and walked slowly to +her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and paintings on her way, +and bidding good-morning to each of the young girls of the first group, +not observing the unusual curiosity excited by her presence. She was +like a queen in the midst of her court; she paid no attention to the +profound silence that reigned among the patricians, and passed before +their camp without pronouncing a single word. Her absorption seemed so +great that she sat down before her easel, opened her color-box, took up +her brushes, drew on her brown sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at +her picture, examined her palette, without, apparently, thinking of what +she was doing. All heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned +toward her. If the young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their +impatience with the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the +less directed on Ginevra. + +"She hasn't noticed it!" said Mademoiselle Roguin. + +At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she +had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the +group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now +separated her from them; but she said nothing. + +"It hasn't occurred to her that they meant to insult her," said Matilde; +"she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls will be +if she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of bounds, +mademoiselle," she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra. + +The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. She +rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side of +the partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, and +seemed to be examining the sash through which her light came,--giving so +much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the green serge, +which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that height, her eye +was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, the real object +of her efforts, for the glance that she cast through it can be compared +only to that of a miser discovering Aladdin's treasure. Then she sprang +down hastily and returned to her place, changed the position of her +picture, pretended to be still dissatisfied with the light, pushed +a table close to the partition, on which she placed a chair, climbed +lightly to the summit of this erection, and again looked through the +crevice. She cast but one glance into the space beyond, which was +lighted through a skylight; but what she saw produced so strong an +effect upon her that she tottered. + +"Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you'll fall!" cried Laure. + +All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of +their coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, and +replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:-- + +"Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!" + +She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table +as far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and seemed +to be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now thrown upon +it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was wholly bent on +getting as near as possible to the closet, against the door of which she +finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare her palette in the +deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, distinctly, a sound +which had strongly excited her curiosity the evening before, and had +whirled her young imagination across vast fields of conjecture. She +recognized the firm and regular breathing of a man whom she had just +seen asleep. Her curiosity was satisfied beyond her expectations, but at +the same time she felt saddled by an immense responsibility. Through the +opening in the wall she had seen the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock +bed, faintly lighted from above, lay the form of an officer of the +Guard. She guessed all. Servin was hiding a proscribed man! + +She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to +examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath +might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political +victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to her +wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise. + +"Better that I should be here," thought she, "to prevent some luckless +accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless betrayal." + +This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently +shown to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because +the change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural manner; +besides, at this moment, she was too keenly preoccupied to perceive the +reason of her removal. + +Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the world, +than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech, miss its +effect through the contempt or the indifference of the intended victim. +It seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion to the height that +enemy is raised above us. Ginevra's behavior was an enigma to all her +companions; her friends and enemies were equally surprised; for the +former claimed for her all good qualities, except that of forgiveness of +injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for displaying that vice of +nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the life of a studio, still, +the specimens she had now and then given of her vindictive disposition +had left a strong impression on the minds of her companions. + +After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion that +the Italian's silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all praise; and +the banking circle, inspired by her, formed a project to humiliate the +aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of sarcasms which +presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie. + +Madame Servin's arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the shrewdness +that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had noticed, analyzed, +and mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation of Ginevra's mind, +which prevented her from even hearing the bitterly polite war of words +of which she was the object. The vengeance Mademoiselle Roguin and her +companions were inflicting on Mademoiselle Thirion and her group had, +therefore, the fatal effect of driving the young _ultras_ to search for +the cause of the silence so obstinately maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. +The beautiful Italian became the centre of all glances, and she was +henceforth watched by friends and foes alike. + +It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from +fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and mischief +ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to create or +baffle, and who know how to find too many interpretations for each +gesture, glance, and word, to fail in discovering the right one. + +At this moment, however, the presence of Madame Servin produced an +interlude in the drama thus played below the surface in these various +young hearts, the sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were +expressed by phrases that were almost allegorical, by mischievous +glances, by gestures, by silence even, more intelligible than words. As +soon as Madame Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the door +near which Ginevra was seated. Under present circumstances the fact of +this glance was not lost. Though at first none of the pupils took notice +of it, Mademoiselle Thirion recollected it later, and it explained +to her the doubt, fear, and mystery which now gave something wild and +frightened to Madame Servin's eyes. + +"Mesdemoiselles," she said, "Monsieur Servin cannot come to-day." + +Then she went round complimenting each young girl, receiving in return +a volume of those feminine caresses which are given as much by the tones +of the voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently reached Ginevra, +under the influence of an uneasiness she tried in vain to disguise. They +nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said nothing; one painted, +the other stood looking at the painting. The breathing of the soldier in +the closet could be distinctly heard, but Madame Servin appeared not to +notice it; her feigned ignorance was so obvious that Ginevra recognized +it at once for wilful deafness. Presently the unknown man turned on his +pallet. + +The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, who said, without the +slightest change of face:-- + +"Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to choose between the +two I should be puzzled." + +"Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his confidence as to this +mystery," thought Ginevra, who, after replying to the young wife's +speech with a gentle smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican +"canzonetta" to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. + +It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious Italian sing, that +all the other young girls looked up at her in surprise. Later, this +circumstance served as proof to the charitable suppositions of jealousy. + +Madame Servin soon went away, and the session ended without further +events; Ginevra allowed her companions to depart, and seemed to intend +to work later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her desire +to be left alone by impatient glances, ill-disguised, at the pupils who +were slow in leaving. Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the girl +who excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of jealousy that +her rival's industry hid some purpose. By dint of watching her she was +struck by the attentive air with which Ginevra seemed to be listening to +sounds that no one else had heard. The expression of impatience she now +detected in her companion's eyes was like a flash of light to her. + +Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio; from there she +went down to Madame Servin's apartment and talked with her for a moment; +then she pretended to have left her bag, ran softly back to the studio, +and found Ginevra once more mounted on her frail scaffolding, and so +absorbed in the contemplation of an unknown object that she did not hear +the slight noise of her companion's footsteps. It is true that, to use +an expression of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped as if on eggs. She hastily +withdrew outside the door and coughed. Ginevra quivered, turned her +head, saw her enemy, blushed, hastened to alter the shade to give +meaning to her position, and came down from her perch leisurely. She +soon after left the studio, bearing with her, in her memory, the image +of a man's head, as beauteous as that of the Endymion, a masterpiece of +Girodet's which she had lately copied. + +"To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney--" + +These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that +Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in spite +of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle Thirion +already there, having come in a carriage. + +Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they +made their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of the +mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the Imperial +eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them through the +crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. Suddenly Servin +came in, much earlier than usual. + +"Mademoiselle Ginevra," he said, after glancing round the studio, "why +have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the +rest of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little." + +Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial +attention. + +"Well, well!" he cried; "here, indeed, is a head extremely well done. +You'll be another Ginevra." + +The master then went from easel to easel, scolding, flattering, jesting, +and making, as usual, his jests more dreaded than his reprimands. +Ginevra had not obeyed the professor's order, but remained at her post, +firmly resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of paper and began +to sketch in sepia the head of the hidden man. A work done under the +impulse of an emotion has always a stamp of its own. The faculty of +giving to representations of nature or of thought their true coloring +constitutes genius, and often, in this respect, passion takes the place +of it. So, under the circumstances in which Ginevra now found herself, +the intuition which she owed to a powerful effect upon her memory, or, +possibly, to necessity, that mother of great things, lent her, for the +moment, a supernatural talent. The head of the young officer was dashed +upon the paper in the midst of an awkward trembling which she mistook +for fear, and in which a physiologist would have recognized the fire of +inspiration. From time to time she glanced furtively at her companions, +in order to hide the sketch if any of them came near her. But in +spite of her watchfulness, there was a moment when she did not see the +eyeglass of the pitiless Amelie turned full upon the drawing from the +shelter of a great portfolio. Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the +portrait of the mysterious man, showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra +hastily covered the sheet of paper. + +"Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?" asked the +professor, gravely. + +The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the +sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:-- + +"Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not +better remain here?" + +Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, +Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden emotion +of master and pupil. + +"You are right," said Servin; "but really," he added, with a forced +laugh, "you will soon come to know more than I do." + +A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of the +officer's head. + +"It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!" he exclaimed, with the +energy of an artist. + +All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted +forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, +the prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra +knocked over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to +laugh; but she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before Amelie +could get to her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin descanted on the +beauty of the copy which his favorite pupil was then making, and the +whole class was duped by this stratagem, except Amelie, who, slipping +behind her companions, attempted to open the portfolio where she had +seen Ginevra throw the sketch. But the latter took it up without a word, +and placed it in front of her. The two young girls then looked at each +other fixedly, in silence. + +"Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places," said Servin. "If you wish +to do as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn't be always talking +fashions and balls, and trifling away your time as you do." + +When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down beside +Ginevra. + +"Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery +rather than the others?" asked the girl, in a low voice. + +"Yes," replied the painter, "you are one of us, a patriot; but even if +you were not, I should still have confided the matter to you." + +Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared to +ask:-- + +"Who is he?" + +"An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other +man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment +with the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and +was at Waterloo." + +"Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with +citizen's clothes?" said Ginevra, impatiently. + +"He will have them to-night." + +"You ought to have closed the studio for some days." + +"He is going away." + +"Then they'll kill him," said the girl. "Let him stay here with you till +the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in France where +a man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?" she asked. + +"No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my +hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during the +campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him from +the claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to defend the +general, foolish fellow!" + +"Do you call him that!" cried Ginevra, casting a glance of astonishment +at the painter, who was silent for a moment. + +"My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able to keep him in his +own house," he resumed. "So he brought him to me, by night, about a week +ago. I hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only spot in +the house where he could be safe." + +"If I can be useful to you, employ me," said Ginevra. "I know the +Marechal de Feltre." + +"Well, we'll see," replied the painter. + +This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed by all the other +girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round once more to each easel, and gave +such long lessons that he was still there at the hour when the pupils +were in the habit of leaving. + +"You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thirion," said the professor, +running after the girl, who was now condescending to the work of a spy +to satisfy her jealousy. + +The baffled pupil returned for the bag, expressing surprise at her +carelessness; but this act of Servin's was to her fresh proof of the +existence of a mystery, the importance of which was evident. She now ran +noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door which opened into the +Servins' apartment, to give an impression that she had gone; then she +softly returned and stationed herself outside the door of the studio. + + + + +CHAPTER III. LABEDOYERE'S FRIEND + + +When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves alone, Servin rapped in +a peculiar manner on the door of the dark garret, which turned at once +on its rusty and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and well-made +young man, whose Imperial uniform set her heart to beating. The officer +had one arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face revealed sharp +suffering. Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. + +Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the door being closed, was +afraid to stay longer; she was satisfied with having heard the opening +of the garret door, and departed noiselessly. + +"Fear nothing," said the painter to the officer. "Mademoiselle is the +daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di Piombo." + +The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra's patriotism as soon +as he saw her. + +"You are wounded," she said. + +"Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle," he replied; "the wound is healing." + +Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came +up from the street: "Condemned to death!" They all trembled, and the +soldier was the first to hear a name that turned him pale. + +"Labedoyere!" he cried, falling on a stool. + +They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid +forehead of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in one +hand with a gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra's easel. + +"After all," he said, rising abruptly, "Labedoyere and I knew what we +were doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from +triumph or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding myself!" + +He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra +reached it, and barred his way. + +"Can you restore the Emperor?" she said. "Do you expect to raise that +giant who could not maintain himself?" + +"But what can I do?" said the young man, addressing the two friends whom +chance had sent to him. "I have not a relation in the world. Labedoyere +was my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. To-morrow I +myself may be condemned; my only fortune was my pay. I spent my last +penny to come here and try to snatch Labedoyere from his fate; death +is, therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides to die he ought +to know how to sell his life to the executioner. I was thinking just now +that the life of an honest man is worth that of two traitors, and the +blow of a dagger well placed may give immortality." + +This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even Ginevra, whose own +nature comprehended that of the young man. She admired his handsome face +and his delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely lessened +by its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, she poured a balm upon the +wounds of the unfortunate man:-- + +"Monsieur," she said, "as for your pecuniary distress, permit me to +offer you my savings. My father is rich; I am his only child; he loves +me, and I am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting +my offer; our property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a +penny that is not the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude +to him to assist his faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as +indifferently as I offer them. It is only money!" she added, in a tone +of contempt. "Now, as for friends,--those you shall have." + +She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling +brilliancy. + +"The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save yours," +she went on. "Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape and take +service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here; or in the +French army, if you are." + +In the comfort that women give there is always a delicacy which has +something maternal, foreseeing, and complete about it. But when +the words of hope and peace are said with grace of gesture and that +eloquence of tone which comes from the heart, and when, above all, the +benefactress is beautiful, a young man does not resist. The prisoner +breathed in love through all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his white +cheeks; his eyes lost something of the sadness that dulled them, and he +said, in a peculiar tone of voice:-- + +"You are an angle of goodness--But Labedoyere!" he added. "Oh, +Labedoyere!" + +At this cry they all three looked at one another in silence, each +comprehending the others' thoughts. No longer friends of twenty minutes +only, they were friends of twenty years. + +"Dear friend," said Servin, "can you save him?" + +"I can avenge him." + +Ginevra quivered. Though the stranger was handsome, his appearance had +not influenced her; the soft pity in a woman's heart for miseries that +are not ignoble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to hear +a cry of vengeance, to find in that proscribed being an Italian soul, +devotion to Napoleon, Corsican generosity!--ah! that was, indeed, too +much for her. She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion which +shook his heart. For the first time in her life a man had caused her a +keen emotion. She now, like other women, put the soul of the stranger on +a par with the noble beauty of his features and the happy proportions of +his figure, which she admired as an artist. Led by accidental curiosity +to pity, from pity to a powerful interest, she came, through that +interest, to such profound sensations that she felt she was in danger if +she stayed there longer. + +"Until to-morrow, then," she said, giving the officer a gentle smile by +way of a parting consolation. + +Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Ginevra's features, the +stranger forgot all else for an instant. + +"To-morrow," he said, sadly; "but to-morrow, Labedoyere--" + +Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked at him, as if to +say: "Be calm, be prudent." + +And the young man cried out in his own language: + +"Ah! Dio! che non vorrei vivere dopo averla veduta?--who would not wish +to live after seeing her?" + +The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the words made Ginevra +quiver. + +"Are you Corsican?" she cried, returning toward him with a beating +heart. + +"I was born in Corsica," he replied; "but I was brought, while very +young, to Genoa, and as soon as I was old enough for military service I +enlisted." + +The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent to him by his +attachment to the Emperor, his wound, his misfortunes, his danger, +all disappeared to Ginevra's mind, or, rather, all were blended in one +sentiment,--a new and delightful sentiment. This persecuted man was +a child of Corsica; he spoke its cherished language! She stood, for a +moment, motionless; held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a +living picture, to which all human sentiments, united by chance, gave +vivid colors. By Servin's invitation, the officer had seated himself on +a divan, and the painter, after removing the sling which supported the +arm of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order to dress the wound. +Ginevra shuddered when she saw the long, broad gash made by the blade of +a sabre on the young man's forearm, and a moan escaped her. The stranger +raised his head and smiled to her. There was something touching which +went to the soul, in the care with which Servin lifted the lint and +touched the lacerated flesh, while the face of the wounded man, though +pale and sickly, expressed, as he looked at the girl, more pleasure than +suffering. An artist would have admired, involuntarily, this opposition +of sentiments, together with the contrasts produced by the whiteness of +the linen and the bared arm to the red and blue uniform of the officer. + +At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio; but a parting ray +of the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated the spot where the soldier +sat, so that his noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his clothes +were bathed in its glow. The effect was simple enough, but to the girl's +Italian imagination it was a happy omen. The stranger seemed to her a +celestial messenger, speaking the language of her own country. He thus +unconsciously put her under the spell of childhood's memories, while +in her heart there dawned another feeling as fresh, as pure as her +own innocence. For a short, very short moment, she was motionless +and dreamy, as though she were plunged in boundless thought. Then she +blushed at having allowed her absorption to be noticed, exchanged one +soft and rapid glance with the wounded man, and fled with the vision of +him still before her eyes. + +The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came to the studio, and +the prisoner was free to sit beside her easel. Servin, who had a sketch +to finish, played the part of mentor to the two young people, who talked +to each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the sufferings of +the retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, he had made +the passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man left of +his regiment. He described, in words of fire, the great disaster of +Waterloo. His voice was music itself to the Italian girl. Brought up as +a Corsican, Ginevra was, in some sense, a child of Nature; falseness +was a thing unknown to her; she gave herself up without reserve to her +impressions; she acknowledged them, or, rather, allowed them to be +seen without the affectations of petty and calculating coquetry, +characteristic of Parisian girlhood. During this day she sat more than +once with her palette in one hand, her brushes in another, without +touching a color. With her eyes fastened on the officer, and her lips +slightly apart, she listened, in the attitude of painting a stroke which +was never painted. She was not surprised to see such softness in the +eyes of the young man, for she felt that her own were soft in spite +of her will to keep them stern and calm. After periods like this she +painted diligently, without raising her head, for he was there, near +her, watching her work. The first time he sat down beside her to +contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of some emotion, after a +long pause:-- + +"Does it amuse you to see me paint?" + +That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it was +agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see each +other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to inform him +by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon. + +The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the +class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, +a young man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed +himself in the garret beyond the studio. + +"You, who take her part," she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, "watch her +carefully, and you will see how she spends her time." + +Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They +listened to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she +supposed that no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively +upon her. Thus enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly +the emotions that crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,--her +gestures, the peculiar tones in which she hummed a tune, and the +attention with which they saw her listen to sounds which only she could +hear through the partition. + +By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Servin's fifteen pupils +who had resisted the temptation of looking at Luigi through the crevice +of the partition; and she, through an instinct of weakness, still +defended her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin endeavored to make +her wait on the staircase after the class dispersed, that she might +prove to her the intimacy of Ginevra and the young man by entering the +studio and surprising them together. But Laure refused to condescend to +an act of espial which no curiosity could justify, and she consequently +became the object of much reprobation. + +Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that she thought it improper +to attend the classes of a painter whose opinions were tainted with +patriotism and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were synonymous), +and she ceased her attendance at the studio. But, although she herself +forgot Ginevra, the harm she had planted bore fruit. Little by little, +the other young girls revealed to their mothers the strange events which +were happening at the studio. One day Matilde Roguin did not come; the +next day another girl was missing, and so on, till the last three or +four who were left came no more. Ginevra and Laure, her little friend, +were the sole occupants of the deserted studio for three or four days. + +Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the cause of her +companions' absence. As soon as she had invented means of communication +with Luigi she lived in the studio in a delightful solitude, alone +amid her own world, thinking only of the officer and the dangers that +threatened him. Though a sincere admirer of noble characters that never +betray their political faiths, she nevertheless urged Luigi to submit +himself to the royal authority, that he might be released from his +present life and remain in France. But to this he would not consent. +If passions are born and nourished, as they say, under the influence of +romantic causes, never did so many circumstances of that kind concur in +uniting two young souls by one and the same sentiment. The friendship of +Ginevra for Luigi and that of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress in a +month than a friendship in society would make in ten years. Adversity +is the touchstone of character. Ginevra was able, therefore, to study +Luigi, to know him; and before long they mutually esteemed each other. +The girl, who was older than Luigi, found a charm in being courted by +a youth already so grand, so tried by fate,--a youth who joined to the +experience of a man the graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his side, felt +an unspeakable pleasure in allowing himself to be apparently protected +by a woman, now twenty-five years of age. Was it not a proof of love? +The union of gentleness and pride, strength and weakness in Ginevra +were, to him, irresistible attractions, and he was utterly subjugated +by her. In short, before long, they loved each other so profoundly +that they felt no need of denying to each other their love, nor yet of +telling it. + +One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accustomed signal. Luigi +scratched with a pin on the woodwork in a manner that produced no more +noise than a spider might make as he fastened his thread. The signal +meant that he wished to come out of his retreat. + +Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing Laure, opened the +door; but as she did so Luigi caught sight of the little pupil and +abruptly retired. Surprised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw +Laure, and said, as she went up to the girl's easel:-- + +"You are staying late, my dear. That head seems to me finished; you only +want a high-light,--see! on that knot of hair." + +"You would do me a great kindness," said Laure, in a trembling voice, +"if you would give this copy a few touches; for then I could carry away +with me something to remind me of you." + +"Willingly," said Ginevra, painting a few strokes on the picture. "But I +thought it was a long way from your home to the studio, and it is late." + +"Oh! Ginevra, I am going away, never to return," cried the poor girl, +sadly. + +"You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!" exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, +however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. + +"Haven't you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have +been alone in the studio?" + +"True," said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection. "Are all +those young ladies ill, or going to be married, or are their fathers on +duty at court?" + +"They have left Monsieur Servin," replied Laure. + +"Why?" + +"On your account, Ginevra." + +"My account!" repeated the Corsican, springing up, with a threatening +brow and her eyes flashing. + +"Oh! don't be angry, my kind Ginevra," cried Laure, in deep distress. +"My mother insists on my leaving the studio. The young ladies say that +you have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows the young man +whom you love to stay in the dark attic. I have never believed these +calumnies nor said a word to my mother about them. But last night Madame +Roguin met her at a ball and asked her if she still sent me here. When +my mother answered yes, Madame Roguin told her the falsehoods of those +young ladies. Mamma scolded me severely; she said I must have known +it all, and that I had failed in proper confidence between mother and +daughter by not telling her. Oh! my dear Ginevra! I, who took you for my +model, oh! how grieved I am that I can't be your companion any longer." + +"We shall meet again in life; girls marry--" said Ginevra. + +"When they are rich," signed Laure. + +"Come and see me; my father has a fortune--" + +"Ginevra," continued Laure, tenderly. "Madame Roguin and my mother are +coming to see Monsieur Servin to-morrow and reproach him; hadn't you +better warn him." + +A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra's feet could not have astonished her +more than this revelation. + +"What matter is it to them?" she asked, naively. + +"Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral." + +"And you, Laure, what do you say?" + +The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure +could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend's +breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. + +"Mademoiselle Ginevra," he cried, with enthusiasm, "I have finished my +picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, meanwhile? +Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or are they in +the country?" + +Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away. + +"The studio has been deserted for some days," replied Ginevra, "and the +young ladies are not coming back." + +"Pooh!" + +"Oh! don't laugh," said Ginevra. "Listen: I am the involuntary cause of +the loss of your reputation--" + +The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his pupil:-- + +"My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture will make it at the +Exposition." + +"That relates to your talent," replied the girl. "I am speaking of your +morality. Those young ladies have told their mothers that Luigi was shut +up here, and that you lent yourself--to--our love." + +"There is some truth in that, mademoiselle," replied the professor. +"The mothers of those young ladies are foolish women; if they had come +straight to me I should have explained the matter. But I don't care a +straw about it! Life is short, anyhow." + +And the painter snapped his fingers above his head. Luigi, who had heard +part of the conversation, came in. + +"You have lost all your scholars," he cried. "I have ruined you!" + +The artist took Luigi's hand and that of Ginevra, and joined them. + +"Marry one another, my children," he said, with fatherly kindness. + +They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was the first avowal +they had made to each other of their love. + +"You will surely be happy," said Servin. "There is nothing in life to +equal the happiness of two beings like yourselves when bound together in +love." + +Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at first being able to +utter a word; but presently he said, in a voice of emotion:-- + +"To you I owe it all." + +"Be happy! I bless and wed you," said the painter, with comic unction, +laying his hands upon the heads of the lovers. + +This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. All three looked +at one another and laughed merrily. Ginevra pressed Luigi's hand in a +strong clasp, with a simplicity of action worthy of the customs of her +native land. + +"Ah ca, my dear children," resumed Servin, "you think that all will go +right now, but you are much mistaken." + +The lovers looked at him in astonishment. + +"Don't be anxious. I'm the only one that your romance will harm. But the +fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don't really see +how we are to settle it with her." + +"Heavens! and I forgot to tell you," exclaimed Ginevra, "that Madame +Roguin and Laure's mother are coming here to-morrow to--" + +"I understand," said the painter. + +"But you can easily justify yourself," continued the girl, with a proud +movement of her head. "Monsieur Luigi," she added, turning to him with +an arch look, "will no longer object to entering the royal service. +Well, then," after receiving a smile from the young man, "to-morrow +morning I will send a petition to one of the most influential persons at +the ministry of War,--a man who will refuse nothing to the daughter of +the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a 'tacit' pardon for Captain Luigi, +for, of course, they will not allow him the rank of major. And then," +she added, addressing Servin, "you can confound the mothers of my +charitable companions by telling them the truth." + +"You are an angel!" cried Servin. + +While this scene was passing at the studio the father and mother of +Ginevra were becoming impatient at her non-return. + +"It is six o'clock, and Ginevra not yet home!" cried Bartolomeo. + +"She was never so late before," said his wife. + +The two old people looked at each other with an anxiety that was not +usual with them. Too anxious to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose +and walked about the salon with an active step for a man who was over +seventy-seven years of age. Thanks to his robust constitution, he had +changed but little since the day of his arrival in Paris, and, despite +his tall figure, he walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left +uncovered a broad and protuberant skull, which gave a strong idea of his +character and firmness. His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had taken, +with age, a nobler expression, preserving the pallid tones which inspire +veneration. The ardor of passions still lived in the fire of his eyes, +while the eyebrows, which were not wholly whitened, retained their +terrible mobility. The aspect of the head was stern, but it conveyed +the impression that Piombo had a right to be so. His kindness, his +gentleness were known only to his wife and daughter. In his functions, +or in presence of strangers, he never laid aside the majesty that time +had impressed upon his person; and the habit of frowning with his heavy +eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his face, and giving to his eyes a +Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of accosting others icy. + +During the course of his political life he had been so generally feared +that he was thought unsocial, and it is not difficult to explain the +causes of that opinion. The life, morals, and fidelity of Piombo made +him obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that delicate +missions were constantly intrusted to his discretion which to any other +man about the court would have proved lucrative, he possessed an income +of not more than thirty thousand francs from an investment in the Grand +Livre. If we recall the cheapness of government securities under the +Empire, and the liberality of Napoleon towards those of his faithful +servants who knew how to ask for it, we can readily see that the Baron +di Piombo must have been a man of stern integrity. He owed his plumage +as baron to the necessity Napoleon felt of giving him a title before +sending him on missions to foreign courts. + +Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the traitors with whom +Napoleon surrounded himself, expecting to bind them to his cause by dint +of victories. It was he of whom it is told that he made three steps to +the door of the Emperor's cabinet after advising him to get rid of three +men in France on the eve of Napoleon's departure for his celebrated +and admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of the Bourbons +Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of honor. No man +offered a finer image of those old Republicans, incorruptible friends +to the Empire, who remained the living relics of the two most energetic +governments the world has ever seen. Though the Baron di Piombo +displeased mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, and Carnots with +him as friends. As for the rest of the politicians, he cared not a whiff +of his cigar's smoke for them, especially since Waterloo. + +Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which Madame +Mere, the Emperor's mother, had paid him for his estates in Corsica, the +old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had made no changes. +Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he did not occupy this +house until after the catastrophe of Fontainebleau. Following the habits +of simple persons of strict virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed +to external splendor; their furniture was that which they bought with +the mansion. The grand apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide +mirrors in gilded frames that were almost black, the furniture of the +period of Louis XIV. were in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, +personages worthy of antiquity. + +Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising +functions that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had maintained +a great establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor to his office +than from any desire to shine himself. His life and that of his wife +were so frugal, so tranquil, that their modest fortune sufficed for all +their wants. To them, their daughter Ginevra was more precious than the +wealth of the whole world. When, therefore, in May, 1814, the Baron di +Piombo resigned his office, dismissed his crowd of servants, and closed +his stable door, Ginevra, quiet, simple and unpretending like her +parents, saw nothing to regret in the change. Like all great souls, she +found her luxury in strength of feeling, and derived her happiness from +quietness and work. These three beings loved each other too well for the +externals of existence to be of value in their eyes. + +Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon, +Bartolomeo and his wife passed delightful evenings alone with their +daughter, listening while she sang and played. To them there was a vast +secret pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that child; +their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; they heard her step in the +court-yard, lightly as she trod. Like lovers, the three would often +sit silently together, understanding thus, better than by speech, the +eloquence of their souls. This profound sentiment, the life itself of +the two old people, animated their every thought. Here were not three +existences, but one,--one only, which, like the flame on the hearth, +divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, occasionally, some memory +of Napoleon's benefits and misfortunes, if the public events of the +moment distracted the minds of the old people from this source of their +constant solicitude, they could always talk of those interests without +affecting their community of thought, for Ginevra shared their political +passions. What more natural, therefore, than the ardor with which they +found a refuge in the heart of their only child? + +Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed the energy of the +Baron di Piombo; but after leaving those employments he felt the need of +casting that energy into the last sentiment that remained to him. Apart +from the ties of parentage, there may have been, unknown to these three +despotic souls, another powerful reason for the intensity of their +reciprocal love: it was love undivided. Ginevra's whole heart belonged +to her father, as Piombo's whole heart belonged to his child; and if it +be true that we are bound to one another more by our defects than by +our virtues, Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the passions of her +father. There lay the sole imperfection of this triple life. Ginevra was +born unyielding of will, vindictive, and passionate, like her father in +his youth. + +The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these savage sentiments in +the heart of his daughter, precisely as a lion teaches the lion-cubs to +spring upon their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance having +no means of action in their family life, it came to pass that Ginevra +turned the principle against her father; as a child she forgave him +nothing, and he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more than +childish nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the child was +all the while acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. In the midst, +however, of the tempests which the father was fond of exciting, a look, +a word of tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls, and often +they were never so near to a kiss as when they were threatening each +other vehemently. + +Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her +father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love +which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got +the better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had +resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother on +the footing of an equality which is always dangerous. + +Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to +study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had +studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,--taking up and +leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had +proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble woman +had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of enlightening her +mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature; her defects came +from the fatal education which the old Corsican had found delight in +giving her. + +After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the bell; +a servant entered. + +"Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra," said his master. + +"I always regret our carriage on her account," remarked the baroness. + +"She said she did not want one," replied Piombo, looking at his wife, +who, accustomed for forty years to habits of obedience, lowered her eyes +and said no more. + +Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and wrinkled, the +baroness exactly resembled those old women whom Schnetz puts into the +Italian scenes of his "genre" pictures. She was so habitually +silent that she might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; but, +occasionally, a word, look, or gesture betrayed that her feelings still +retained all the vigor and the freshness of their youth. Her dress, +devoid of coquetry, was often in bad taste. She usually sat passive, +buried in a low sofa, like a Sultana Valide, awaiting or admiring her +Ginevra, her pride, her life. The beauty, toilet, and grace of her +daughter seemed to have become her own. All was well with her if Ginevra +was happy. Her hair was white, and a few strands only were seen above +her white and wrinkled forehead, or beside her hollow cheeks. + +"It is now fifteen days," she said, "since Ginevra made a practice of +being late." + +"Jean is so slow!" cried the impatient old man, buttoning up his blue +coat and seizing his hat, which he dashed upon his head as he took his +cane and departed. + +"You will not get far," said his wife, calling after him. + +As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, and the old mother +heard the steps of her Ginevra in the court-yard. Bartolomeo almost +instantly reappeared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in his arms. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. LOVE + + +"Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!" +cried the old man. + +"Oh, father, you hurt me!" + +Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her +head with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her +cry, as if to say, "Don't be alarmed, it was only a trick to get away." + +The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even +assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,--with him +the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he +saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers who +served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of his +face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. +These two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of a +drooping plant to which a little water has given fresh life after long +dryness. + +"Now, to dinner! to dinner!" cried the baron, offering his large hand to +his daughter, whom he called "Signora Piombellina,"--another symptom of +gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile. + +"Ah ca!" said Piombo, as they left the table, "your mother has called +my attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much longer +than usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you than +your parents--" + +"Oh, father!" + +"Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think," said the mother. + +"A picture of your own! will you bring us that?" cried the Corsican, +clapping his hands. + +"Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio," replied Ginevra, rather +slowly. + +"What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!" cried her mother. + +"No!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,--"no! it shall +never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie." + +Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their +daughter in astonishment. + +"I love a young man," she added, in a voice of emotion. + +Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large +eyelids as if to veil the fire of her eyes. + +"Is he a prince?" asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice which +made the mother quail. + +"No, father," she said, gently, "he is a young man without fortune." + +"Is he very handsome?" + +"He is very unfortunate." + +"What is he?" + +"Labedoyere's comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin +concealed him, and--" + +"Servin is a good fellow, who has done well," cried Piombo; "but you, my +daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father." + +"It does not depend on me to love, or not to love," replied Ginevra, +still gently. + +"I flattered myself," continued her father, "that my Ginevra would be +faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother +would suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness would +find a rival in her soul, and--" + +"Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?" said +Ginevra. "Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me +for months together when you went on missions. I bore your absence +courageously. Life has necessities to which we must all submit." + +"Ginevra!" + +"No, you don't love me for myself; your reproaches betray your +intolerable egotism." + +"You dare to blame your father's love!" exclaimed Piombo, his eyes +flashing. + +"Father, I don't blame you," replied Ginevra, with more gentleness than +her trembling mother expected. "You have grounds for your egotism, as I +have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has ever fulfilled +her duty to her parents better than I have done to you. I have never +felt anything but love and happiness where others often see obligation. +It is now fifteen years that I have never left your protecting wing, +and it has been a most dear pleasure to me to charm your life. But am I +ungrateful for all this in giving myself up to the joy of loving; is it +ingratitude to desire a husband who will protect me hereafter?" + +"What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?" said Piombo, +in a dangerous tone. + +A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. +Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending +tone:-- + +"Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot +have you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await your +liberty." + +"But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to +love you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath me. +You will be doubly cherished by me and by him,--by him who is my other +self, by me who am all his." + +"Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!" cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; "why +did you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did +you not take the counts and dukes he presented to you?" + +"They loved me to order," said the girl. "Besides, they would have made +me live with them, and I did not wish to leave you alone." + +"You don't wish to leave me alone," said Piombo, "and yet you +marry!--that is leaving me alone. I know you, my daughter; in that case, +you would cease to love us. Elisa," he added, looking at his wife, who +remained motionless, and as if stupefied, "we have no longer a daughter; +she wishes to marry." + +The old man sat down, after raising his hands to heaven with a gesture +of invoking the Divine power; then he bowed himself over as if weighed +down with sorrow. + +Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which he put upon his +anger touched her to the heart; she expected some violent crisis, +some ungovernable fury; she had not armed her soul against paternal +gentleness. + +"Father," she said, in a tender voice, "no, you shall never be abandoned +by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If you know how +he loves me! Ah! _He_ would never make me unhappy!" + +"Comparisons already!" cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. "No, I can +never endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve +to be loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a +dagger through him." + +The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body trembled, +but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to endure his +glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was worthy of the +sire. + +"Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?" continued Piombo. +"To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there worthy to be +your husband?" + +"_He_," said Ginevra; "he of whom I am not worthy." + +"He?" repeated Piombo, mechanically; "who is _he_?" + +"He whom I love." + +"How can he know you enough to love you?" + +"Father," said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, "whether he loves +me or not, if I love him--" + +"You love him?" cried Piombo. + +Ginevra bent her head softly. + +"You love him more than you love us?" + +"The two feelings cannot be compared," she replied. + +"Is one stronger than the other?" + +"I think it is," said Ginevra. + +"You shall not marry him," cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the +window-panes. + +"I shall marry him," replied Ginevra, tranquilly. + +"Oh, God!" cried the mother, "how will this quarrel end? Santa Virgina! +place thyself between them!" + +The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated +himself; an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his +daughter, and said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,-- + +"Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night--let +me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his knees, his +white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you--" + +"Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it," she replied. "I am +your daughter." + +"She is right," said the baroness. "We are sent into the world to +marry." + +"Do you encourage her in disobedience?" said the baron to his wife, who, +terrified by the word, now changed to marble. + +"Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedience," said Ginevra. + +"No order can be unjust from the lips of your father, my daughter. Why +do you judge my action? The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on +high, sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil." + +"The only evil could be that he did not love me." + +"Always _he_!" + +"Yes, always," she answered. "He is my life, my good, my thought. Even +if I obeyed you he would be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him +is to make me hate you." + +"You love us not!" cried Piombo. + +"Oh!" said Ginevra, shaking her head. + +"Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After we are gone--you +understand?" + +"Father, do you wish me to long for your death?" cried Ginevra. + +"I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor their parents die +early," said the father, driven to exasperation. + +"All the more reason why I should marry and be happy," she replied. + +This coolness and power of argument increased Piombo's trouble; the +blood rushed violently to his head, and his face turned purple. Ginevra +shuddered; she sprang like a bird on her father's knee, threw her arms +around his neck, and caressed his white hair, exclaiming, tenderly:-- + +"Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never survive you, my father, +my kind father!" + +"Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!" replied Piombo, whose anger melted +under this caress like snow beneath the rays of the sun. + +"It was time you ceased," said the baroness, in a trembling voice. + +"Poor mother!" + +"Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra!" + +And the father played with his daughter as though she were a child of +six. He amused himself by releasing the waving volume of her hair, +by dandling her on his knee; there was something of madness in these +expressions of his love. Presently his daughter scolded while kissing +him, and tried, by jesting, to obtain admission for Luigi; but her +father, also jesting, refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once +more, and sulked again, until, by the end of the evening, she was forced +to be content with having impressed upon her father's mind both her love +for Luigi and the idea of an approaching marriage. + +The next day she said no more about her love; she was more caressing to +her father than she had ever been, and testified the utmost gratitude, +as if to thank him for the consent he seemed to have given by his +silence. That evening she sang and played to him for a long time, +exclaiming now and then: "We want a man's voice for this nocturne." +Ginevra was an Italian, and that says all. + +At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She went; and Elisa +Piombo whispered in her ear:-- + +"I have persuaded your father to receive him." + +"Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!" + +That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on the arm of her Luigi. +The officer came out of his hiding-place for the second time only. The +earnest appeals which Ginevra made to the Duc de Feltre, then minister +of war, had been crowned with complete success. Luigi's name was +replaced upon the roll of officers awaiting orders. This was the first +great step toward better things. Warned by Ginevra of the difficulties +he would encounter with her father, the young man dared not express his +fear of finding it impossible to please the old man. Courageous under +adversity, brave on a battlefield, he trembled at the thought of +entering Piombo's salon. Ginevra felt him tremble, and this emotion, the +source of which lay in her, was, to her eyes, another proof of love. + +"How pale you are!" she said to him when they reached the door of the +house. + +"Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only!--" + +Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of the formal +presentation Ginevra was to make of her lover, he would not advance to +meet him, but remained seated in his usual arm-chair, and the sternness +of his brow was awful. + +"Father," said Ginevra, "I bring you a person you will no doubt +be pleased to see,--a soldier who fought beside the Emperor at +Mont-Saint-Jean." + +The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance at Luigi, and said, in a sardonic +tone:-- + +"Monsieur is not decorated." + +"I no longer wear the Legion of honor," replied Luigi, timidly, still +standing. + +Ginevra, mortified by her father's incivility, dragged forward a chair. +The officer's answer seemed to satisfy the old servant of Napoleon. +Madame Piombo, observing that her husband's eyebrows were resuming their +natural position, said, by way of conversation: + +"Monsieur's resemblance to a person we knew in Corsica, Nina Porta, is +really surprising." + +"Nothing could be more natural," replied the young man, on whose face +Piombo's flaming eyes now rested. "Nina was my sister." + +"Are you Luigi Porta?" asked the old man. + +"Yes." + +Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against a chair and +beckon to his wife. Elisa Piombo came to him. Then the two old people, +silently, each supporting the other, left the room, abandoning their +daughter with a sort of horror. + +Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had turned as white as a +marble statue, and stood gazing at the door through which her father and +mother had disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed to her +so solemn that, for the first time, in her whole life, a feeling of fear +entered her soul. She struck her hands together with great force, and +said, in a voice so shaken that none but a lover could have heard the +words:-- + +"What misery in a word!" + +"In the name of our love, what have I said?" asked Luigi Porta. + +"My father," she replied, "never spoke to me of our deplorable history, +and I was too young when we left Corsica to know anything about it." + +"Are we in vendetta?" asked Luigi, trembling. + +"Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas killed my brother and +burned our house. My father then massacred the whole family. How is it +that you survived?--for you were tied to the posts of the bed before +they set fire to the house." + +"I do not know," replied Luigi. "I was taken to Genoa when six years +old, and given in charge of an old man named Colonna. No detail about +my family was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, and without +property. Old Colonna was a father to me; and I bore his name until I +entered the army. In order to do that, I had to show my certificate of +birth in order to prove my identity. Colonna then told me, still a +mere child, that I had enemies. And he advised me to take Luigi as my +surname, and so evade them." + +"Go, go, Luigi!" cried Ginevra. "No, stay; I must go with you. So long +as you are in my father's house you have nothing to fear; but the moment +you leave it, take care! you will go from danger to danger. My father +has two Corsicans in his service, and if he does not lie in wait to kill +you, they will." + +"Ginevra," he said, "this feud, does it exist between you and me?" + +The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presently she raised it, and +said, with a sort of pride:-- + +"Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, indeed, to give me +strength to tread the path I am about to enter. But it involves a +happiness that will last throughout our lives, will it not?" + +Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. + +Ginevra comprehended that true love could despise all vulgar +protestations at such a moment. This calm and restrained expression +of his feelings foreshadowed, in some sense, their strength and their +duration. + +The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. Ginevra foresaw a +cruel struggle, but the idea of abandoning Luigi--an idea which may have +floated in her soul--vanished completely. His forever, she dragged him +suddenly, with a desperate sort of energy, from her father's house, +and did not leave him till she saw him reach the house where Servin had +engaged a modest lodging. + +By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained to that serenity +which is caused by a firm resolution; no sign in her manner betrayed +uneasiness. She turned on her father and mother, whom she found in the +act of sitting down to dinner, a glance of exceeding gentleness devoid +of hardihood. She saw that her mother had been weeping; the redness of +those withered eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emotion. No one +touched the dinner which was served to them. A horror of food is one of +the chief symptoms which reveal a great crisis in life. All three rose +from table without having addressed a single word to one another. + +When Ginevra had placed herself between her father and mother in the +great and gloomy salon, Piombo tried to speak, but his voice failed him; +he tried to walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned to his +seat and rang the bell. + +"Pietro," he said, at last, to the footman, "light the fire; I am cold." + +Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anxiously. The struggle +within him must have been horrible, for his face was distorted. Ginevra +knew the extent of the peril before her, but she did not flinch. +Bartolomeo, meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his daughter, as if he +feared a character whose violence was the work of his own hands. + +Between such natures all things must be extreme. The certainty of some +impending change in the feelings of father and daughter gave to the worn +and weary face of the baroness an expression of terror. + +"Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family," said Piombo, at last, not +daring to look at his daughter. + +"That is true," she replied. + +"You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a part of our being. Whoso +does not share my vengeance is not a member of my family." + +"My choice is made," replied Ginevra, calmly. + +His daughter's tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. + +"Oh! my dear child!" he cried, letting her see his eyes moistened with +tears, the first and only tears he ever shed in life. + +"I shall be his wife," said Ginevra, abruptly. + +Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he recovered his coolness +instantly, and replied:-- + +"The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I will never consent +to it." + +Ginevra kept silence. + +"Ginevra," continued the baron, "have you reflected that Luigi is the +son of the man who killed your brother?" + +"He was six years old when that crime was committed; he was, therefore, +not guilty of it," she replied. + +"He is a Porta!" cried Bartolomeo. + +"I have never shared that hatred," said Ginevra, eagerly. "You did not +bring me up to think a Porta must be a monster. How could I know that +one of those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is it not natural +that you should now yield your vendetta to my feelings?" + +"A Porta!" repeated Piombo. "If his father had found you in your bed you +would not be living now; he would have taken your life a hundred times." + +"It may be so," she answered; "but his son has given me life, and more +than life. To see Luigi is a happiness without which I cannot live. +Luigi has revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, perhaps, have +seen faces more beautiful than his, but none has ever charmed me thus; +I may have heard voices--no, no, never any so melodious! Luigi loves me; +he will be my husband." + +"Never," said Piombo. "I would rather see you in your coffin, Ginevra." + +The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and down the salon, +dropping the following sentences, one by one, after pauses which +betrayed his agitation. + +"You think you can bend my will. Undeceive yourself. A Porta shall never +be my son; that is my decree. Let there be no further question of this +between us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, Ginevra?" + +"Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those words?" she asked, +coldly. + +"They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not fear man's justice. +Corsicans explain themselves to God." + +"And I," said the daughter, rising, "am Ginevra Piombo, and I declare +that within six months I shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a +tyrant, my father," she added, after a terrifying pause. + +Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on the marble of the +chimneypiece. + +"Ah! we are in Paris!" he muttered. + +Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head on his breast, and +said not another word during the whole evening. + +After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra affected inconceivable +coolness. She opened the piano and sang, played charming nocturnes and +scherzos with a grace and sentiment which displayed a perfect freedom +of mind, thus triumphing over her father, whose darkling face showed +no softening. The old man was cruelly hurt by this tacit insult; he +gathered in this one moment the bitter fruits of the training he had +given to his daughter. Respect is a barrier which protects parents as it +does children, sparing grief to the former, remorse to the latter. + +The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the house at the hour when +she usually went to the studio, she found the gates of the mansion +closed to her. She said nothing, but soon found means to inform Luigi +Porta of her father's severity. A chambermaid, who could neither read +nor write, was able to carry letters between the lovers. For five days +they corresponded thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of the youth. + +The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. Both were nursing in +the depths of their heart a sentiment of hatred; they suffered, but they +suffered proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong were the ties +of love which bound them to each other, they each tried to break them, +but without success. No gentle thought came, as formerly, to brighten +the stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his Ginevra. The girl +had something savage in her eye when she looked at her father; reproach +sat enthroned on that innocent brow; she gave herself up, it is true, to +happy thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse seemed to dull her eyes. It +was not difficult to believe that she could never enjoy, peacefully, any +happiness which caused sorrow to her parents. + +With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesitations of this period +caused by the native goodness of their souls were, nevertheless, +compelled to give way before their pride and the rancor of their +Corsican nature. They encouraged each other in their anger, and closed +their eyes to the future. Perhaps they mutually flattered themselves +that the one would yield to the other. + +At last, on Ginevra's birthday, her mother, in despair at the +estrangement which, day by day, assumed a more serious character, +meditated an attempt to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of +the memories of this family anniversary. They were all three sitting in +Bartolomeo's study. Ginevra guessed her mother's intention by the timid +hesitation on her face, and she smiled sadly. + +At this moment a servant announced two notaries, accompanied by +witnesses. Bartolomeo looked fixedly at these persons, whose cold and +formal faces were grating to souls so passionately strained as those of +the three chief actors in this scene. The old man turned to his daughter +and looked at her uneasily. He saw upon her face a smile of triumph +which made him expect some shock; but, after the manner of savages, +he affected to maintain a deceitful indifference as he gazed at the +notaries with an assumed air of calm curiosity. The strangers sat down, +after being invited to do so by a gesture of the old man. + +"Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?" began the oldest of the +notaries. + +Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight inclination of the head, +looked at Ginevra with a sly expression, took out his snuff-box, opened +it, and slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words with which +to open his errand; then, while uttering them, he made continual pauses +(an oratorical manoeuvre very imperfectly represented by the printer's +dash--). + +"Monsieur," he said, "I am Monsieur Roguin, your daughter's notary, +and we have come--my colleague and I--to fulfil the intentions +of the law and--put an end to the divisions which--appear--to +exist--between yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter,--on the +subject--of--her--marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta." + +This speech, pedantically delivered, probably seemed to Monsieur Roguin +so fine that his hearer could not at once understand it. He paused, and +looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of the mere business +lawyer, a mixture of servility with familiarity. Accustomed to feign +much interest in the persons with whom they deal, notaries have at last +produced upon their features a grimace of their own, which they take +on and off as an official "pallium." This mask of benevolence, the +mechanism of which is so easy to perceive, irritated Bartolomeo to such +an extent that he was forced to collect all the powers of his reason +to prevent him from throwing Monsieur Roguin through the window. An +expression of anger ran through his wrinkles, which caused the notary to +think to himself: "I've produced an effect." + +"But," he continued, in a honeyed tone, "Monsieur le baron, on such +occasions our duties are preceded by--efforts at--conciliation--Deign, +therefore, to have the goodness to listen to me--It is in evidence that +Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo--attains this very day--the age at which +the law allows a respectful summons before proceeding to the celebration +of a marriage--in spite of the non-consent of the parents. Now--it is +usual in families--who enjoy a certain consideration--who belong to +society--who preserve some dignity--to whom, in short, it is desirable +not to let the public into the secret of their differences--and who, +moreover, do not wish to injure themselves by blasting with reprobation +the future of a young couple (for--that is injuring themselves), it +is usual, I say--among these honorable families--not to allow these +summonses--to take place--or remain--a monument to--divisions which +should end--by ceasing--Whenever, monsieur, a young lady has recourse to +respectful summons, she exhibits a determination too marked to allow +of a father--of a mother," here he turned to the baroness, "hoping or +expecting that she will follow their wishes--Paternal resistance being +null--by reason of this fact--in the first place--and also from its +being nullified by law, it is customary--for every sensible man--after +making a final remonstrance to his child--and before she proceeds to the +respectful summons--to leave her at liberty to--" + +Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might talk on for two hours +without obtaining any answer; he felt, moreover, a singular emotion at +the aspect of the man he was attempting to convert. An extraordinary +revolution had taken place on Piombo's face; his wrinkles, contracting +into narrow lines, gave him a look of indescribable cruelty, and he +cast upon the notary the glance of a tiger. The baroness was mute and +passive. Ginevra, calm and resolute, waited silently; she knew that the +notary's voice was more potent than hers, and she seemed to have decided +to say nothing. At the moment when Roguin ceased speaking, the scene had +become so terrifying that the men who were there as witnesses trembled; +never, perhaps, had they known so awful a silence. The notaries looked +at each other, as if in consultation, and finally rose and walked to the +window. + +"Did you ever meet people born into the world like that?" asked Roguin +of his brother notary. + +"You can't get anything out of him," replied the younger man. "In +your place, I should simply read the summons. That old fellow isn't a +comfortable person; he is furious, and you'll gain nothing whatever by +arguing with him." + +Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, containing the "respectful +summons," prepared for the occasion; after which he proceeded to ask +Bartolomeo what answer he made to it. + +"Are there laws in France which destroy paternal authority?--" demanded +the Corsican. + +"Monsieur--" said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. + +"Which tear a daughter from her father?--" + +"Monsieur--" + +"Which deprive an old man of his last consolation?--" + +"Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you if--" + +"And kill him?--" + +"Monsieur, permit me--" + +There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and precise reasoning +of notaries amid the many passionate scenes in which they are accustomed +to take part. + +The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his eyes, escaped from +hell; his repressed and concentrated rage knew no longer any bounds +as the calm and fluted voice of the little notary uttered the words: +"permit me." By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger that was hanging +to a nail above the fireplace, and rushed toward his daughter. The +younger of the two notaries and one of the witnesses threw themselves +before Ginevra; but Piombo knocked them violently down, his face on +fire, and his eyes casting flames more terrifying than the glitter of +the dagger. When Ginevra saw him approach her she looked at him with an +air of triumph, and advancing slowly, knelt down. "No, no! I cannot!" he +cried, flinging away the weapon, which buried itself in the wainscot. + +"Well, then! have mercy! have pity!" she said. "You hesitate to be my +death, and you refuse me life! Oh! father, never have I loved you as I +do at this moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon my knees: +a daughter can humiliate herself before her father. My Luigi, give me my +Luigi, or I die!" + +The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped her words, for she +had no voice; her convulsive movements showed plainly that she lay, as +it were, between life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from him. + +"Go," he said. "The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be a Piombo. I have no +daughter. I have not the strength to curse you, but I cast you off; you +have no father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here," he said, in a deep +voice, pressing violently on his heart. "Go, leave my house, unhappy +girl," he added, after a moment's silence. "Go, and never come into my +sight again." + +So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate of the house and +silently put her out. + +"Luigi!" cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodging of her lover,--"my +Luigi, we have no other fortune than our love." + +"Then am I richer than the kings of the earth!" he cried. + +"My father and my mother have cast me off," she said, in deepest +sadness. + +"I will love you in place of them." + +"Then let us be happy,--we WILL be happy!" she cried, with a gayety in +which there was something dreadful. + + + + +CHAPTER V. MARRIAGE + + +The day after Ginevra was driven from her father's house she went to ask +Madame Servin for asylum and protection until the period fixed by law +for her marriage to Luigi. + +Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble which the world strews +about the path of those who do not follow its conventions. Madame Servin +received her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm which Ginevra's +affair had inflicted on her husband, and told her, in politely cautious +words, that she must not count on her help in future. Too proud to +persist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto unknown to her, the girl +took a room in the lodging-house that was nearest to that of Luigi. The +son of the Portas passed all his days at the feet of his future wife; +and his youthful love, the purity of his words, dispersed the clouds +from the mind of the banished daughter; the future was so beautiful +as he painted it that she ended by smiling joyfully, though without +forgetting her father's severity. + +One morning the servant of the lodging house brought to Ginevra's room +a number of trunks and packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and +a great quantity of other articles necessary for a young wife in setting +up a home of her own. In this welcome provision she recognized her +mother's foresight, and, on examining the gifts, she found a purse, in +which the baroness had put the money belonging to her daughter, adding +to it the amount of her own savings. The purse was accompanied by a +letter, in which the mother implored the daughter to forego the fatal +marriage if it were still possible to do so. It had cost her, she +said, untold difficulty to send these few things to her daughter; she +entreated her not to think her hard if, henceforth, she were forced to +abandon her to want; she feared she could never again assist her; but +she blessed her and prayed for her happiness in this fatal marriage, if, +indeed, she persisted in making it, assuring her that she should never +cease to think of her darling child. Here the falling tears had effaced +some words of the letter. + +"Oh, mother!" cried Ginevra, deeply moved. + +She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the blessed air of her +father's house, to fling herself at his feet, to see her mother. She was +springing forward to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At the +mere sight of him her filial emotion vanished; her tears were +stopped, and she no longer had the strength to abandon that loving and +unfortunate youth. To be the sole hope of a noble being, to love him and +then abandon him!--that sacrifice is the treachery of which young hearts +are incapable. Ginevra had the generosity to bury her own grief and +suffering silently in her soul. + +The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend with her. While she was +dressing, Luigi fetched the witnesses necessary to sign the certificate +of marriage. These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a cavalry +sergeant, was under obligations to Luigi, contracted on the battlefield, +obligations which are never obliterated from the heart of an honest man; +the other, a master-mason, was the proprietor of the house in which the +young couple had hired an apartment for their future home. Each witness +brought a friend, and all four, with Luigi, came to escort the bride. +Little accustomed to social functions, and seeing nothing in the service +they were rendering to Luigi but a simple matter of business, they were +dressed in their ordinary clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about +them denoted the usual joy of a marriage procession. + +Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her present fortunes; +and yet her beauty was so noble and so imposing that the words of +greeting died away on the lips of the witnesses, who supposed themselves +obliged to pay her some usual compliments. They bowed to her with +respect, and she returned the bow; but they did so in silence, looking +at her with admiration. This reserve cast a chill over the whole party. +Joy never bursts forth freely except among those who are equals. Thus +chance determined that all should be dull and grave around the bridal +pair; nothing reflected, outwardly, the happiness that reigned within +their hearts. + +The church and the mayor's office being near by, Luigi and Ginevra, +followed by the four witnesses required by law, walked the distance, +with a simplicity that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in +social life. They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the mayor's +court-yard; and when they reached the great hall where the civil +marriages take place, they found two other wedding-parties impatiently +awaiting the mayor's arrival. + +Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long bench; their +witnesses remained standing, for want of seats. Two brides, elaborately +dressed in white, with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and crowned with +orange-blossoms whose satiny petals nodded beneath their veils, were +surrounded by joyous families, and accompanied by their mothers, to +whom they looked up, now and then, with eyes that were content and timid +both; the faces of all the rest reflected happiness, and seemed to be +invoking blessings on the youthful pairs. Fathers, witnesses, brothers, +and sisters went and came, like a happy swarm of insects disporting +in the sun. Each seemed to be impressed with the value of this passing +moment of life, when the heart finds itself within two hopes,--the +wishes of the past, the promises of the future. + +As she watched them, Ginevra's heart swelled within her; she pressed +Luigi's arm, and gave him a look. A tear rolled from the eyes of the +young Corsican; never did he so well understand the joys that his +Ginevra was sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her to forget +all else but him,--even the abandonment in which she sat there. Love +poured down its treasures of light upon their hearts; they saw nought +else but themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they were there +alone, in that crowd, as they were destined to be, henceforth, in life. +Their witnesses, indifferent to what was happening, conversed quietly on +their own affairs. + +"Oats are very dear," said the sergeant to the mason. + +"But they have not gone up like lime, relatively speaking," replied the +contractor. + +Then they walked round the hall. + +"How one loses time here," said the mason, replacing a thick silver +watch in his fob. + +Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, seemed like one +person. A poet would have admired their two heads, inspired by the same +sentiment, colored in the same tones, silent and saddened in presence +of that humming happiness sparkling in diamonds, gay with flowers,--a +gayety in which there was something fleeting. The joy of those noisy +and splendid groups was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi was buried +in their bosom. On one side the tumult of common pleasure, on the other, +the delicate silence of happy souls,--earth and heaven! + +But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weaknesses of women. +Superstitious as an Italian, she saw an omen in this contrast, and in +her heart there lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. + +Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, opened a folding-door. +Silence reigned, and his voice was heard, like the yapping of a dog, +calling Monsieur Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo. +This caused some embarrassment to the young pair. The celebrity of the +bride's name attracted attention, and the spectators seemed to wonder +that the wedding was not more sumptuous. Ginevra rose, took Luigi's arm, +and advanced firmly, followed by the witnesses. A murmur of surprise, +which went on increasing, and a general whispering reminded Ginevra that +all present were wondering at the absence of her parents; her father's +wrath seemed present to her. + +"Call in the families," said the mayor to the clerk whose business it +was to read aloud the certificates. + +"The father and mother protest," replied the clerk, phlegmatically. + +"On both sides?" inquired the mayor. + +"The groom is an orphan." + +"Where are the witnesses?" + +"Here," said the clerk, pointing to the four men, who stood with arms +folded, like so many statues. + +"But if the parents protest--" began the mayor. + +"The respectful summons has been duly served," replied the clerk, +rising, to lay before the mayor the papers annexed to the marriage +certificate. + +This bureaucratic decision had something blighting about it; in a few +words it contained the whole story. The hatred of the Portas and the +Piombos and their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of the +civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it may be, in one word +only,--Napoleon, Robespierre) are engraved on a tombstone. Ginevra +trembled. Like the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to +rest its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge only in the eyes +of Luigi from the cold and dreary waste around her. + +The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and his clerk looked up +at the couple with malicious curiosity. No marriage was ever so little +festal. Like other human beings when deprived of their accessories, it +became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. + +After a few questions, to which the bride and bridegroom responded, and +a few words mumbled by the mayor, and after signing the registers, with +their witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. Then the wedded +pair walked back through two lines of joyous relations who did not +belong to them, and whose only interest in their marriage was the +delay caused to their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. When, at last, +Ginevra found herself in the mayor's court-yard, under the open sky, a +sigh escaped her breast. + +"Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove my gratitude for +your courage and tenderness, my Ginevra?" said Luigi. + +At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride forgot her sufferings; +for she had indeed suffered in presenting herself before the public to +obtain a happiness her parents refused to sanction. + +"Why should others come between us?" she said with an artlessness of +feeling that delighted Luigi. + +A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step of the young pair +lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor earth, nor houses; they flew, as +it were, on wings to the church. When they reached a dark little chapel +in one corner of the building, and stood before a plain undecorated +altar, an old priest married them. There, as in the mayor's office, two +other marriages were taking place, still pursuing them with pomp. The +church, filled with friends and relations, echoed with the roll of +carriages, and the hum of beadles, sextons, and priests. Altars were +resplendent with sacramental luxury; the wreaths of orange-flowers that +crowned the figures of the Virgin were fresh. Flowers, incense, gleaming +tapers, velvet cushions embroidered with gold, were everywhere. When +the time came to hold above the heads of Luigi and Ginevra the symbol +of eternal union,--that yoke of satin, white, soft, brilliant, light +for some, lead for most,--the priest looked about him in vain for the +acolytes whose place it was to perform that joyous function. Two of the +witnesses fulfilled it for them. The priest addressed a hasty homily +to the pair on the perils of life, on the duties they must, some day, +inculcate upon their children,--throwing in, at this point, an indirect +reproach to Ginevra on the absence of her parents; then, after uniting +them before God, as the mayor had united them before the law, he left +the now married couple. + +"God bless them!" said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to the mason, when they +reached the church porch. "No two creatures were ever more fitted for +one another. The parents of the girl are foolish. I don't know a braver +soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole army had behaved like him, +'l'autre' would be here still." + +This blessing of the old soldier, the only one bestowed upon their +marriage-day, shed a balm on Ginevra's heart. + +They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi thanked his landlord. + +"Adieu, 'mon brave,'" he said to the sergeant. "I thank you." + +"I am now and ever at your service, colonel,--soul, body, horses, and +carriages; all that is mine is yours." + +"How he loves you!" said Ginevra. + +Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were to occupy. Their +modest apartment was soon reached; and there, when the door closed upon +them, Luigi took his wife in his arms, exclaiming,-- + +"Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is our true wedding. Here," +he added, "all things will smile upon us." + +Together they went through the three rooms contained in their lodging. +The room first entered served as salon and dining-room in one; on +the right was a bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had +arranged for his wife; in it she found easels, color-boxes, lay-figures, +casts, pictures, portfolios,--in short, the paraphernalia of an artist. + +"So here I am to work!" she said, with an expression of childlike +happiness. + +She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, turning again +and again to thank Luigi, for there was something that approached +magnificence in the little retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite +books; a piano filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon a divan, +drew Luigi to her side, and said, in a caressing voice, her hand in +his,-- + +"You have good taste." + +"Those words make me happy," he replied. + +"But let me see all," said Ginevra, to whom Luigi had made a mystery of +the adornment of the rooms. + +They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white as a virgin. + +"Oh! come away," said Luigi, smiling. + +"But I wish to see all." + +And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of furniture with the +minute care of an antiquary examining a coin; she touched the silken +hangings, and went over every article with the artless satisfaction of a +bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. + +"We begin by ruining ourselves," she said, in a half-joyous, +half-anxious tone. + +"True! for all my back pay is there," replied Luigi. "I have mortgaged +it to a worthy fellow named Gigonnet." + +"Why did you do so?" she said, in a tone of reproach, through which +could be heard her inward satisfaction. "Do you believe I should be +less happy in a garret? But," she added, "it is all charming, and--it is +ours!" + +Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she lowered her eyes. + +"Now let us see the rest," she cried. + +Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a study for Luigi, a +kitchen, and a servant's-room. Ginevra was much pleased with her little +domain, although the view from the windows was limited by the high wall +of a neighboring house, and the court-yard, from which their light was +derived, was gloomy. But the two lovers were so happy in heart, hope +so adorned their future, that they chose to see nothing but what was +charming in their hidden nest. They were there in that vast house, lost +in the immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their shell in the depths +of ocean; to all others it might have seemed a prison; to them it was +paradise. + +The first few days of their union were given to love. The effort to turn +at once to work was too difficult; they could not resist the charm of +their own passion. Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his wife, admiring +the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, the enchanting +socket of her eyes, the purity and whiteness of the two arches beneath +which the eyes themselves turned slowly, expressing the happiness of a +satisfied love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, never weary of +gazing at what she called his "belta folgorante," and the delicacy of +his features. She was constantly charmed by the nobility of his manners, +as she herself attracted him by the grace of hers. + +They played together, like children, with nothings,--nothings that +brought them ever back to their love,--ceasing their play only to fall +into a revery of the "far niente." An air sung by Ginevra reproduced +to their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their passion. +Together, uniting their steps as they did their souls, they roamed about +the country, finding everywhere their love,--in the flowers, in the +sky, in the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in even +the capricious vapors which met and struggled in the ether. Each day +resembled in nothing its predecessors; their love increased, and still +increased, because it was a true love. They had tested each other in +what seemed only a short time; and, instinctively, they recognized that +their souls were of a kind whose inexhaustible riches promised for the +future unceasing joys. + +Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its interminable +conversations, unfinished speeches, long silences, oriental reposes, and +oriental ardor. Luigi and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like the +ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called monotonous by +common souls, whereas some privileged beings can pass their lives in +admiring it, and in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that +enchant them. + +Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the young couple from their +Eden; it was necessary to work to live. Ginevra, who possessed a special +talent for imitating old paintings, took up the business of copying, and +soon found many customers among the picture-dealers. Luigi, on his side, +sought long and actively for occupation, but it was hard for a young +officer whose talents had been restricted to the study of strategy to +find anything to do in Paris. + +At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with despair at seeing +the whole burden of their subsistence falling on Ginevra, it occurred +to him to make use of his handwriting, which was excellent. With a +persistency of which he saw an example in his wife, he went round +among the layers and notaries of Paris, asking for papers to copy. The +frankness of his manners and his situation interested many in his favor; +he soon obtained enough work to be obliged to find young men to assist +him; and this employment became, little by little, a regular business. +The profits of his office and the sale of Ginevra's pictures gave the +young couple a competence of which they were justly proud, for it was +the fruit of their industry. + +This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of their lives. The days +flowed rapidly by, filled with occupation and the joys of their love. At +night, after working all day, they met with delight in Ginevra's studio. +Music refreshed their weariness. No expression of regret or melancholy +obscured the happy features of the young wife, and never did she utter a +complaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a smile upon her lips and her +eyes beaming. Each cherished a ruling thought which would have made them +take pleasure in a labor still more severe; Ginevra said in her heart +that she worked for Luigi, and Luigi the same for Ginevra. + +Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the thought of the perfect +happiness she might have had if this life of love could have been lived +in the presence of her father and mother overcame the young wife; +and then, as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped +into melancholy; mournful pictures passed like shadows across her +imagination; she saw her old father alone, or her mother weeping in +secret lest the inexorable Piombo should perceive her tears. The two +white, solemn heads rose suddenly before her, and the thought came that +never again should she see them except in memory. This thought pursued +her like a presentiment. + +She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by giving her husband a +portrait he had long desired,--that of his Ginevra, painted by herself. +Never had the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside from the +resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the purity of her feelings, +the happiness of love were there depicted by a sort of magic. This +masterpiece of her art and her joy was a votive offering to their wedded +felicity. + +Another year of ease and comfort went by. The history of their life may +be given in three words: _They were happy._ No event happened to them of +sufficient importance to be recorded. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. RETRIBUTION + + +At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers requested Ginevra +to give them something beside copies; for competition had so increased +that they could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame Porta then +perceived the mistake she had made in not exercising her talent +for "genre" painting, which might, by this time, have brought her +reputation. She now attempted portrait-painting. But here she was forced +to compete against a crowd of artists in greater need of money than +herself. However, as Luigi and Ginevra had laid by a few savings, they +were not, as yet, uneasy about the future. + +Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi worked without +intermission. He, too, was struggling against competitors. The payment +for writing had so decreased that he found it impossible to employ +assistance; he was forced, therefore, to work a much longer time himself +to obtain the same emolument. His wife had finished several pictures +which were not without merit; but the dealers were scarcely buying those +of artists with reputations; consequently, her paintings had little +chance. Ginevra offered them for almost nothing, but without success. + +The situation of the household now began to be alarming. The souls +of the husband and wife floated on the ocean of their happiness, +love overwhelmed them with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a +skeleton, amid their harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they hid from +each other their secret anxiety. When Ginevra felt like weeping as she +watched Luigi's worn and suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; and +Luigi, keeping his dark forebodings in the depths of his soul, expressed +to his Ginevra the tenderest love. They sought a compensation for their +troubles in exalting their feelings; and their words, their joys, their +caresses became suffused, as it were, with a species of frenzy. They +feared the future. What feeling can be compared in strength with that of +a passion which may cease on the morrow, killed by death or want? +When they talked together of their poverty each felt the necessity +of deceiving the other, and they fastened with mutual ardor on the +slightest hope. + +One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her side. She rose in +terror. A faint light shining on the opposite wall of the little +court-yard revealed to her that her husband was working in his study at +night. Luigi was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was asleep, +and then going up to his garret to write. Four o'clock struck. Ginevra +lay down again, and pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi returned, +overcome with fatigue and drowsiness. Ginevra looked sadly on the +beautiful, worn face, where toil and care were already drawing lines of +wrinkles. + +"It is for me he spends his nights in writing," she said to herself, +weeping. + +A thought dried her tears. She would imitate Luigi. That same day she +went to a print-shop, and, by help of a letter of recommendation she had +obtained from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she obtained an +order for the coloring of lithographs. During the day she painted her +pictures and attended to the cares of the household; then, when night +came, she colored the engravings. This loving couple entered their +nuptial bed only to deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and left +it,--Luigi, as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra as soon +as he had gone. + +One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under +which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of +his garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, the +burden of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the reflection +of Ginevra's lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow guessed +the truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his wife in her +studio, coloring engravings. + +"Oh, Ginevra!" he cried. + +She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. + +"Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?" she said. + +"But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way," he answered. + +"Could I be idle," she asked, her eyes filling with tears, "when I know +that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should die if +I could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common between us: +pains and pleasures, both." + +"She is cold!" cried Luigi, in despair. "Wrap your shawl closer round +you, my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly." + +They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her +beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence, +they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening. +Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing +luminous. + +"See!" said Ginevra. "It is an omen. We shall be happy." + +"Yes, in heaven," replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. "Oh, Ginevra! you +who deserved all the treasures upon earth--" + +"I have your heart," she said, in tones of joy. + +"Ah! I complain no more!" he answered, straining her tightly to him, and +covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the freshness +of youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender that he +could not look at it and not be comforted. + +"What silence!" said Ginevra, presently. "Dear friend, I take great +pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it awes, +it inspires. There is I know not what great power in the thought: all +sleep, I wake." + +"Oh, my Ginevra," he cried, "it is not to-night alone I feel how +delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,--come and +sleep." + +"Yes," replied Ginevra, "if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much +that night I first discovered that you were waking while I slept." + +The courage with which these two young people fought with misery +received for a while its due reward; but an event which usually crowns +the happiness of a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a son, +who was, to use the popular expression, "as beautiful as the day." +The sense of motherhood doubled the strength of the young wife. Luigi +borrowed money to meet the expenses of Ginevra's confinement. At first +she did not feel the fresh burden of their situation; and the pair gave +themselves wholly up to the joy of possessing a child. It was their last +happiness. + +Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a current, these two +Corsican souls struggled courageously; but sometimes they gave way to +an apathy which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon they were +obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty appeared to them suddenly,--not +hideous, but plainly clothed, almost easy to endure; its voice had +nothing terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, nor +rags; but it made them lose the memory and the habits of comfort; it +dried the springs of pride. Then, before they knew it, came want,--want +in all its horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot all human +sentiments. + +Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Bartolomeo, it would +have been hard to see in the mother who suckled her sickly babe the +original of the beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of the +squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, the graceful outlines +of Ginevra's figure were slowly destroyed; her cheeks grew white as +porcelain, and her eyes dulled as though the springs of life were drying +up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored child, she felt no +suffering but for that young misery; and Luigi had no courage to smile +upon his son. + +"I have wandered over Paris," he said, one day. "I know no one; can I +ask help of strangers? Vergniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a +conspiracy, and they have put him in prison; besides, he has already +lent me all he could spare. As for our landlord, it is over a year since +he asked me for any rent." + +"But we are not in want," replied Ginevra, gently, affecting calmness. + +"Every hour brings some new difficulty," continued Luigi, in a tone of +terror. + +Another day Luigi took Ginevra's pictures, her portrait, and the few +articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold +them for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless +household for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed +the sublimity of her nature and the extent of her resignation. + +Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up +against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying son, +performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and sufficed +for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi's lips a smile +of surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one poor room where +they had taken refuge. + +"Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you," she said, one evening, when he +returned, worn-out. + +"And you?" + +"I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more." + +And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her words +to take the food of which she had deprived herself. + +Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given +in 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme +moments two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi, +comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the +fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that +some business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest +poison than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was +left in his home. + +He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the +bosom of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; +he hurried past the windows of the money-changers where gold was +glittering; and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute +for military service, hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra, and +that her father, during his absence, would take her home. + +He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt a +sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial guard. + +"It is two days since I have eaten anything," he said to him in a slow, +weak voice. "My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered one word +of complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God's sake, comrade," +he added, bitterly, "buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no longer in +the service, and I--" + +The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to +procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped the +gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying out at +times:-- + +"Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!" + +It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very +softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he +had left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the garret +window, were fading from Ginevra's face as she sat sleeping in her +chair, and holding her child upon her breast. + +"Wake, my dear one," he said, not observing the infant, which shone, at +that moment, with supernatural light. + +Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi's +look, and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely +recognized his wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he +showed her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly +she cried, in a dreadful voice:-- + +"The child, Luigi, he is cold!" + +She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead. Luigi +took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she clasped +with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he went out to +seek help. + +"Oh! my God!" he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. "I have +gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, +too! Help me!" + +He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, +and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the +needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans had +carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride. + +Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on +which lay his wife. + +"Father! take care of my son, who bears your name," she was saying in +her delirium. + +"Oh, my angel! be calm," said Luigi, kissing her; "our good days are +coming back to us." + +"My Luigi," she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, +"listen to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered +too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for. +Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to live +again I would again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret you +more than I regret my child--My child!" she added, in a hollow voice. + +Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little +body she had no power to warm. + +"Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra," she said. "Tell +him I have never blamed him." + +Her head fell upon her husband's arm. + +"No, you cannot die!" cried Luigi. "The doctor is coming. We have +food. Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with us, +angel!" + +But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra +turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was conscious +of nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now losing +memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped his +icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to save +herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall. + +"Dear," she said, at last, "you are cold; I will warm you." + +She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. + +Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, +bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their +despair. These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they had +entered, an awful silence filled the room. + +While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were sitting +in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast fireplace, where a +glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of their salon. The clock +told midnight. + +For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At the +present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their dotage, +gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted salon, so +filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single lamp which +seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon the hearth, +they might soon have been in total darkness. + +A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been sitting, +remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo was casting +glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding one upon +another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra's. Elisa Piombo +watched the expressions that now began to cross her husband's pallid +face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings from the changeful +agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so threatening, and anon +so melancholy that she felt she could no longer read a soul that was now +incomprehensible, even to her. + +Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that chair? +Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for the +first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy +struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now? + +These reflections shook the mother's heart successively. For an instant +her husband's countenance became so terrible that she trembled at having +used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra's name. The +night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so sharply +against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard a gentle +rustling. Ginevra's mother dropped her head to hide her tears. Suddenly +a sigh burst from the old man's breast; his wife looked at him; he +seemed to her crushed. Then she risked speaking--for the second time in +three long years--of his daughter. + +"Ginevra may be cold," she said, softly. + +Piombo quivered. + +"She may be hungry," she continued. + +The old man dropped a tear. + +"Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!" +said the mother, in accents of despair. + +"Let her come! let her come to me!" cried Piombo. "Oh! my precious +child, thou hast conquered me." + +The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door +opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of +humanity, stood suddenly before them. + +"Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is +all that remains of her," he said, laying Ginevra's long black hair upon +the table. + +The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had +blasted them. + +Luigi no longer stood before them. + +"He has spared me a shot, for he is dead," said Bartolomeo, slowly, +gazing on the ground at his feet. + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + + Bidault (known as Gigonnet) + The Government Clerks + Gobseck + Cesar Birotteau + The Firm of Nucingen + A Daughter of Eve + + Bonaparte, Napoleon + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Seamy Side of History + A Woman of Thirty + + Bonaparte, Lucien + The Gondreville Mystery + + Camusot de Marville, Madame + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + Scenes from a Courtesan's Life + Cousin Pons + + Magus, Elie + A Marriage Settlement + A Bachelor's Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Cousin Pons + + Murat, Joachim, Prince + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Country Doctor + + Rapp + The Gondreville Mystery + + Roguin + Cesar Birotteau + Eugenie Grandet + A Bachelor's Establishment + Pierrette + + Thirion + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + + Tiphaine, Madame + Pierrette + + Vergniaud, Louis + Colonel Chabert + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + +***** This file should be named 1374.txt or 1374.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/7/1374/ + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny + +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. 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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.net + + +Title: Vendetta + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Katharine Prescott Wormeley + +Release Date: October 28, 2005 [EBook #1374] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny + + + + + + VENDETTA + + BY + + HONORE DE BALZAC + + + + Translated by + Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + + + DEDICATION + + To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor. + + + + + VENDETTA + + + + CHAPTER I + + PROLOGUE + +In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, +accompanied by a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time +in front of the palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house +recently pulled down, at the point where in our day the wing begins +which was intended to unite the chateau of Catherine de Medici with +the Louvre of the Valois. + +The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he +sometimes raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at his +wife, who was sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed +wholly occupied with the little girl of nine or ten years of age, +whose long black hair she amused herself by handling, she lost not a +single glance of those her companion cast on her. Some sentiment other +than love united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety +their movements and their thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most +powerful of all ties. + +The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick +hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The +jet black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, +his features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his +evident strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over +sixty years of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign +country. Though the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed +the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm +countenance whenever her husband looked at her. + +The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the +youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast of +countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched +brows, a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those +who passed them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group, +who made no effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the +expression of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy, +characteristic of Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the +stranger saw himself the object of attention, he looked at his +observer with so savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his +step as though he had trod upon a serpent. + +After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly +passed his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the +thoughts that were ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some +desperate resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he +drew a dagger from his breast and gave it to his companion, saying in +Italian:-- + +"I will see if the Bonapartes remember us." + +Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the +palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular +guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this +man's obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in +the form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at +that moment, and the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the +stranger the spot where the commander of the post was standing. + +"Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with +him," said the Italian to the captain on duty. + +In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see +the First Consul without having previously requested an audience in +writing; the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. +The officer stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with +the order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, +casting a terrible look at the captain, as if he made him responsible +for the misfortunes that this refusal might occasion. Then he kept +silence, folded his arms tightly across his breast, and took up his +station under the portico which serves as an avenue of communication +between the garden and the court-yard of the Tuileries. Persons who +will things intensely are very apt to be helped by chance. At the +moment when Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the stone +posts which was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from which +Lucien Bonaparte, minister of the interior, issued. + +"Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!" cried the stranger. + +These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment +when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot, +and recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear, +he took the Corsican away with him. + +Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the +First Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in +appearance as Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by +the arm and led him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a +few words with his brother, the First Consul made a sign with his +hand, which Murat and Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to +have seen it, in order to remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to +him sharply, and the aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left +the room. The First Consul, who listened for Rapp's step in the +adjoining salon, opened the door suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp +close to the wall of the cabinet. + +"Do you choose not to understand me?" said the First Consul. "I wish +to be alone with my compatriot." + +"A Corsican!" replied the aide-de-camp. "I distrust those fellows too +much to--" + +The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful +officer by the shoulders. + +"Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?" said Napoleon. + +"To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican," +replied Bartolomeo, roughly. + +"What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the +most--" + +"I have killed all the Portas," replied the Corsican, in a deep voice, +frowning heavily. + +The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise. + +"Do you mean to betray me?" cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at +Bonaparte. "Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?" + +Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. + +"Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?" he said. + +Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at +Piombo and said:-- + +"Why did you kill the Portas?" + +"We had made friends," replied the man; "the Barbantis reconciled us. +The day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home +because I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and +set fire to my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My +daughter Ginevra and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, +escaped; the Virgin protected them. When I returned I found no house; +my feet were in its ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck +against the body of Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. 'The +Portas have dealt me this blow,' I said; and, forthwith, I went to the +woods, and there I called together all the men whom I had ever served, +--do you hear me, Bonaparte?--and we marched to the vineyard of the +Portas. We got there at five in the morning; at seven they were all +before God. Giacomo declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. +But I myself bound him to his bed before setting fire to the house. I +have left the island with my wife and child without being able to +discover whether, indeed, Luigi Porta is alive." + +Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise. + +"How many were there?" asked Lucien. + +"Seven," replied Piombo. "All of them were your persecutors in the +olden times." + +These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two +brothers. + +"Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!" cried Piombo, with a sort of +despair. "Farewell. In other days I protected you," he added, in a +reproachful tone. "Without me, your mother would never have reached +Marseille," he said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, who was silent +and thoughtful, his elbow resting on a mantel-shelf. + +"As a matter of duty, Piombo," said Napoleon at last, "I cannot take +you under my wing. I have become the leader of a great nation; I +command the Republic; I am bound to execute the laws." + +"Ha! ha!" said Bartolomeo, scornfully. + +"But I can shut my eyes," continued Bonaparte. "The tradition of the +Vendetta will long prevent the reign of law in Corsica," he added, as +if speaking to himself. "But it _must_ be destroyed, at any cost." + +Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien made a sign to +Piombo not to speak. The Corsican was swaying his head from right to +left in deep disapproval. + +"Live here, in Paris," resumed the First Consul, addressing +Bartolomeo; "we will know nothing of this affair. I will cause your +property in Corsica to be bought, to give you enough to live on for +the present. Later, before long, we will think of you. But, remember, +no more vendetta! There are no woods here to fly to. If you play with +daggers, you must expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all +citizens; and no one is allowed to do justice for himself." + +"He has made himself the head of a singular nation," said Bartolomeo, +taking Lucien's hand and pressing it. "But you have both recognized me +in misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may +dispose as you will of the Piombos." + +With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in +satisfaction. + +"You are not badly off here," he said, smiling, as if he meant to +lodge there himself. "You are all in red, like a cardinal." + +"Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also," +said Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. "It will +often happen that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can +confide." + +A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his +hand to the First Consul, saying:-- + +"The Corsican is in you still." + +Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it +were, a waft of air from his own land,--from that isle where he had +been so miraculously saved from the hatred of the "English party"; the +land he was never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who +then took Piombo away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the +financial condition of the former protector of their family. Piombo +took him to a window and showed him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a +heap of stones. + +"We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny," he +said. + +Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him +the next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of +the family. The value of Piombo's property in Corsica, if sold, would +scarcely maintain him honorably in Paris. + +Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo's arrival with his +family in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely +intelligible to the reader without this narrative of the foregoing +circumstances. + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE STUDIO + +Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to +conceive of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to +take lessons in painting. + +About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given +up to his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter +of a general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their +daughters themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send +them alone, after knowing the master's principles and the pains he +took to deserve their confidence. + +It was the artist's intention to take no pupils but young ladies +belonging to rich families of good position, in order to meet with no +complaints as to the composition of his classes. He even refused to +take girls who wished to become artists; for to them he would have +been obliged to give certain instructions without which no talent +could advance in the profession. Little by little his prudence and the +ability with which he initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty +each mother felt that her daughter was in company with none but +well-bred young girls, and the fact of the artist's marriage, gave him +an excellent reputation as a teacher in society. When a young girl +wished to learn to draw, and her mother asked advice of her friends, +the answer was, invariably: "Send her to Servin's." + +Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a specialty; like Herbault +for bonnets, Leroy for gowns, and Chevet for eatables. It was +recognized that a young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was +capable of judging the paintings of the Musee conclusively, of making +a striking portrait, copying an ancient master, or painting a genre +picture. The artist thus sufficed for the educational needs of the +aristocracy. But in spite of these relations with the best families in +Paris, he was independent and patriotic, and he maintained among them +that easy, brilliant, half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment +which characterize painters. + +He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the arrangements of the +locality where his pupils studied. The entrance to the attic above his +apartments was walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a harem, +it was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase made within his own +rooms. The studio, occupying nearly the whole attic floor under the +roof, presented to the eye those vast proportions which surprise +inquirers when, after attaining sixty feet above the ground-floor, +they expect to find an artist squeezed into a gutter. + +This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from above, through +enormous panes of glass furnished with those green linen shades by +means of which all artists arrange the light. A quantity of +caricatures, heads drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the +point of a knife, on walls painted in a dark gray, proved that, +barring a difference in expression, the most distinguished young girls +have as much fun and folly in their minds as men. A small stove with a +large pipe, which described a fearful zigzag before it reached the +upper regions of the roof, was the necessary and infallible ornament +of the room. A shelf ran round the walls, on which were models in +plaster, heterogeneously placed, most of them covered with gray dust. +Here and there, above this shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging to a nail, +presented her pose of woe; a Venus smiled; a hand thrust itself +forward like that of a pauper asking alms; a few "ecorches," yellowed +by smoke, looked like limbs snatched over-night from a graveyard; +besides these objects, pictures, drawings, lay figures, frames without +paintings, and paintings without frames gave to this irregular +apartment that studio physiognomy which is distinguished for its +singular jumble of ornament and bareness, poverty and riches, care and +neglect. The vast receptacle of an "atelier," where all seems small, +even man, has something of the air of an Opera "coulisse"; here lie +ancient garments, gilded armor, fragments of stuffs, machinery. And +yet there is something mysteriously grand, like thought, in it; genius +and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside a skull or skeleton, +beauty and destruction, poesy and reality, colors glowing in the +shadows, often a whole drama, motionless and silent. Strange symbol of +an artist's head! + +At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant July sun was +illuminating the studio, and two rays striking athwart it lengthwise, +traced diaphanous gold lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen +easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. Several young +girls were animating the scene by the variety of their expressions, +their attitudes, and the differences in their toilets. The strong +shadows cast by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the +needs of each easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, and the +piquant effects of light and shade. This group was the prettiest of +all the pictures in the studio. + +A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some distance from her +companions, working bravely and seeming to be in dread of some mishap. +No one looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the prettiest, the +most modest, and, apparently, the least rich among them. Two principal +groups, distinctly separated from each other, showed the presence of +two sets or cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where one +might suppose that rank and fortune would be forgotten. + +But, however that might be, these young girls, sitting or standing, in +the midst of their color-boxes, playing with their brushes or +preparing them, handling their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, +talking, singing, absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real +selves, composed a spectacle unknown to man. One of them, proud, +haughty, capricious, with black hair and beautiful hands, was casting +the flame of her glance here and there at random; another, +light-hearted and gay, a smile upon her lips, with chestnut hair and +delicate white hands, was a typical French virgin, thoughtless, and +without hidden thoughts, living her natural real life; a third was +dreamy, melancholy, pale, bending her head like a drooping flower; her +neighbor, on the contrary, tall, indolent, with Asiatic habits, long +eyes, moist and black, said but little, and reflected, glancing +covertly at the head of Antinous. + +Among them, like the "jocoso" of a Spanish play, full of wit and +epigrammatic sallies, another girl was watching the rest with a +comprehensive glance, making them laugh, and tossing up her head, too +lively and arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first group +of girls, who were the daughters of bankers, notaries, and merchants, +--all rich, but aware of the imperceptible though cutting slights +which another group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. The +latter were led by the daughter of one of the King's ushers, a little +creature, as silly as she was vain, proud of being the daughter of a +man with "an office at court." She was a girl who always pretended to +understand the remarks of the master at the first word, and seemed to +do her work as a favor to him. She used an eyeglass, came very much +dressed, and always late, and entreated her companions to speak low. + +In this second group were several girls with exquisite figures and +distinguished features, but there was little in their glance or +expression that was simple and candid. Though their attitudes were +elegant and their movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it +was easy to see that they belonged to a world where polite manners +form the character from early youth, and the abuse of social pleasures +destroys sentiment and develops egotism. + +But when the whole class was here assembled, childlike heads were seen +among this bevy of young girls, ravishingly pure and virgin, faces +with lips half-opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on +which a virgin smile was flickering. The studio then resembled not a +studio, but a group of angels seated on a cloud in ether. + +By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not appeared. For some days +past he had spent most of his time in a studio which he kept +elsewhere, where he was giving the last touches to a picture for the +Exposition. All of a sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, the leader of +the aristocrats, began to speak in a low voice, and very earnestly, to +her neighbor. A great silence fell on the group of patricians, and the +commercial party, surprised, were equally silent, trying to discover +the subject of this earnest conference. The secret of the young _ultras_ +was soon revealed. + +Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, carried it to a +distance from the noble group, and placed it close to a board +partition which separated the studio from the extreme end of the +attic, where all broken casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply +of wood were kept. Amelie's action caused a murmur of surprise, which +did not prevent her from accomplishing the change by rolling hastily +to the side of the easel the stool, the box of colors, and even the +picture by Prudhon, which the absent pupil was copying. After this +coup d'etat the Right began to work in silence, but the Left +discoursed at length. + +"What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?" asked a young girl of +Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, the lively oracle of the banking group. + +"She's not a girl to say anything," was the reply; "but fifty years +hence she'll remember the insult as if it were done to her the night +before, and revenge it cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don't +want to be at war with." + +"The slight these young ladies mean to put upon her is all the more +unkind," said another young girl, "because yesterday, Mademoiselle +Ginevra was very sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They +ought not to add to her trouble, for she was very considerate of them +during the Hundred Days. Never did she say a word to wound them. On +the contrary, she avoided politics. But I think our _ultras_ are acting +more from jealousy than from party spite." + +"I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle Piombo's easel and +place it next to mine," said Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second +thoughts made her sit down again. + +"With a character like hers," she said, "one can't tell how she would +take a civility; better wait events." + +"Ecco la," said the young girl with the black eyes, languidly. + +The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through +the studio. The words: "Here she comes!" passed from mouth to mouth, +and then the most absolute silence reigned. + +To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of +Amelie Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place +toward the end of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the +Bourbons had shaken many friendships which had held firm under the +first Restoration. At this moment families, almost all divided in +opinion, were renewing many of the deplorable scenes which stain the +history of all countries in times of civil or religious wars. +Children, young girls, old men shared the monarchial fever to which +the country was then a victim. Discord glided beneath all roofs; +distrust dyed with its gloomy colors the words and the actions of the +most intimate friends. + +Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate +him? The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father. +The Baron di Piombo was among those of Napoleon's devoted servants who +had co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of +denying his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron +remained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all +the more open to condemnation because she made no secret of the grief +which the second Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she +had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the twofold news of +Napoleon's captivity on the "Bellerophon," and Labedoyere's arrest. + +The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most +devoted royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an +idea of the exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror +inspired by the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie's +action may now seem to be, it was at that time a very natural +expression of the prevailing hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin's +first pupils, had occupied the place that was now taken from her since +the first day of her coming to the studio. The aristocratic circle had +gradually surrounded her. To drive her from a place that in some sense +belonged to her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a species +of artistic pain; for all artists have a spot of predilection where +they work. + +Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the +conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of +Servin's pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master +testified as much admiration for the talents as for the character of +his favorite pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. +In fact, without any one being able to explain the ascendancy which +this young girl obtained over all who came in contact with her, she +exercised over the little world around her a prestige not unlike that +of Bonaparte upon his soldiers. + +The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the +fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid +the Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion's act was, therefore, a decisive +stroke, intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the +accomplices of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by +several of these royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at +home with their political ideas, they decided, with the tactics +peculiar to women, that they should do best to keep themselves aloof +from the quarrel. + +On Ginevra's arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound +silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin's +studio, she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her +carriage and demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which +commanded respect. Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to +radiate light, so inspired was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to +Corsicans,--which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long hair +and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion; the corners of her +mouth, too softly defined, and the lips, a trifle too marked, gave +signs of that kindliness which strong beings derive from the +consciousness of their strength. + +By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some +degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost +savage pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of +a Corsican. In that was the only link between herself and her native +land. All the rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of +her Lombard beauty, was so seductive that it was difficult for those +who looked at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen attraction +that her old father caused her, as matter of precaution, to be +accompanied to and from the studio. The only defect of this truly +poetic creature came from the very power of a beauty so fully +developed; she looked a woman. Marriage she had refused out of love to +her father and mother, feeling herself necessary to the comfort of +their old age. Her taste for painting took the place of the passions +and interests which usually absorb her sex. + +"You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles," she said, after +advancing a little way among her companions. "Good-morning, my little +Laure," she added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young +girl who was painting apart from the rest. "That head is strong,--the +flesh tints a little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent." + +Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces +beamed with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile +brightened the lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and +walked slowly to her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and +paintings on her way, and bidding good-morning to each of the young +girls of the first group, not observing the unusual curiosity excited +by her presence. She was like a queen in the midst of her court; she +paid no attention to the profound silence that reigned among the +patricians, and passed before their camp without pronouncing a single +word. Her absorption seemed so great that she sat down before her +easel, opened her color-box, took up her brushes, drew on her brown +sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at her picture, examined her +palette, without, apparently, thinking of what she was doing. All +heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned toward her. If the +young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their impatience with +the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the less directed +on Ginevra. + +"She hasn't noticed it!" said Mademoiselle Roguin. + +At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she +had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the +group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now +separated her from them; but she said nothing. + +"It hasn't occurred to her that they meant to insult her," said +Matilde; "she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls +will be if she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of +bounds, mademoiselle," she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra. + +The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. +She rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side +of the partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, +and seemed to be examining the sash through which her light came, +--giving so much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the +green serge, which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that +height, her eye was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, +the real object of her efforts, for the glance that she cast through +it can be compared only to that of a miser discovering Aladdin's +treasure. Then she sprang down hastily and returned to her place, +changed the position of her picture, pretended to be still +dissatisfied with the light, pushed a table close to the partition, on +which she placed a chair, climbed lightly to the summit of this +erection, and again looked through the crevice. She cast but one +glance into the space beyond, which was lighted through a skylight; +but what she saw produced so strong an effect upon her that she +tottered. + +"Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you'll fall!" cried Laure. + +All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of +their coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, +and replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:-- + +"Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!" + +She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table +as far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and +seemed to be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now +thrown upon it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was +wholly bent on getting as near as possible to the closet, against the +door of which she finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare +her palette in the deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, +distinctly, a sound which had strongly excited her curiosity the +evening before, and had whirled her young imagination across vast +fields of conjecture. She recognized the firm and regular breathing of +a man whom she had just seen asleep. Her curiosity was satisfied +beyond her expectations, but at the same time she felt saddled by an +immense responsibility. Through the opening in the wall she had seen +the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock bed, faintly lighted from +above, lay the form of an officer of the Guard. She guessed all. +Servin was hiding a proscribed man! + +She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to +examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath +might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political +victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to +her wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise. + +"Better that I should be here," thought she, "to prevent some luckless +accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless +betrayal." + +This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently +shown to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because +the change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural +manner; besides, at this moment, she was too keenly preoccupied to +perceive the reason of her removal. + +Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the +world, than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech, +miss its effect through the contempt or the indifference of the +intended victim. It seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion +to the height that enemy is raised above us. Ginevra's behavior was an +enigma to all her companions; her friends and enemies were equally +surprised; for the former claimed for her all good qualities, except +that of forgiveness of injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for +displaying that vice of nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the +life of a studio, still, the specimens she had now and then given of +her vindictive disposition had left a strong impression on the minds +of her companions. + +After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion +that the Italian's silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all +praise; and the banking circle, inspired by her, formed a project to +humiliate the aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of +sarcasms which presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie. + +Madame Servin's arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the +shrewdness that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had +noticed, analyzed, and mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation +of Ginevra's mind, which prevented her from even hearing the bitterly +polite war of words of which she was the object. The vengeance +Mademoiselle Roguin and her companions were inflicting on Mademoiselle +Thirion and her group had, therefore, the fatal effect of driving the +young _ultras_ to search for the cause of the silence so obstinately +maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. The beautiful Italian became the +centre of all glances, and she was henceforth watched by friends and +foes alike. + +It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from +fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and +mischief ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to +create or baffle, and who know how to find too many interpretations +for each gesture, glance, and word, to fail in discovering the right +one. + +At this moment, however, the presence of Madame Servin produced an +interlude in the drama thus played below the surface in these various +young hearts, the sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were +expressed by phrases that were almost allegorical, by mischievous +glances, by gestures, by silence even, more intelligible than words. +As soon as Madame Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the +door near which Ginevra was seated. Under present circumstances the +fact of this glance was not lost. Though at first none of the pupils +took notice of it, Mademoiselle Thirion recollected it later, and it +explained to her the doubt, fear, and mystery which now gave something +wild and frightened to Madame Servin's eyes. + +"Mesdemoiselles," she said, "Monsieur Servin cannot come to-day." + +Then she went round complimenting each young girl, receiving in return +a volume of those feminine caresses which are given as much by the +tones of the voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently reached +Ginevra, under the influence of an uneasiness she tried in vain to +disguise. They nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said +nothing; one painted, the other stood looking at the painting. The +breathing of the soldier in the closet could be distinctly heard, but +Madame Servin appeared not to notice it; her feigned ignorance was so +obvious that Ginevra recognized it at once for wilful deafness. +Presently the unknown man turned on his pallet. + +The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, who said, without +the slightest change of face:-- + +"Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to choose between the +two I should be puzzled." + +"Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his confidence as to this +mystery," thought Ginevra, who, after replying to the young wife's +speech with a gentle smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican +"canzonetta" to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. + +It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious Italian sing, that all +the other young girls looked up at her in surprise. Later, this +circumstance served as proof to the charitable suppositions of +jealousy. + +Madame Servin soon went away, and the session ended without further +events; Ginevra allowed her companions to depart, and seemed to intend +to work later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her desire +to be left alone by impatient glances, ill-disguised, at the pupils +who were slow in leaving. Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the +girl who excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of +jealousy that her rival's industry hid some purpose. By dint of +watching her she was struck by the attentive air with which Ginevra +seemed to be listening to sounds that no one else had heard. The +expression of impatience she now detected in her companion's eyes was +like a flash of light to her. + +Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio; from there she +went down to Madame Servin's apartment and talked with her for a +moment; then she pretended to have left her bag, ran softly back to +the studio, and found Ginevra once more mounted on her frail +scaffolding, and so absorbed in the contemplation of an unknown object +that she did not hear the slight noise of her companion's footsteps. +It is true that, to use an expression of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped +as if on eggs. She hastily withdrew outside the door and coughed. +Ginevra quivered, turned her head, saw her enemy, blushed, hastened to +alter the shade to give meaning to her position, and came down from +her perch leisurely. She soon after left the studio, bearing with her, +in her memory, the image of a man's head, as beauteous as that of the +Endymion, a masterpiece of Girodet's which she had lately copied. + +"To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney--" + +These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that +Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in +spite of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle +Thirion already there, having come in a carriage. + +Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they +made their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of +the mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the +Imperial eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them +through the crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. +Suddenly Servin came in, much earlier than usual. + +"Mademoiselle Ginevra," he said, after glancing round the studio, "why +have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the +rest of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little." + +Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial +attention. + +"Well, well!" he cried; "here, indeed, is a head extremely well done. +You'll be another Ginevra." + +The master then went from easel to easel, scolding, flattering, +jesting, and making, as usual, his jests more dreaded than his +reprimands. Ginevra had not obeyed the professor's order, but remained +at her post, firmly resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of paper +and began to sketch in sepia the head of the hidden man. A work done +under the impulse of an emotion has always a stamp of its own. The +faculty of giving to representations of nature or of thought their +true coloring constitutes genius, and often, in this respect, passion +takes the place of it. So, under the circumstances in which Ginevra +now found herself, the intuition which she owed to a powerful effect +upon her memory, or, possibly, to necessity, that mother of great +things, lent her, for the moment, a supernatural talent. The head of +the young officer was dashed upon the paper in the midst of an awkward +trembling which she mistook for fear, and in which a physiologist +would have recognized the fire of inspiration. From time to time she +glanced furtively at her companions, in order to hide the sketch if +any of them came near her. But in spite of her watchfulness, there was +a moment when she did not see the eyeglass of the pitiless Amelie +turned full upon the drawing from the shelter of a great portfolio. +Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the portrait of the mysterious man, +showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra hastily covered the sheet of +paper. + +"Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?" asked the +professor, gravely. + +The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the +sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:-- + +"Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not +better remain here?" + +Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, +Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden +emotion of master and pupil. + +"You are right," said Servin; "but really," he added, with a forced +laugh, "you will soon come to know more than I do." + +A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of +the officer's head. + +"It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!" he exclaimed, with the +energy of an artist. + +All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted +forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, the +prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra +knocked over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to +laugh; but she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before +Amelie could get to her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin +descanted on the beauty of the copy which his favorite pupil was then +making, and the whole class was duped by this stratagem, except +Amelie, who, slipping behind her companions, attempted to open the +portfolio where she had seen Ginevra throw the sketch. But the latter +took it up without a word, and placed it in front of her. The two +young girls then looked at each other fixedly, in silence. + +"Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places," said Servin. "If you wish to +do as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn't be always talking +fashions and balls, and trifling away your time as you do." + +When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down +beside Ginevra. + +"Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery +rather than the others?" asked the girl, in a low voice. + +"Yes," replied the painter, "you are one of us, a patriot; but even if +you were not, I should still have confided the matter to you." + +Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared +to ask:-- + +"Who is he?" + +"An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other +man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment +with the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and +was at Waterloo." + +"Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with +citizen's clothes?" said Ginevra, impatiently. + +"He will have them to-night." + +"You ought to have closed the studio for some days." + +"He is going away." + +"Then they'll kill him," said the girl. "Let him stay here with you +till the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in +France where a man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?" she +asked. + +"No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my +hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during +the campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him +from the claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to +defend the general, foolish fellow!" + +"Do you call him that!" cried Ginevra, casting a glance of +astonishment at the painter, who was silent for a moment. + +"My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able to keep him in his +own house," he resumed. "So he brought him to me, by night, about a +week ago. I hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only +spot in the house where he could be safe." + +"If I can be useful to you, employ me," said Ginevra. "I know the +Marechal de Feltre." + +"Well, we'll see," replied the painter. + +This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed by all the other +girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round once more to each easel, and +gave such long lessons that he was still there at the hour when the +pupils were in the habit of leaving. + +"You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thirion," said the +professor, running after the girl, who was now condescending to the +work of a spy to satisfy her jealousy. + +The baffled pupil returned for the bag, expressing surprise at her +carelessness; but this act of Servin's was to her fresh proof of the +existence of a mystery, the importance of which was evident. She now +ran noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door which opened into +the Servins' apartment, to give an impression that she had gone; then +she softly returned and stationed herself outside the door of the +studio. + + + + CHAPTER III + + LABEDOYERE'S FRIEND + +When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves alone, Servin rapped +in a peculiar manner on the door of the dark garret, which turned at +once on its rusty and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and +well-made young man, whose Imperial uniform set her heart to beating. +The officer had one arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face +revealed sharp suffering. Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. + +Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the door being closed, +was afraid to stay longer; she was satisfied with having heard the +opening of the garret door, and departed noiselessly. + +"Fear nothing," said the painter to the officer. "Mademoiselle is the +daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di +Piombo." + +The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra's patriotism as +soon as he saw her. + +"You are wounded," she said. + +"Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle," he replied; "the wound is healing." + +Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came +up from the street: "Condemned to death!" They all trembled, and the +soldier was the first to hear a name that turned him pale. + +"Labedoyere!" he cried, falling on a stool. + +They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid +forehead of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in +one hand with a gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra's +easel. + +"After all," he said, rising abruptly, "Labedoyere and I knew what we +were doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from +triumph or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding +myself!" + +He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra +reached it, and barred his way. + +"Can you restore the Emperor?" she said. "Do you expect to raise that +giant who could not maintain himself?" + +"But what can I do?" said the young man, addressing the two friends +whom chance had sent to him. "I have not a relation in the world. +Labedoyere was my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. +To-morrow I myself may be condemned; my only fortune was my pay. I +spent my last penny to come here and try to snatch Labedoyere from his +fate; death is, therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides to +die he ought to know how to sell his life to the executioner. I was +thinking just now that the life of an honest man is worth that of two +traitors, and the blow of a dagger well placed may give immortality." + +This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even Ginevra, whose own +nature comprehended that of the young man. She admired his handsome +face and his delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely +lessened by its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, she poured a +balm upon the wounds of the unfortunate man:-- + +"Monsieur," she said, "as for your pecuniary distress, permit me to +offer you my savings. My father is rich; I am his only child; he loves +me, and I am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting +my offer; our property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a +penny that is not the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude +to him to assist his faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as +indifferently as I offer them. It is only money!" she added, in a tone +of contempt. "Now, as for friends,--those you shall have." + +She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling +brilliancy. + +"The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save +yours," she went on. "Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape +and take service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here; +or in the French army, if you are." + +In the comfort that women give there is always a delicacy which has +something maternal, foreseeing, and complete about it. But when the +words of hope and peace are said with grace of gesture and that +eloquence of tone which comes from the heart, and when, above all, the +benefactress is beautiful, a young man does not resist. The prisoner +breathed in love through all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his +white cheeks; his eyes lost something of the sadness that dulled them, +and he said, in a peculiar tone of voice:-- + +"You are an angle of goodness-- But Labedoyere!" he added. "Oh, +Labedoyere!" + +At this cry they all three looked at one another in silence, each +comprehending the others' thoughts. No longer friends of twenty +minutes only, they were friends of twenty years. + +"Dear friend," said Servin, "can you save him?" + +"I can avenge him." + +Ginevra quivered. Though the stranger was handsome, his appearance had +not influenced her; the soft pity in a woman's heart for miseries that +are not ignoble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to hear +a cry of vengeance, to find in that proscribed being an Italian soul, +devotion to Napoleon, Corsican generosity!--ah! that was, indeed, too +much for her. She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion +which shook his heart. For the first time in her life a man had caused +her a keen emotion. She now, like other women, put the soul of the +stranger on a par with the noble beauty of his features and the happy +proportions of his figure, which she admired as an artist. Led by +accidental curiosity to pity, from pity to a powerful interest, she +came, through that interest, to such profound sensations that she felt +she was in danger if she stayed there longer. + +"Until to-morrow, then," she said, giving the officer a gentle smile +by way of a parting consolation. + +Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Ginevra's features, the +stranger forgot all else for an instant. + +"To-morrow," he said, sadly; "but to-morrow, Labedoyere--" + +Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked at him, as if to +say: "Be calm, be prudent." + +And the young man cried out in his own language: + +"Ah! Dio! che non vorrei vivere dopo averla veduta?--who would not +wish to live after seeing her?" + +The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the words made Ginevra +quiver. + +"Are you Corsican?" she cried, returning toward him with a beating +heart. + +"I was born in Corsica," he replied; "but I was brought, while very +young, to Genoa, and as soon as I was old enough for military service +I enlisted." + +The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent to him by his +attachment to the Emperor, his wound, his misfortunes, his danger, all +disappeared to Ginevra's mind, or, rather, all were blended in one +sentiment,--a new and delightful sentiment. This persecuted man was a +child of Corsica; he spoke its cherished language! She stood, for a +moment, motionless; held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a +living picture, to which all human sentiments, united by chance, gave +vivid colors. By Servin's invitation, the officer had seated himself +on a divan, and the painter, after removing the sling which supported +the arm of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order to dress the +wound. Ginevra shuddered when she saw the long, broad gash made by the +blade of a sabre on the young man's forearm, and a moan escaped her. +The stranger raised his head and smiled to her. There was something +touching which went to the soul, in the care with which Servin lifted +the lint and touched the lacerated flesh, while the face of the +wounded man, though pale and sickly, expressed, as he looked at the +girl, more pleasure than suffering. An artist would have admired, +involuntarily, this opposition of sentiments, together with the +contrasts produced by the whiteness of the linen and the bared arm to +the red and blue uniform of the officer. + +At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio; but a parting +ray of the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated the spot where the +soldier sat, so that his noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his +clothes were bathed in its glow. The effect was simple enough, but to +the girl's Italian imagination it was a happy omen. The stranger +seemed to her a celestial messenger, speaking the language of her own +country. He thus unconsciously put her under the spell of childhood's +memories, while in her heart there dawned another feeling as fresh, as +pure as her own innocence. For a short, very short moment, she was +motionless and dreamy, as though she were plunged in boundless +thought. Then she blushed at having allowed her absorption to be +noticed, exchanged one soft and rapid glance with the wounded man, and +fled with the vision of him still before her eyes. + +The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came to the studio, and +the prisoner was free to sit beside her easel. Servin, who had a +sketch to finish, played the part of mentor to the two young people, +who talked to each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the +sufferings of the retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, +he had made the passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man +left of his regiment. He described, in words of fire, the great +disaster of Waterloo. His voice was music itself to the Italian girl. +Brought up as a Corsican, Ginevra was, in some sense, a child of +Nature; falseness was a thing unknown to her; she gave herself up +without reserve to her impressions; she acknowledged them, or, rather, +allowed them to be seen without the affectations of petty and +calculating coquetry, characteristic of Parisian girlhood. During this +day she sat more than once with her palette in one hand, her brushes +in another, without touching a color. With her eyes fastened on the +officer, and her lips slightly apart, she listened, in the attitude of +painting a stroke which was never painted. She was not surprised to +see such softness in the eyes of the young man, for she felt that her +own were soft in spite of her will to keep them stern and calm. After +periods like this she painted diligently, without raising her head, +for he was there, near her, watching her work. The first time he sat +down beside her to contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of +some emotion, after a long pause:-- + +"Does it amuse you to see me paint?" + +That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it +was agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see +each other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to +inform him by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon. + +The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the +class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, a +young man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed +himself in the garret beyond the studio. + +"You, who take her part," she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, "watch her +carefully, and you will see how she spends her time." + +Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They +listened to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she +supposed that no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively +upon her. Thus enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly the +emotions that crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,--her +gestures, the peculiar tones in which she hummed a tune, and the +attention with which they saw her listen to sounds which only she +could hear through the partition. + +By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Servin's fifteen +pupils who had resisted the temptation of looking at Luigi through the +crevice of the partition; and she, through an instinct of weakness, +still defended her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin endeavored to +make her wait on the staircase after the class dispersed, that she +might prove to her the intimacy of Ginevra and the young man by +entering the studio and surprising them together. But Laure refused to +condescend to an act of espial which no curiosity could justify, and +she consequently became the object of much reprobation. + +Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that she thought it +improper to attend the classes of a painter whose opinions were +tainted with patriotism and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were +synonymous), and she ceased her attendance at the studio. But, +although she herself forgot Ginevra, the harm she had planted bore +fruit. Little by little, the other young girls revealed to their +mothers the strange events which were happening at the studio. One day +Matilde Roguin did not come; the next day another girl was missing, +and so on, till the last three or four who were left came no more. +Ginevra and Laure, her little friend, were the sole occupants of the +deserted studio for three or four days. + +Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the cause of her +companions' absence. As soon as she had invented means of +communication with Luigi she lived in the studio in a delightful +solitude, alone amid her own world, thinking only of the officer and +the dangers that threatened him. Though a sincere admirer of noble +characters that never betray their political faiths, she nevertheless +urged Luigi to submit himself to the royal authority, that he might be +released from his present life and remain in France. But to this he +would not consent. If passions are born and nourished, as they say, +under the influence of romantic causes, never did so many +circumstances of that kind concur in uniting two young souls by one +and the same sentiment. The friendship of Ginevra for Luigi and that +of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress in a month than a friendship +in society would make in ten years. Adversity is the touchstone of +character. Ginevra was able, therefore, to study Luigi, to know him; +and before long they mutually esteemed each other. The girl, who was +older than Luigi, found a charm in being courted by a youth already so +grand, so tried by fate,--a youth who joined to the experience of a +man the graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his side, felt an unspeakable +pleasure in allowing himself to be apparently protected by a woman, +now twenty-five years of age. Was it not a proof of love? The union of +gentleness and pride, strength and weakness in Ginevra were, to him, +irresistible attractions, and he was utterly subjugated by her. In +short, before long, they loved each other so profoundly that they felt +no need of denying to each other their love, nor yet of telling it. + +One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accustomed signal. Luigi +scratched with a pin on the woodwork in a manner that produced no more +noise than a spider might make as he fastened his thread. The signal +meant that he wished to come out of his retreat. + +Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing Laure, opened the +door; but as she did so Luigi caught sight of the little pupil and +abruptly retired. Surprised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw +Laure, and said, as she went up to the girl's easel:-- + +"You are staying late, my dear. That head seems to me finished; you +only want a high-light,--see! on that knot of hair." + +"You would do me a great kindness," said Laure, in a trembling voice, +"if you would give this copy a few touches; for then I could carry +away with me something to remind me of you." + +"Willingly," said Ginevra, painting a few strokes on the picture. "But +I thought it was a long way from your home to the studio, and it is +late." + +"Oh! Ginevra, I am going away, never to return," cried the poor girl, +sadly. + +"You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!" exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, +however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. + +"Haven't you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have +been alone in the studio?" + +"True," said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection. "Are all +those young ladies ill, or going to be married, or are their fathers +on duty at court?" + +"They have left Monsieur Servin," replied Laure. + +"Why?" + +"On your account, Ginevra." + +"My account!" repeated the Corsican, springing up, with a threatening +brow and her eyes flashing. + +"Oh! don't be angry, my kind Ginevra," cried Laure, in deep distress. +"My mother insists on my leaving the studio. The young ladies say that +you have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows the young man +whom you love to stay in the dark attic. I have never believed these +calumnies nor said a word to my mother about them. But last night +Madame Roguin met her at a ball and asked her if she still sent me +here. When my mother answered yes, Madame Roguin told her the +falsehoods of those young ladies. Mamma scolded me severely; she said +I must have known it all, and that I had failed in proper confidence +between mother and daughter by not telling her. Oh! my dear Ginevra! +I, who took you for my model, oh! how grieved I am that I can't be +your companion any longer." + +"We shall meet again in life; girls marry--" said Ginevra. + +"When they are rich," signed Laure. + +"Come and see me; my father has a fortune--" + +"Ginevra," continued Laure, tenderly. "Madame Roguin and my mother are +coming to see Monsieur Servin to-morrow and reproach him; hadn't you +better warn him." + +A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra's feet could not have astonished her +more than this revelation. + +"What matter is it to them?" she asked, naively. + +"Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral." + +"And you, Laure, what do you say?" + +The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure +could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend's +breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. + +"Mademoiselle Ginevra," he cried, with enthusiasm, "I have finished my +picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, +meanwhile? Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or +are they in the country?" + +Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away. + +"The studio has been deserted for some days," replied Ginevra, "and +the young ladies are not coming back." + +"Pooh!" + +"Oh! don't laugh," said Ginevra. "Listen: I am the involuntary cause +of the loss of your reputation--" + +The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his pupil:-- + +"My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture will make it at the +Exposition." + +"That relates to your talent," replied the girl. "I am speaking of +your morality. Those young ladies have told their mothers that Luigi +was shut up here, and that you lent yourself--to--our love." + +"There is some truth in that, mademoiselle," replied the professor. +"The mothers of those young ladies are foolish women; if they had come +straight to me I should have explained the matter. But I don't care a +straw about it! Life is short, anyhow." + +And the painter snapped his fingers above his head. Luigi, who had +heard part of the conversation, came in. + +"You have lost all your scholars," he cried. "I have ruined you!" + +The artist took Luigi's hand and that of Ginevra, and joined them. + +"Marry one another, my children," he said, with fatherly kindness. + +They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was the first avowal +they had made to each other of their love. + +"You will surely be happy," said Servin. "There is nothing in life to +equal the happiness of two beings like yourselves when bound together +in love." + +Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at first being able to +utter a word; but presently he said, in a voice of emotion:-- + +"To you I owe it all." + +"Be happy! I bless and wed you," said the painter, with comic unction, +laying his hands upon the heads of the lovers. + +This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. All three +looked at one another and laughed merrily. Ginevra pressed Luigi's +hand in a strong clasp, with a simplicity of action worthy of the +customs of her native land. + +"Ah ca, my dear children," resumed Servin, "you think that all will go +right now, but you are much mistaken." + +The lovers looked at him in astonishment. + +"Don't be anxious. I'm the only one that your romance will harm. But +the fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don't really +see how we are to settle it with her." + +"Heavens! and I forgot to tell you," exclaimed Ginevra, "that Madame +Roguin and Laure's mother are coming here to-morrow to--" + +"I understand," said the painter. + +"But you can easily justify yourself," continued the girl, with a +proud movement of her head. "Monsieur Luigi," she added, turning to +him with an arch look, "will no longer object to entering the royal +service. Well, then," after receiving a smile from the young man, +"to-morrow morning I will send a petition to one of the most influential +persons at the ministry of War,--a man who will refuse nothing to the +daughter of the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a 'tacit' pardon for +Captain Luigi, for, of course, they will not allow him the rank of +major. And then," she added, addressing Servin, "you can confound the +mothers of my charitable companions by telling them the truth." + +"You are an angel!" cried Servin. + +While this scene was passing at the studio the father and mother of +Ginevra were becoming impatient at her non-return. + +"It is six o'clock, and Ginevra not yet home!" cried Bartolomeo. + +"She was never so late before," said his wife. + +The two old people looked at each other with an anxiety that was not +usual with them. Too anxious to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose +and walked about the salon with an active step for a man who was over +seventy-seven years of age. Thanks to his robust constitution, he had +changed but little since the day of his arrival in Paris, and, despite +his tall figure, he walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left +uncovered a broad and protuberant skull, which gave a strong idea of +his character and firmness. His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had +taken, with age, a nobler expression, preserving the pallid tones +which inspire veneration. The ardor of passions still lived in the +fire of his eyes, while the eyebrows, which were not wholly whitened, +retained their terrible mobility. The aspect of the head was stern, +but it conveyed the impression that Piombo had a right to be so. His +kindness, his gentleness were known only to his wife and daughter. In +his functions, or in presence of strangers, he never laid aside the +majesty that time had impressed upon his person; and the habit of +frowning with his heavy eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his +face, and giving to his eyes a Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of +accosting others icy. + +During the course of his political life he had been so generally +feared that he was thought unsocial, and it is not difficult to +explain the causes of that opinion. The life, morals, and fidelity of +Piombo made him obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that +delicate missions were constantly intrusted to his discretion which to +any other man about the court would have proved lucrative, he +possessed an income of not more than thirty thousand francs from an +investment in the Grand Livre. If we recall the cheapness of +government securities under the Empire, and the liberality of Napoleon +towards those of his faithful servants who knew how to ask for it, we +can readily see that the Baron di Piombo must have been a man of stern +integrity. He owed his plumage as baron to the necessity Napoleon felt +of giving him a title before sending him on missions to foreign +courts. + +Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the traitors with whom +Napoleon surrounded himself, expecting to bind them to his cause by +dint of victories. It was he of whom it is told that he made three +steps to the door of the Emperor's cabinet after advising him to get +rid of three men in France on the eve of Napoleon's departure for his +celebrated and admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of +the Bourbons Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of +honor. No man offered a finer image of those old Republicans, +incorruptible friends to the Empire, who remained the living relics of +the two most energetic governments the world has ever seen. Though the +Baron di Piombo displeased mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, +and Carnots with him as friends. As for the rest of the politicians, +he cared not a whiff of his cigar's smoke for them, especially since +Waterloo. + +Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which +Madame Mere, the Emperor's mother, had paid him for his estates in +Corsica, the old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had +made no changes. Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he +did not occupy this house until after the catastrophe of +Fontainebleau. Following the habits of simple persons of strict +virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed to external splendor; +their furniture was that which they bought with the mansion. The grand +apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide mirrors in gilded frames +that were almost black, the furniture of the period of Louis XIV. were +in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, personages worthy of +antiquity. + +Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising +functions that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had +maintained a great establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor +to his office than from any desire to shine himself. His life and that +of his wife were so frugal, so tranquil, that their modest fortune +sufficed for all their wants. To them, their daughter Ginevra was more +precious than the wealth of the whole world. When, therefore, in May, +1814, the Baron di Piombo resigned his office, dismissed his crowd of +servants, and closed his stable door, Ginevra, quiet, simple and +unpretending like her parents, saw nothing to regret in the change. +Like all great souls, she found her luxury in strength of feeling, and +derived her happiness from quietness and work. These three beings +loved each other too well for the externals of existence to be of +value in their eyes. + +Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon, +Bartolomeo and his wife passed delightful evenings alone with their +daughter, listening while she sang and played. To them there was a +vast secret pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that +child; their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; they heard her +step in the court-yard, lightly as she trod. Like lovers, the three +would often sit silently together, understanding thus, better than by +speech, the eloquence of their souls. This profound sentiment, the +life itself of the two old people, animated their every thought. Here +were not three existences, but one,--one only, which, like the flame +on the hearth, divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, +occasionally, some memory of Napoleon's benefits and misfortunes, if +the public events of the moment distracted the minds of the old people +from this source of their constant solicitude, they could always talk +of those interests without affecting their community of thought, for +Ginevra shared their political passions. What more natural, therefore, +than the ardor with which they found a refuge in the heart of their +only child? + +Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed the energy of +the Baron di Piombo; but after leaving those employments he felt the +need of casting that energy into the last sentiment that remained to +him. Apart from the ties of parentage, there may have been, unknown to +these three despotic souls, another powerful reason for the intensity +of their reciprocal love: it was love undivided. Ginevra's whole heart +belonged to her father, as Piombo's whole heart belonged to his child; +and if it be true that we are bound to one another more by our defects +than by our virtues, Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the +passions of her father. There lay the sole imperfection of this triple +life. Ginevra was born unyielding of will, vindictive, and passionate, +like her father in his youth. + +The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these savage sentiments +in the heart of his daughter, precisely as a lion teaches the lion-cubs +to spring upon their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance having +no means of action in their family life, it came to pass that Ginevra +turned the principle against her father; as a child she forgave him +nothing, and he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more +than childish nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the child +was all the while acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. In the +midst, however, of the tempests which the father was fond of exciting, +a look, a word of tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls, +and often they were never so near to a kiss as when they were +threatening each other vehemently. + +Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her +father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love +which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got +the better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had +resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother +on the footing of an equality which is always dangerous. + +Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to +study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had +studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,--taking up and +leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had +proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble +woman had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of +enlightening her mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature; +her defects came from the fatal education which the old Corsican had +found delight in giving her. + +After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the +bell; a servant entered. + +"Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra," said his master. + +"I always regret our carriage on her account," remarked the baroness. + +"She said she did not want one," replied Piombo, looking at his wife, +who, accustomed for forty years to habits of obedience, lowered her +eyes and said no more. + +Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and wrinkled, the +baroness exactly resembled those old women whom Schnetz puts into the +Italian scenes of his "genre" pictures. She was so habitually silent +that she might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; but, +occasionally, a word, look, or gesture betrayed that her feelings +still retained all the vigor and the freshness of their youth. Her +dress, devoid of coquetry, was often in bad taste. She usually sat +passive, buried in a low sofa, like a Sultana Valide, awaiting or +admiring her Ginevra, her pride, her life. The beauty, toilet, and +grace of her daughter seemed to have become her own. All was well with +her if Ginevra was happy. Her hair was white, and a few strands only +were seen above her white and wrinkled forehead, or beside her hollow +cheeks. + +"It is now fifteen days," she said, "since Ginevra made a practice of +being late." + +"Jean is so slow!" cried the impatient old man, buttoning up his blue +coat and seizing his hat, which he dashed upon his head as he took his +cane and departed. + +"You will not get far," said his wife, calling after him. + +As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, and the old +mother heard the steps of her Ginevra in the court-yard. Bartolomeo +almost instantly reappeared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in +his arms. + + + + CHAPTER IV + + LOVE + +"Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!" +cried the old man. + +"Oh, father, you hurt me!" + +Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her +head with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her +cry, as if to say, "Don't be alarmed, it was only a trick to get +away." + +The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even +assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,--with him +the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he +saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers +who served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of +his face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. +These two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of +a drooping plant to which a little water has given fresh life after +long dryness. + +"Now, to dinner! to dinner!" cried the baron, offering his large hand +to his daughter, whom he called "Signora Piombellina,"--another +symptom of gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile. + +"Ah ca!" said Piombo, as they left the table, "your mother has called +my attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much +longer than usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you +than your parents--" + +"Oh, father!" + +"Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think," said the mother. + +"A picture of your own! will you bring us that?" cried the Corsican, +clapping his hands. + +"Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio," replied Ginevra, rather +slowly. + +"What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!" cried her mother. + +"No!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,--"no! it shall +never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie." + +Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their +daughter in astonishment. + +"I love a young man," she added, in a voice of emotion. + +Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large +eyelids as if to veil the fire of her eyes. + +"Is he a prince?" asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice +which made the mother quail. + +"No, father," she said, gently, "he is a young man without fortune." + +"Is he very handsome?" + +"He is very unfortunate." + +"What is he?" + +"Labedoyere's comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin +concealed him, and--" + +"Servin is a good fellow, who has done well," cried Piombo; "but you, +my daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father." + +"It does not depend on me to love, or not to love," replied Ginevra, +still gently. + +"I flattered myself," continued her father, "that my Ginevra would be +faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother +would suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness +would find a rival in her soul, and--" + +"Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?" said +Ginevra. "Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me +for months together when you went on missions. I bore your absence +courageously. Life has necessities to which we must all submit." + +"Ginevra!" + +"No, you don't love me for myself; your reproaches betray your +intolerable egotism." + +"You dare to blame your father's love!" exclaimed Piombo, his eyes +flashing. + +"Father, I don't blame you," replied Ginevra, with more gentleness +than her trembling mother expected. "You have grounds for your +egotism, as I have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has +ever fulfilled her duty to her parents better than I have done to you. +I have never felt anything but love and happiness where others often +see obligation. It is now fifteen years that I have never left your +protecting wing, and it has been a most dear pleasure to me to charm +your life. But am I ungrateful for all this in giving myself up to the +joy of loving; is it ingratitude to desire a husband who will protect +me hereafter?" + +"What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?" said Piombo, +in a dangerous tone. + +A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. +Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending +tone:-- + +"Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot +have you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await +your liberty." + +"But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to +love you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath +me. You will be doubly cherished by me and by him,--by him who is my +other self, by me who am all his." + +"Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!" cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; "why +did you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did +you not take the counts and dukes he presented to you?" + +"They loved me to order," said the girl. "Besides, they would have +made me live with them, and I did not wish to leave you alone." + +"You don't wish to leave me alone," said Piombo, "and yet you marry! +--that is leaving me alone. I know you, my daughter; in that case, you +would cease to love us. Elisa," he added, looking at his wife, who +remained motionless, and as if stupefied, "we have no longer a +daughter; she wishes to marry." + +The old man sat down, after raising his hands to heaven with a gesture +of invoking the Divine power; then he bowed himself over as if weighed +down with sorrow. + +Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which he put upon his +anger touched her to the heart; she expected some violent crisis, some +ungovernable fury; she had not armed her soul against paternal +gentleness. + +"Father," she said, in a tender voice, "no, you shall never be +abandoned by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If +you know how he loves me! Ah! _He_ would never make me unhappy!" + +"Comparisons already!" cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. "No, I can +never endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve +to be loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a +dagger through him." + +The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body +trembled, but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to +endure his glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was +worthy of the sire. + +"Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?" continued +Piombo. "To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there +worthy to be your husband?" + +"_He_," said Ginevra; "he of whom I am not worthy." + +"He?" repeated Piombo, mechanically; "who is _he_?" + +"He whom I love." + +"How can he know you enough to love you?" + +"Father," said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, "whether he +loves me or not, if I love him--" + +"You love him?" cried Piombo. + +Ginevra bent her head softly. + +"You love him more than you love us?" + +"The two feelings cannot be compared," she replied. + +"Is one stronger than the other?" + +"I think it is," said Ginevra. + +"You shall not marry him," cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the +window-panes. + +"I shall marry him," replied Ginevra, tranquilly. + +"Oh, God!" cried the mother, "how will this quarrel end? Santa +Virgina! place thyself between them!" + +The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated +himself; an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his +daughter, and said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,-- + +"Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night +--let me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his +knees, his white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you--" + +"Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it," she replied. "I +am your daughter." + +"She is right," said the baroness. "We are sent into the world to +marry." + +"Do you encourage her in disobedience?" said the baron to his wife, +who, terrified by the word, now changed to marble. + +"Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedience," said Ginevra. + +"No order can be unjust from the lips of your father, my daughter. Why +do you judge my action? The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on +high, sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil." + +"The only evil could be that he did not love me." + +"Always _he_!" + +"Yes, always," she answered. "He is my life, my good, my thought. Even +if I obeyed you he would be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him +is to make me hate you." + +"You love us not!" cried Piombo. + +"Oh!" said Ginevra, shaking her head. + +"Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After we are gone--you +understand?" + +"Father, do you wish me to long for your death?" cried Ginevra. + +"I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor their parents die +early," said the father, driven to exasperation. + +"All the more reason why I should marry and be happy," she replied. + +This coolness and power of argument increased Piombo's trouble; the +blood rushed violently to his head, and his face turned purple. +Ginevra shuddered; she sprang like a bird on her father's knee, threw +her arms around his neck, and caressed his white hair, exclaiming, +tenderly:-- + +"Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never survive you, my father, +my kind father!" + +"Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!" replied Piombo, whose anger melted +under this caress like snow beneath the rays of the sun. + +"It was time you ceased," said the baroness, in a trembling voice. + +"Poor mother!" + +"Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra!" + +And the father played with his daughter as though she were a child of +six. He amused himself by releasing the waving volume of her hair, by +dandling her on his knee; there was something of madness in these +expressions of his love. Presently his daughter scolded while kissing +him, and tried, by jesting, to obtain admission for Luigi; but her +father, also jesting, refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once +more, and sulked again, until, by the end of the evening, she was +forced to be content with having impressed upon her father's mind both +her love for Luigi and the idea of an approaching marriage. + +The next day she said no more about her love; she was more caressing +to her father than she had ever been, and testified the utmost +gratitude, as if to thank him for the consent he seemed to have given +by his silence. That evening she sang and played to him for a long +time, exclaiming now and then: "We want a man's voice for this +nocturne." Ginevra was an Italian, and that says all. + +At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She went; and Elisa +Piombo whispered in her ear:-- + +"I have persuaded your father to receive him." + +"Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!" + +That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on the arm of her Luigi. +The officer came out of his hiding-place for the second time only. The +earnest appeals which Ginevra made to the Duc de Feltre, then minister +of war, had been crowned with complete success. Luigi's name was +replaced upon the roll of officers awaiting orders. This was the first +great step toward better things. Warned by Ginevra of the difficulties +he would encounter with her father, the young man dared not express +his fear of finding it impossible to please the old man. Courageous +under adversity, brave on a battlefield, he trembled at the thought of +entering Piombo's salon. Ginevra felt him tremble, and this emotion, +the source of which lay in her, was, to her eyes, another proof of +love. + +"How pale you are!" she said to him when they reached the door of the +house. + +"Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only!--" + +Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of the formal +presentation Ginevra was to make of her lover, he would not advance to +meet him, but remained seated in his usual arm-chair, and the +sternness of his brow was awful. + +"Father," said Ginevra, "I bring you a person you will no doubt be +pleased to see,--a soldier who fought beside the Emperor at +Mont-Saint-Jean." + +The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance at Luigi, and said, in a +sardonic tone:-- + +"Monsieur is not decorated." + +"I no longer wear the Legion of honor," replied Luigi, timidly, still +standing. + +Ginevra, mortified by her father's incivility, dragged forward a +chair. The officer's answer seemed to satisfy the old servant of +Napoleon. Madame Piombo, observing that her husband's eyebrows were +resuming their natural position, said, by way of conversation: + +"Monsieur's resemblance to a person we knew in Corsica, Nina Porta, is +really surprising." + +"Nothing could be more natural," replied the young man, on whose face +Piombo's flaming eyes now rested. "Nina was my sister." + +"Are you Luigi Porta?" asked the old man. + +"Yes." + +Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against a chair and +beckon to his wife. Elisa Piombo came to him. Then the two old people, +silently, each supporting the other, left the room, abandoning their +daughter with a sort of horror. + +Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had turned as white as +a marble statue, and stood gazing at the door through which her father +and mother had disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed to +her so solemn that, for the first time, in her whole life, a feeling +of fear entered her soul. She struck her hands together with great +force, and said, in a voice so shaken that none but a lover could have +heard the words:-- + +"What misery in a word!" + +"In the name of our love, what have I said?" asked Luigi Porta. + +"My father," she replied, "never spoke to me of our deplorable +history, and I was too young when we left Corsica to know anything +about it." + +"Are we in vendetta?" asked Luigi, trembling. + +"Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas killed my brother and +burned our house. My father then massacred the whole family. How is it +that you survived?--for you were tied to the posts of the bed before +they set fire to the house." + +"I do not know," replied Luigi. "I was taken to Genoa when six years +old, and given in charge of an old man named Colonna. No detail about +my family was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, and +without property. Old Colonna was a father to me; and I bore his name +until I entered the army. In order to do that, I had to show my +certificate of birth in order to prove my identity. Colonna then told +me, still a mere child, that I had enemies. And he advised me to take +Luigi as my surname, and so evade them." + +"Go, go, Luigi!" cried Ginevra. "No, stay; I must go with you. So long +as you are in my father's house you have nothing to fear; but the +moment you leave it, take care! you will go from danger to danger. My +father has two Corsicans in his service, and if he does not lie in +wait to kill you, they will." + +"Ginevra," he said, "this feud, does it exist between you and me?" + +The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presently she raised it, and +said, with a sort of pride:-- + +"Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, indeed, to give me +strength to tread the path I am about to enter. But it involves a +happiness that will last throughout our lives, will it not?" + +Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. + +Ginevra comprehended that true love could despise all vulgar +protestations at such a moment. This calm and restrained expression of +his feelings foreshadowed, in some sense, their strength and their +duration. + +The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. Ginevra foresaw a +cruel struggle, but the idea of abandoning Luigi--an idea which may +have floated in her soul--vanished completely. His forever, she +dragged him suddenly, with a desperate sort of energy, from her +father's house, and did not leave him till she saw him reach the house +where Servin had engaged a modest lodging. + +By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained to that serenity +which is caused by a firm resolution; no sign in her manner betrayed +uneasiness. She turned on her father and mother, whom she found in the +act of sitting down to dinner, a glance of exceeding gentleness devoid +of hardihood. She saw that her mother had been weeping; the redness of +those withered eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emotion. No +one touched the dinner which was served to them. A horror of food is +one of the chief symptoms which reveal a great crisis in life. All +three rose from table without having addressed a single word to one +another. + +When Ginevra had placed herself between her father and mother in the +great and gloomy salon, Piombo tried to speak, but his voice failed +him; he tried to walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned +to his seat and rang the bell. + +"Pietro," he said, at last, to the footman, "light the fire; I am +cold." + +Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anxiously. The struggle +within him must have been horrible, for his face was distorted. +Ginevra knew the extent of the peril before her, but she did not +flinch. Bartolomeo, meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his daughter, +as if he feared a character whose violence was the work of his own +hands. + +Between such natures all things must be extreme. The certainty of some +impending change in the feelings of father and daughter gave to the +worn and weary face of the baroness an expression of terror. + +"Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family," said Piombo, at last, +not daring to look at his daughter. + +"That is true," she replied. + +"You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a part of our being. +Whoso does not share my vengeance is not a member of my family." + +"My choice is made," replied Ginevra, calmly. + +His daughter's tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. + +"Oh! my dear child!" he cried, letting her see his eyes moistened with +tears, the first and only tears he ever shed in life. + +"I shall be his wife," said Ginevra, abruptly. + +Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he recovered his coolness +instantly, and replied:-- + +"The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I will never consent +to it." + +Ginevra kept silence. + +"Ginevra," continued the baron, "have you reflected that Luigi is the +son of the man who killed your brother?" + +"He was six years old when that crime was committed; he was, +therefore, not guilty of it," she replied. + +"He is a Porta!" cried Bartolomeo. + +"I have never shared that hatred," said Ginevra, eagerly. "You did not +bring me up to think a Porta must be a monster. How could I know that +one of those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is it not +natural that you should now yield your vendetta to my feelings?" + +"A Porta!" repeated Piombo. "If his father had found you in your bed +you would not be living now; he would have taken your life a hundred +times." + +"It may be so," she answered; "but his son has given me life, and more +than life. To see Luigi is a happiness without which I cannot live. +Luigi has revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, perhaps, have +seen faces more beautiful than his, but none has ever charmed me thus; +I may have heard voices--no, no, never any so melodious! Luigi loves +me; he will be my husband." + +"Never," said Piombo. "I would rather see you in your coffin, +Ginevra." + +The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and down the salon, +dropping the following sentences, one by one, after pauses which +betrayed his agitation. + +"You think you can bend my will. Undeceive yourself. A Porta shall +never be my son; that is my decree. Let there be no further question +of this between us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, +Ginevra?" + +"Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those words?" she asked, +coldly. + +"They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not fear man's justice. +Corsicans explain themselves to God." + +"And I," said the daughter, rising, "am Ginevra Piombo, and I declare +that within six months I shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a +tyrant, my father," she added, after a terrifying pause. + +Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on the marble of the +chimneypiece. + +"Ah! we are in Paris!" he muttered. + +Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head on his breast, +and said not another word during the whole evening. + +After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra affected +inconceivable coolness. She opened the piano and sang, played charming +nocturnes and scherzos with a grace and sentiment which displayed a +perfect freedom of mind, thus triumphing over her father, whose +darkling face showed no softening. The old man was cruelly hurt by +this tacit insult; he gathered in this one moment the bitter fruits of +the training he had given to his daughter. Respect is a barrier which +protects parents as it does children, sparing grief to the former, +remorse to the latter. + +The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the house at the hour when +she usually went to the studio, she found the gates of the mansion +closed to her. She said nothing, but soon found means to inform Luigi +Porta of her father's severity. A chambermaid, who could neither read +nor write, was able to carry letters between the lovers. For five days +they corresponded thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of the +youth. + +The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. Both were nursing +in the depths of their heart a sentiment of hatred; they suffered, but +they suffered proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong were the +ties of love which bound them to each other, they each tried to break +them, but without success. No gentle thought came, as formerly, to +brighten the stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his +Ginevra. The girl had something savage in her eye when she looked at +her father; reproach sat enthroned on that innocent brow; she gave +herself up, it is true, to happy thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse +seemed to dull her eyes. It was not difficult to believe that she +could never enjoy, peacefully, any happiness which caused sorrow to +her parents. + +With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesitations of this period +caused by the native goodness of their souls were, nevertheless, +compelled to give way before their pride and the rancor of their +Corsican nature. They encouraged each other in their anger, and closed +their eyes to the future. Perhaps they mutually flattered themselves +that the one would yield to the other. + +At last, on Ginevra's birthday, her mother, in despair at the +estrangement which, day by day, assumed a more serious character, +meditated an attempt to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of +the memories of this family anniversary. They were all three sitting +in Bartolomeo's study. Ginevra guessed her mother's intention by the +timid hesitation on her face, and she smiled sadly. + +At this moment a servant announced two notaries, accompanied by +witnesses. Bartolomeo looked fixedly at these persons, whose cold and +formal faces were grating to souls so passionately strained as those +of the three chief actors in this scene. The old man turned to his +daughter and looked at her uneasily. He saw upon her face a smile of +triumph which made him expect some shock; but, after the manner of +savages, he affected to maintain a deceitful indifference as he gazed +at the notaries with an assumed air of calm curiosity. The strangers +sat down, after being invited to do so by a gesture of the old man. + +"Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?" began the oldest of +the notaries. + +Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight inclination of the head, +looked at Ginevra with a sly expression, took out his snuff-box, +opened it, and slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words +with which to open his errand; then, while uttering them, he made +continual pauses (an oratorical manoeuvre very imperfectly represented +by the printer's dash--). + +"Monsieur," he said, "I am Monsieur Roguin, your daughter's notary, +and we have come--my colleague and I--to fulfil the intentions of the +law and--put an end to the divisions which--appear--to exist--between +yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter,--on the subject--of--her +--marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta." + +This speech, pedantically delivered, probably seemed to Monsieur +Roguin so fine that his hearer could not at once understand it. He +paused, and looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of the +mere business lawyer, a mixture of servility with familiarity. +Accustomed to feign much interest in the persons with whom they deal, +notaries have at last produced upon their features a grimace of their +own, which they take on and off as an official "pallium." This mask of +benevolence, the mechanism of which is so easy to perceive, irritated +Bartolomeo to such an extent that he was forced to collect all the +powers of his reason to prevent him from throwing Monsieur Roguin +through the window. An expression of anger ran through his wrinkles, +which caused the notary to think to himself: "I've produced an +effect." + +"But," he continued, in a honeyed tone, "Monsieur le baron, on such +occasions our duties are preceded by--efforts at--conciliation--Deign, +therefore, to have the goodness to listen to me--It is in evidence +that Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo--attains this very day--the age at +which the law allows a respectful summons before proceeding to the +celebration of a marriage--in spite of the non-consent of the parents. +Now--it is usual in families--who enjoy a certain consideration--who +belong to society--who preserve some dignity--to whom, in short, it is +desirable not to let the public into the secret of their differences +--and who, moreover, do not wish to injure themselves by blasting with +reprobation the future of a young couple (for--that is injuring +themselves), it is usual, I say--among these honorable families--not +to allow these summonses--to take place--or remain--a monument to +--divisions which should end--by ceasing--Whenever, monsieur, a young +lady has recourse to respectful summons, she exhibits a determination +too marked to allow of a father--of a mother," here he turned to the +baroness, "hoping or expecting that she will follow their wishes +--Paternal resistance being null--by reason of this fact--in the first +place--and also from its being nullified by law, it is customary--for +every sensible man--after making a final remonstrance to his child +--and before she proceeds to the respectful summons--to leave her at +liberty to--" + +Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might talk on for two +hours without obtaining any answer; he felt, moreover, a singular +emotion at the aspect of the man he was attempting to convert. An +extraordinary revolution had taken place on Piombo's face; his +wrinkles, contracting into narrow lines, gave him a look of +indescribable cruelty, and he cast upon the notary the glance of a +tiger. The baroness was mute and passive. Ginevra, calm and resolute, +waited silently; she knew that the notary's voice was more potent than +hers, and she seemed to have decided to say nothing. At the moment +when Roguin ceased speaking, the scene had become so terrifying that +the men who were there as witnesses trembled; never, perhaps, had they +known so awful a silence. The notaries looked at each other, as if in +consultation, and finally rose and walked to the window. + +"Did you ever meet people born into the world like that?" asked Roguin +of his brother notary. + +"You can't get anything out of him," replied the younger man. "In your +place, I should simply read the summons. That old fellow isn't a +comfortable person; he is furious, and you'll gain nothing whatever by +arguing with him." + +Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, containing the "respectful +summons," prepared for the occasion; after which he proceeded to ask +Bartolomeo what answer he made to it. + +"Are there laws in France which destroy paternal authority?--" +demanded the Corsican. + +"Monsieur--" said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. + +"Which tear a daughter from her father?--" + +"Monsieur--" + +"Which deprive an old man of his last consolation?--" + +"Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you if--" + +"And kill him?--" + +"Monsieur, permit me--" + +There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and precise reasoning +of notaries amid the many passionate scenes in which they are +accustomed to take part. + +The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his eyes, escaped from +hell; his repressed and concentrated rage knew no longer any bounds as +the calm and fluted voice of the little notary uttered the words: +"permit me." By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger that was +hanging to a nail above the fireplace, and rushed toward his daughter. +The younger of the two notaries and one of the witnesses threw +themselves before Ginevra; but Piombo knocked them violently down, his +face on fire, and his eyes casting flames more terrifying than the +glitter of the dagger. When Ginevra saw him approach her she looked at +him with an air of triumph, and advancing slowly, knelt down. "No, no! +I cannot!" he cried, flinging away the weapon, which buried itself in +the wainscot. + +"Well, then! have mercy! have pity!" she said. "You hesitate to be my +death, and you refuse me life! Oh! father, never have I loved you as I +do at this moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon my +knees: a daughter can humiliate herself before her father. My Luigi, +give me my Luigi, or I die!" + +The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped her words, for she +had no voice; her convulsive movements showed plainly that she lay, as +it were, between life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from +him. + +"Go," he said. "The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be a Piombo. I have no +daughter. I have not the strength to curse you, but I cast you off; +you have no father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here," he said, in a +deep voice, pressing violently on his heart. "Go, leave my house, +unhappy girl," he added, after a moment's silence. "Go, and never come +into my sight again." + +So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate of the house and +silently put her out. + +"Luigi!" cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodging of her lover,--"my +Luigi, we have no other fortune than our love." + +"Then am I richer than the kings of the earth!" he cried. + +"My father and my mother have cast me off," she said, in deepest +sadness. + +"I will love you in place of them." + +"Then let us be happy,--we WILL be happy!" she cried, with a gayety in +which there was something dreadful. + + + + CHAPTER V + + MARRIAGE + +The day after Ginevra was driven from her father's house she went to +ask Madame Servin for asylum and protection until the period fixed by +law for her marriage to Luigi. + +Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble which the world +strews about the path of those who do not follow its conventions. +Madame Servin received her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm +which Ginevra's affair had inflicted on her husband, and told her, in +politely cautious words, that she must not count on her help in +future. Too proud to persist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto +unknown to her, the girl took a room in the lodging-house that was +nearest to that of Luigi. The son of the Portas passed all his days at +the feet of his future wife; and his youthful love, the purity of his +words, dispersed the clouds from the mind of the banished daughter; +the future was so beautiful as he painted it that she ended by smiling +joyfully, though without forgetting her father's severity. + +One morning the servant of the lodging house brought to Ginevra's room +a number of trunks and packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and +a great quantity of other articles necessary for a young wife in +setting up a home of her own. In this welcome provision she recognized +her mother's foresight, and, on examining the gifts, she found a +purse, in which the baroness had put the money belonging to her +daughter, adding to it the amount of her own savings. The purse was +accompanied by a letter, in which the mother implored the daughter to +forego the fatal marriage if it were still possible to do so. It had +cost her, she said, untold difficulty to send these few things to her +daughter; she entreated her not to think her hard if, henceforth, she +were forced to abandon her to want; she feared she could never again +assist her; but she blessed her and prayed for her happiness in this +fatal marriage, if, indeed, she persisted in making it, assuring her +that she should never cease to think of her darling child. Here the +falling tears had effaced some words of the letter. + +"Oh, mother!" cried Ginevra, deeply moved. + +She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the blessed air of her +father's house, to fling herself at his feet, to see her mother. She +was springing forward to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At +the mere sight of him her filial emotion vanished; her tears were +stopped, and she no longer had the strength to abandon that loving and +unfortunate youth. To be the sole hope of a noble being, to love him +and then abandon him!--that sacrifice is the treachery of which young +hearts are incapable. Ginevra had the generosity to bury her own grief +and suffering silently in her soul. + +The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend with her. While she +was dressing, Luigi fetched the witnesses necessary to sign the +certificate of marriage. These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a +cavalry sergeant, was under obligations to Luigi, contracted on the +battlefield, obligations which are never obliterated from the heart of +an honest man; the other, a master-mason, was the proprietor of the +house in which the young couple had hired an apartment for their +future home. Each witness brought a friend, and all four, with Luigi, +came to escort the bride. Little accustomed to social functions, and +seeing nothing in the service they were rendering to Luigi but a +simple matter of business, they were dressed in their ordinary +clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about them denoted the usual +joy of a marriage procession. + +Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her present fortunes; +and yet her beauty was so noble and so imposing that the words of +greeting died away on the lips of the witnesses, who supposed +themselves obliged to pay her some usual compliments. They bowed to +her with respect, and she returned the bow; but they did so in +silence, looking at her with admiration. This reserve cast a chill +over the whole party. Joy never bursts forth freely except among those +who are equals. Thus chance determined that all should be dull and +grave around the bridal pair; nothing reflected, outwardly, the +happiness that reigned within their hearts. + +The church and the mayor's office being near by, Luigi and Ginevra, +followed by the four witnesses required by law, walked the distance, +with a simplicity that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in +social life. They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the mayor's +court-yard; and when they reached the great hall where the civil +marriages take place, they found two other wedding-parties impatiently +awaiting the mayor's arrival. + +Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long bench; their +witnesses remained standing, for want of seats. Two brides, +elaborately dressed in white, with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and +crowned with orange-blossoms whose satiny petals nodded beneath their +veils, were surrounded by joyous families, and accompanied by their +mothers, to whom they looked up, now and then, with eyes that were +content and timid both; the faces of all the rest reflected happiness, +and seemed to be invoking blessings on the youthful pairs. Fathers, +witnesses, brothers, and sisters went and came, like a happy swarm of +insects disporting in the sun. Each seemed to be impressed with the +value of this passing moment of life, when the heart finds itself +within two hopes,--the wishes of the past, the promises of the future. + +As she watched them, Ginevra's heart swelled within her; she pressed +Luigi's arm, and gave him a look. A tear rolled from the eyes of the +young Corsican; never did he so well understand the joys that his +Ginevra was sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her to +forget all else but him,--even the abandonment in which she sat there. +Love poured down its treasures of light upon their hearts; they saw +nought else but themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they +were there alone, in that crowd, as they were destined to be, +henceforth, in life. Their witnesses, indifferent to what was +happening, conversed quietly on their own affairs. + +"Oats are very dear," said the sergeant to the mason. + +"But they have not gone up like lime, relatively speaking," replied +the contractor. + +Then they walked round the hall. + +"How one loses time here," said the mason, replacing a thick silver +watch in his fob. + +Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, seemed like one +person. A poet would have admired their two heads, inspired by the +same sentiment, colored in the same tones, silent and saddened in +presence of that humming happiness sparkling in diamonds, gay with +flowers,--a gayety in which there was something fleeting. The joy of +those noisy and splendid groups was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi +was buried in their bosom. On one side the tumult of common pleasure, +on the other, the delicate silence of happy souls,--earth and heaven! + +But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weaknesses of women. +Superstitious as an Italian, she saw an omen in this contrast, and in +her heart there lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. + +Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, opened a folding-door. +Silence reigned, and his voice was heard, like the yapping of a dog, +calling Monsieur Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo. +This caused some embarrassment to the young pair. The celebrity of +the bride's name attracted attention, and the spectators seemed to +wonder that the wedding was not more sumptuous. Ginevra rose, took +Luigi's arm, and advanced firmly, followed by the witnesses. A murmur +of surprise, which went on increasing, and a general whispering +reminded Ginevra that all present were wondering at the absence of +her parents; her father's wrath seemed present to her. + +"Call in the families," said the mayor to the clerk whose business it +was to read aloud the certificates. + +"The father and mother protest," replied the clerk, phlegmatically. + +"On both sides?" inquired the mayor. + +"The groom is an orphan." + +"Where are the witnesses?" + +"Here," said the clerk, pointing to the four men, who stood with arms +folded, like so many statues. + +"But if the parents protest--" began the mayor. + +"The respectful summons has been duly served," replied the clerk, +rising, to lay before the mayor the papers annexed to the marriage +certificate. + +This bureaucratic decision had something blighting about it; in a few +words it contained the whole story. The hatred of the Portas and the +Piombos and their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of the +civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it may be, in one word +only,--Napoleon, Robespierre) are engraved on a tombstone. Ginevra +trembled. Like the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to +rest its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge only in the +eyes of Luigi from the cold and dreary waste around her. + +The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and his clerk looked up +at the couple with malicious curiosity. No marriage was ever so little +festal. Like other human beings when deprived of their accessories, it +became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. + +After a few questions, to which the bride and bridegroom responded, +and a few words mumbled by the mayor, and after signing the registers, +with their witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. Then the +wedded pair walked back through two lines of joyous relations who did +not belong to them, and whose only interest in their marriage was the +delay caused to their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. When, at +last, Ginevra found herself in the mayor's court-yard, under the open +sky, a sigh escaped her breast. + +"Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove my gratitude for +your courage and tenderness, my Ginevra?" said Luigi. + +At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride forgot her +sufferings; for she had indeed suffered in presenting herself before +the public to obtain a happiness her parents refused to sanction. + +"Why should others come between us?" she said with an artlessness of +feeling that delighted Luigi. + +A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step of the young pair +lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor earth, nor houses; they flew, as +it were, on wings to the church. When they reached a dark little +chapel in one corner of the building, and stood before a plain +undecorated altar, an old priest married them. There, as in the +mayor's office, two other marriages were taking place, still pursuing +them with pomp. The church, filled with friends and relations, echoed +with the roll of carriages, and the hum of beadles, sextons, and +priests. Altars were resplendent with sacramental luxury; the wreaths +of orange-flowers that crowned the figures of the Virgin were fresh. +Flowers, incense, gleaming tapers, velvet cushions embroidered with +gold, were everywhere. When the time came to hold above the heads of +Luigi and Ginevra the symbol of eternal union,--that yoke of satin, +white, soft, brilliant, light for some, lead for most,--the priest +looked about him in vain for the acolytes whose place it was to +perform that joyous function. Two of the witnesses fulfilled it for +them. The priest addressed a hasty homily to the pair on the perils of +life, on the duties they must, some day, inculcate upon their +children,--throwing in, at this point, an indirect reproach to Ginevra +on the absence of her parents; then, after uniting them before God, as +the mayor had united them before the law, he left the now married +couple. + +"God bless them!" said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to the mason, when +they reached the church porch. "No two creatures were ever more fitted +for one another. The parents of the girl are foolish. I don't know a +braver soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole army had behaved like +him, 'l'autre' would be here still." + +This blessing of the old soldier, the only one bestowed upon their +marriage-day, shed a balm on Ginevra's heart. + +They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi thanked his landlord. + +"Adieu, 'mon brave,'" he said to the sergeant. "I thank you." + +"I am now and ever at your service, colonel,--soul, body, horses, and +carriages; all that is mine is yours." + +"How he loves you!" said Ginevra. + +Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were to occupy. Their +modest apartment was soon reached; and there, when the door closed +upon them, Luigi took his wife in his arms, exclaiming,-- + +"Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is our true wedding. +Here," he added, "all things will smile upon us." + +Together they went through the three rooms contained in their lodging. +The room first entered served as salon and dining-room in one; on the +right was a bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had +arranged for his wife; in it she found easels, color-boxes, +lay-figures, casts, pictures, portfolios,--in short, the paraphernalia +of an artist. + +"So here I am to work!" she said, with an expression of childlike +happiness. + +She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, turning again and +again to thank Luigi, for there was something that approached +magnificence in the little retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite +books; a piano filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon a divan, +drew Luigi to her side, and said, in a caressing voice, her hand in +his,-- + +"You have good taste." + +"Those words make me happy," he replied. + +"But let me see all," said Ginevra, to whom Luigi had made a mystery +of the adornment of the rooms. + +They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white as a virgin. + +"Oh! come away," said Luigi, smiling. + +"But I wish to see all." + +And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of furniture with the +minute care of an antiquary examining a coin; she touched the silken +hangings, and went over every article with the artless satisfaction of +a bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. + +"We begin by ruining ourselves," she said, in a half-joyous, +half-anxious tone. + +"True! for all my back pay is there," replied Luigi. "I have mortgaged +it to a worthy fellow named Gigonnet." + +"Why did you do so?" she said, in a tone of reproach, through which +could be heard her inward satisfaction. "Do you believe I should be +less happy in a garret? But," she added, "it is all charming, and--it +is ours!" + +Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she lowered her eyes. + +"Now let us see the rest," she cried. + +Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a study for Luigi, a +kitchen, and a servant's-room. Ginevra was much pleased with her +little domain, although the view from the windows was limited by the +high wall of a neighboring house, and the court-yard, from which their +light was derived, was gloomy. But the two lovers were so happy in +heart, hope so adorned their future, that they chose to see nothing +but what was charming in their hidden nest. They were there in that +vast house, lost in the immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their +shell in the depths of ocean; to all others it might have seemed a +prison; to them it was paradise. + +The first few days of their union were given to love. The effort to +turn at once to work was too difficult; they could not resist the +charm of their own passion. Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his +wife, admiring the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, +the enchanting socket of her eyes, the purity and whiteness of the two +arches beneath which the eyes themselves turned slowly, expressing the +happiness of a satisfied love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, +never weary of gazing at what she called his "belta folgorante," and +the delicacy of his features. She was constantly charmed by the +nobility of his manners, as she herself attracted him by the grace of +hers. + +They played together, like children, with nothings,--nothings that +brought them ever back to their love,--ceasing their play only to fall +into a revery of the "far niente." An air sung by Ginevra reproduced +to their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their passion. +Together, uniting their steps as they did their souls, they roamed +about the country, finding everywhere their love,--in the flowers, in +the sky, in the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in even +the capricious vapors which met and struggled in the ether. Each day +resembled in nothing its predecessors; their love increased, and still +increased, because it was a true love. They had tested each other in +what seemed only a short time; and, instinctively, they recognized +that their souls were of a kind whose inexhaustible riches promised +for the future unceasing joys. + +Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its interminable +conversations, unfinished speeches, long silences, oriental reposes, +and oriental ardor. Luigi and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like +the ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called monotonous by +common souls, whereas some privileged beings can pass their lives in +admiring it, and in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that +enchant them. + +Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the young couple from their +Eden; it was necessary to work to live. Ginevra, who possessed a +special talent for imitating old paintings, took up the business of +copying, and soon found many customers among the picture-dealers. +Luigi, on his side, sought long and actively for occupation, but it +was hard for a young officer whose talents had been restricted to the +study of strategy to find anything to do in Paris. + +At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with despair at seeing +the whole burden of their subsistence falling on Ginevra, it occurred +to him to make use of his handwriting, which was excellent. With a +persistency of which he saw an example in his wife, he went round +among the layers and notaries of Paris, asking for papers to copy. The +frankness of his manners and his situation interested many in his +favor; he soon obtained enough work to be obliged to find young men to +assist him; and this employment became, little by little, a regular +business. The profits of his office and the sale of Ginevra's pictures +gave the young couple a competence of which they were justly proud, +for it was the fruit of their industry. + +This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of their lives. The +days flowed rapidly by, filled with occupation and the joys of their +love. At night, after working all day, they met with delight in +Ginevra's studio. Music refreshed their weariness. No expression of +regret or melancholy obscured the happy features of the young wife, +and never did she utter a complaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a +smile upon her lips and her eyes beaming. Each cherished a ruling +thought which would have made them take pleasure in a labor still more +severe; Ginevra said in her heart that she worked for Luigi, and Luigi +the same for Ginevra. + +Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the thought of the perfect +happiness she might have had if this life of love could have been +lived in the presence of her father and mother overcame the young +wife; and then, as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped +into melancholy; mournful pictures passed like shadows across her +imagination; she saw her old father alone, or her mother weeping in +secret lest the inexorable Piombo should perceive her tears. The two +white, solemn heads rose suddenly before her, and the thought came +that never again should she see them except in memory. This thought +pursued her like a presentiment. + +She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by giving her husband a +portrait he had long desired,--that of his Ginevra, painted by +herself. Never had the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside +from the resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the purity of her +feelings, the happiness of love were there depicted by a sort of +magic. This masterpiece of her art and her joy was a votive offering +to their wedded felicity. + +Another year of ease and comfort went by. The history of their life +may be given in three words: _They were happy._ No event happened to +them of sufficient importance to be recorded. + + + + CHAPTER VI + + RETRIBUTION + +At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers requested +Ginevra to give them something beside copies; for competition had so +increased that they could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame +Porta then perceived the mistake she had made in not exercising her +talent for "genre" painting, which might, by this time, have brought +her reputation. She now attempted portrait-painting. But here she was +forced to compete against a crowd of artists in greater need of money +than herself. However, as Luigi and Ginevra had laid by a few savings, +they were not, as yet, uneasy about the future. + +Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi worked without +intermission. He, too, was struggling against competitors. The payment +for writing had so decreased that he found it impossible to employ +assistance; he was forced, therefore, to work a much longer time +himself to obtain the same emolument. His wife had finished several +pictures which were not without merit; but the dealers were scarcely +buying those of artists with reputations; consequently, her paintings +had little chance. Ginevra offered them for almost nothing, but +without success. + +The situation of the household now began to be alarming. The souls of +the husband and wife floated on the ocean of their happiness, love +overwhelmed them with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a +skeleton, amid their harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they hid from +each other their secret anxiety. When Ginevra felt like weeping as she +watched Luigi's worn and suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; +and Luigi, keeping his dark forebodings in the depths of his soul, +expressed to his Ginevra the tenderest love. They sought a +compensation for their troubles in exalting their feelings; and their +words, their joys, their caresses became suffused, as it were, with a +species of frenzy. They feared the future. What feeling can be +compared in strength with that of a passion which may cease on the +morrow, killed by death or want? When they talked together of their +poverty each felt the necessity of deceiving the other, and they +fastened with mutual ardor on the slightest hope. + +One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her side. She rose in +terror. A faint light shining on the opposite wall of the little +court-yard revealed to her that her husband was working in his study +at night. Luigi was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was +asleep, and then going up to his garret to write. Four o'clock struck. +Ginevra lay down again, and pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi +returned, overcome with fatigue and drowsiness. Ginevra looked sadly +on the beautiful, worn face, where toil and care were already drawing +lines of wrinkles. + +"It is for me he spends his nights in writing," she said to herself, +weeping. + +A thought dried her tears. She would imitate Luigi. That same day she +went to a print-shop, and, by help of a letter of recommendation she +had obtained from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she obtained +an order for the coloring of lithographs. During the day she painted +her pictures and attended to the cares of the household; then, when +night came, she colored the engravings. This loving couple entered +their nuptial bed only to deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and +left it,--Luigi, as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra +as soon as he had gone. + +One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under +which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of +his garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, +the burden of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the +reflection of Ginevra's lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow +guessed the truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his +wife in her studio, coloring engravings. + +"Oh, Ginevra!" he cried. + +She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. + +"Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?" she +said. + +"But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way," he answered. + +"Could I be idle," she asked, her eyes filling with tears, "when I +know that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should +die if I could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common +between us: pains and pleasures, both." + +"She is cold!" cried Luigi, in despair. "Wrap your shawl closer round +you, my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly." + +They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her +beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence, +they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening. +Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing +luminous. + +"See!" said Ginevra. "It is an omen. We shall be happy." + +"Yes, in heaven," replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. "Oh, Ginevra! +you who deserved all the treasures upon earth--" + +"I have your heart," she said, in tones of joy. + +"Ah! I complain no more!" he answered, straining her tightly to him, +and covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the +freshness of youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender +that he could not look at it and not be comforted. + +"What silence!" said Ginevra, presently. "Dear friend, I take great +pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it +awes, it inspires. There is I know not what great power in the +thought: all sleep, I wake." + +"Oh, my Ginevra," he cried, "it is not to-night alone I feel how +delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,--come +and sleep." + +"Yes," replied Ginevra, "if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much +that night I first discovered that you were waking while I slept." + +The courage with which these two young people fought with misery +received for a while its due reward; but an event which usually crowns +the happiness of a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a son, +who was, to use the popular expression, "as beautiful as the day." The +sense of motherhood doubled the strength of the young wife. Luigi +borrowed money to meet the expenses of Ginevra's confinement. At first +she did not feel the fresh burden of their situation; and the pair +gave themselves wholly up to the joy of possessing a child. It was +their last happiness. + +Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a current, these two +Corsican souls struggled courageously; but sometimes they gave way to +an apathy which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon they +were obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty appeared to them suddenly, +--not hideous, but plainly clothed, almost easy to endure; its voice +had nothing terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, +nor rags; but it made them lose the memory and the habits of comfort; +it dried the springs of pride. Then, before they knew it, came want, +--want in all its horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot +all human sentiments. + +Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Bartolomeo, it +would have been hard to see in the mother who suckled her sickly babe +the original of the beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of +the squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, the graceful +outlines of Ginevra's figure were slowly destroyed; her cheeks grew +white as porcelain, and her eyes dulled as though the springs of life +were drying up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored child, +she felt no suffering but for that young misery; and Luigi had no +courage to smile upon his son. + +"I have wandered over Paris," he said, one day. "I know no one; can I +ask help of strangers? Vergniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a +conspiracy, and they have put him in prison; besides, he has already +lent me all he could spare. As for our landlord, it is over a year +since he asked me for any rent." + +"But we are not in want," replied Ginevra, gently, affecting calmness. + +"Every hour brings some new difficulty," continued Luigi, in a tone of +terror. + +Another day Luigi took Ginevra's pictures, her portrait, and the few +articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold +them for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless +household for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed +the sublimity of her nature and the extent of her resignation. + +Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up +against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying +son, performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and +sufficed for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi's +lips a smile of surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one +poor room where they had taken refuge. + +"Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you," she said, one evening, when +he returned, worn-out. + +"And you?" + +"I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more." + +And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her +words to take the food of which she had deprived herself. + +Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given +in 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme +moments two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi, +comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the +fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that +some business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest +poison than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was +left in his home. + +He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the +bosom of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; he +hurried past the windows of the money-changers where gold was +glittering; and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute +for military service, hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra, +and that her father, during his absence, would take her home. + +He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt +a sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial +guard. + +"It is two days since I have eaten anything," he said to him in a +slow, weak voice. "My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered +one word of complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God's sake, +comrade," he added, bitterly, "buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no +longer in the service, and I--" + +The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to +procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped +the gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying +out at times:-- + +"Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!" + +It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very +softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he +had left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the +garret window, were fading from Ginevra's face as she sat sleeping in +her chair, and holding her child upon her breast. + +"Wake, my dear one," he said, not observing the infant, which shone, +at that moment, with supernatural light. + +Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi's look, +and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely +recognized his wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he +showed her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly +she cried, in a dreadful voice:-- + +"The child, Luigi, he is cold!" + +She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead. +Luigi took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she +clasped with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he +went out to seek help. + +"Oh! my God!" he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. "I have +gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, +too! Help me!" + +He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, +and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the +needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans +had carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride. + +Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on +which lay his wife. + +"Father! take care of my son, who bears your name," she was saying in +her delirium. + +"Oh, my angel! be calm," said Luigi, kissing her; "our good days are +coming back to us." + +"My Luigi," she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, +"listen to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered +too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for. +Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to +live again I would again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret +you more than I regret my child-- My child!" she added, in a hollow +voice. + +Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little +body she had no power to warm. + +"Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra," she said. "Tell +him I have never blamed him." + +Her head fell upon her husband's arm. + +"No, you cannot die!" cried Luigi. "The doctor is coming. We have +food. Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with +us, angel!" + +But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra +turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was +conscious of nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now +losing memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped +his icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to +save herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall. + +"Dear," she said, at last, "you are cold; I will warm you." + +She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. + +Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, +bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their +despair. These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they +had entered, an awful silence filled the room. + +While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were +sitting in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast +fireplace, where a glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of +their salon. The clock told midnight. + +For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At +the present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their +dotage, gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted +salon, so filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single +lamp which seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon +the hearth, they might soon have been in total darkness. + +A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been +sitting, remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo +was casting glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding +one upon another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra's. +Elisa Piombo watched the expressions that now began to cross her +husband's pallid face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings +from the changeful agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so +threatening, and anon so melancholy that she felt she could no longer +read a soul that was now incomprehensible, even to her. + +Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that +chair? Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for +the first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy +struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now? + +These reflections shook the mother's heart successively. For an +instant her husband's countenance became so terrible that she trembled +at having used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra's +name. The night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so +sharply against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard +a gentle rustling. Ginevra's mother dropped her head to hide her +tears. Suddenly a sigh burst from the old man's breast; his wife +looked at him; he seemed to her crushed. Then she risked speaking--for +the second time in three long years--of his daughter. + +"Ginevra may be cold," she said, softly. + +Piombo quivered. + +"She may be hungry," she continued. + +The old man dropped a tear. + +"Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!" +said the mother, in accents of despair. + +"Let her come! let her come to me!" cried Piombo. "Oh! my precious +child, thou hast conquered me." + +The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door +opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of +humanity, stood suddenly before them. + +"Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is +all that remains of her," he said, laying Ginevra's long black hair +upon the table. + +The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had +blasted them. + +Luigi no longer stood before them. + +"He has spared me a shot, for he is dead," said Bartolomeo, slowly, +gazing on the ground at his feet. + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + +Bidault (known as Gigonnet) + The Government Clerks + Gobseck + Cesar Birotteau + The Firm of Nucingen + A Daughter of Eve + +Bonaparte, Napoleon + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Seamy Side of History + A Woman of Thirty + +Bonaparte, Lucien + The Gondreville Mystery + +Camusot de Marville, Madame + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + Scenes from a Courtesan's Life + Cousin Pons + +Magus, Elie + A Marriage Settlement + A Bachelor's Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Cousin Pons + +Murat, Joachim, Prince + The Gondreville Mystery + Colonel Chabert + Domestic Peace + The Country Doctor + +Rapp + The Gondreville Mystery + +Roguin + Cesar Birotteau + Eugenie Grandet + A Bachelor's Establishment + Pierrette + +Thirion + Cesar Birotteau + Jealousies of a Country Town + +Tiphaine, Madame + Pierrette + +Vergniaud, Louis + Colonel Chabert + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENDETTA *** + +***** This file should be named 1374.txt or 1374.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/7/1374/ + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny + +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. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Etext prepared by John Bickers, jbickers@templar.actrix.gen.nz +Bonnie Sala, +and Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com + + + + + +VENDETTA + +BY + +HONORE DE BALZAC + + + +Translated By +Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + +DEDICATION + +To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor. + + + + + +VENDETTA + + + + +CHAPTER I + +PROLOGUE + +In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a foreigner, +accompanied by a woman and a little girl, was standing for a long time +in front of the palace of the Tuileries, near the ruins of a house +recently pulled down, at the point where in our day the wing begins +which was intended to unite the chateau of Catherine de Medici with +the Louvre of the Valois. + +The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed head, which he +sometimes raised to look alternately at the consular palace and at his +wife, who was sitting near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed +wholly occupied with the little girl of nine or ten years of age, +whose long black hair she amused herself by handling, she lost not a +single glance of those her companion cast on her. Some sentiment other +than love united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anxiety +their movements and their thoughts. Misery is, perhaps, the most +powerful of all ties. + +The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, covered with thick +hair, which we see so frequently in the pictures of the Caracci. The +jet black of the hair was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, +his features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite of his +evident strength, and his straight, erect figure, he looked to be over +sixty years of age. His dilapidated clothes were those of a foreign +country. Though the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed +the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assuming a calm +countenance whenever her husband looked at her. + +The little girl was standing, though signs of weariness were on the +youthful face, which was tanned by the sun. She had an Italian cast of +countenance and bearing, large black eyes beneath their well arched +brows, a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one of those +who passed them felt strongly moved by the mere aspect of this group, +who made no effort to conceal a despair which seemed as deep as the +expression of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive sympathy, +characteristic of Parisians, was dried immediately; for as soon as the +stranger saw himself the object of attention, he looked at his +observer with so savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his +step as though he had trod upon a serpent. + +After standing for some time undecided, the tall stranger suddenly +passed his hand across his face to brush away, as it were, the +thoughts that were ploughing furrows in it. He must have taken some +desperate resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daughter, he +drew a dagger from his breast and gave it to his companion, saying in +Italian:-- + +"I will see if the Bonapartes remember us." + +Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward the entrance of the +palace, where he was, naturally, stopped by a soldier of the consular +guard, with whom he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing this +man's obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bayonet in +the form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that the guard was changed at +that moment, and the corporal very obligingly pointed out to the +stranger the spot where the commander of the post was standing. + +"Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo wishes to speak with +him," said the Italian to the captain on duty. + +In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he could not see +the First Consul without having previously requested an audience in +writing; the Italian insisted that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. +The officer stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with +the order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned heavily, +casting a terrible look at the captain, as if he made him responsible +for the misfortunes that this refusal might occasion. Then he kept +silence, folded his arms tightly across his breast, and took up his +station under the portico which serves as an avenue of communication +between the garden and the court-yard of the Tuileries. Persons who +will things intensely are very apt to be helped by chance. At the +moment when Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the stone +posts which was near the entrance, a carriage drew up, from which +Lucien Bonaparte, minister of the interior, issued. + +"Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you!" cried the stranger. + +These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped Lucien at the moment +when he was springing under the portico. He looked at his compatriot, +and recognized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in his ear, +he took the Corsican away with him. + +Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in the cabinet of the +First Consul. As Lucien entered, followed by a man so singular in +appearance as Piombo, the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by +the arm and led him into the recess of a window. After exchanging a +few words with his brother, the First Consul made a sign with his +hand, which Murat and Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to +have seen it, in order to remain where he was. Bonaparte then spoke to +him sharply, and the aide-de-camp, with evident unwillingness, left +the room. The First Consul, who listened for Rapp's step in the +adjoining salon, opened the door suddenly, and found his aide-de-camp +close to the wall of the cabinet. + +"Do you choose not to understand me?" said the First Consul. "I wish +to be alone with my compatriot." + +"A Corsican!" replied the aide-de-camp. "I distrust those fellows too +much to--" + +The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he pushed his faithful +officer by the shoulders. + +"Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartolomeo?" said Napoleon. + +"To ask asylum and protection from you, if you are a true Corsican," +replied Bartolomeo, roughly. + +"What ill fortune drove you from the island? You were the richest, the +most--" + +"I have killed all the Portas," replied the Corsican, in a deep voice, +frowning heavily. + +The First Consul took two steps backward in surprise. + +"Do you mean to betray me?" cried Bartolomeo, with a darkling look at +Bonaparte. "Do you know that there are still four Piombos in Corsica?" + +Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. + +"Did you come here to threaten the savior of France?" he said. + +Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. Then he looked at +Piombo and said:-- + +"Why did you kill the Portas?" + +"We had made friends," replied the man; "the Barbantis reconciled us. +The day after we had drunk together to drown our quarrels, I left home +because I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my house, and +set fire to my vineyard at Longone. They killed my son Gregorio. My +daughter Ginevra and my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, +escaped; the Virgin protected them. When I returned I found no house; +my feet were in its ashes as I searched for it. Suddenly they struck +against the body of Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. 'The +Portas have dealt me this blow,' I said; and, forthwith, I went to the +woods, and there I called together all the men whom I had ever served, +--do you hear me, Bonaparte?--and we marched to the vineyard of the +Portas. We got there at five in the morning; at seven they were all +before God. Giacomo declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. +But I myself bound him to his bed before setting fire to the house. I +have left the island with my wife and child without being able to +discover whether, indeed, Luigi Porta is alive." + +Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but without surprise. + +"How many were there?" asked Lucien. + +"Seven," replied Piombo. "All of them were your persecutors in the +olden times." + +These words roused no expression of hatred on the part of the two +brothers. + +"Ha! you are no longer Corsicans!" cried Piombo, with a sort of +despair. "Farewell. In other days I protected you," he added, in a +reproachful tone. "Without me, your mother would never have reached +Marseille," he said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, who was silent +and thoughtful, his elbow resting on a mantel-shelf. + +"As a matter of duty, Piombo," said Napoleon at last, "I cannot take +you under my wing. I have become the leader of a great nation; I +command the Republic; I am bound to execute the laws." + +"Ha! ha!" said Bartolomeo, scornfully. + +"But I can shut my eyes," continued Bonaparte. "The tradition of the +Vendetta will long prevent the reign of law in Corsica," he added, as +if speaking to himself. "But it MUST be destroyed, at any cost." + +Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien made a sign to +Piombo not to speak. The Corsican was swaying his head from right to +left in deep disapproval. + +"Live here, in Paris," resumed the First Consul, addressing +Bartolomeo; "we will know nothing of this affair. I will cause your +property in Corsica to be bought, to give you enough to live on for +the present. Later, before long, we will think of you. But, remember, +no more vendetta! There are no woods here to fly to. If you play with +daggers, you must expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all +citizens; and no one is allowed to do justice for himself." + +"He has made himself the head of a singular nation," said Bartolomeo, +taking Lucien's hand and pressing it. "But you have both recognized me +in misfortune, and I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may +dispose as you will of the Piombos." + +With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he looked about him in +satisfaction. + +"You are not badly off here," he said, smiling, as if he meant to +lodge there himself. "You are all in red, like a cardinal." + +"Your success depends upon yourself; you can have a palace, also," +said Bonaparte, watching his compatriot with a keen eye. "It will +often happen that I shall need some faithful friend in whom I can +confide." + +A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, who held out his +hand to the First Consul, saying:-- + +"The Corsican is in you still." + +Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man who brought, as it +were, a waft of air from his own land,--from that isle where he had +been so miraculously saved from the hatred of the "English party"; the +land he was never to see again. He made a sign to his brother, who +then took Piombo away. Lucien inquired with interest as to the +financial condition of the former protector of their family. Piombo +took him to a window and showed him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a +heap of stones. + +"We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not a single penny," he +said. + +Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him to come to him +the next day, that arrangements might be made to secure the comfort of +the family. The value of Piombo's property in Corsica, if sold, would +scarcely maintain him honorably in Paris. + +Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo's arrival with his +family in Paris and the following event, which would be scarcely +intelligible to the reader without this narrative of the foregoing +circumstances. + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE STUDIO + +Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was the first to +conceive of the idea of opening a studio for young girls who wished to +take lessons in painting. + +About forty years of age, a man of the purest morals, entirely given +up to his art, he had married from inclination the dowerless daughter +of a general. At first the mothers of his pupils bought their +daughters themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied to send +them alone, after knowing the master's principles and the pains he +took to deserve their confidence. + +It was the artist's intention to take no pupils but young ladies +belonging to rich families of good position, in order to meet with no +complaints as to the composition of his classes. He even refused to +take girls who wished to become artists; for to them he would have +been obliged to give certain instructions without which no talent +could advance in the profession. Little by little his prudence and the +ability with which he initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty +each mother felt that her daughter was in company with none but well- +bred young girls, and the fact of the artist's marriage, gave him an +excellent reputation as a teacher in society. When a young girl wished +to learn to draw, and her mother asked advice of her friends, the +answer was, invariably: "Send her to Servin's." + +Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a specialty; like Herbault +for bonnets, Leroy for gowns, and Chevet for eatables. It was +recognized that a young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was +capable of judging the paintings of the Musee conclusively, of making +a striking portrait, copying an ancient master, or painting a genre +picture. The artist thus sufficed for the educational needs of the +aristocracy. But in spite of these relations with the best families in +Paris, he was independent and patriotic, and he maintained among them +that easy, brilliant, half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment +which characterize painters. + +He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the arrangements of the +locality where his pupils studied. The entrance to the attic above his +apartments was walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a harem, +it was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase made within his own +rooms. The studio, occupying nearly the whole attic floor under the +roof, presented to the eye those vast proportions which surprise +inquirers when, after attaining sixty feet above the ground-floor, +they expect to find an artist squeezed into a gutter. + +This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from above, through +enormous panes of glass furnished with those green linen shades by +means of which all artists arrange the light. A quantity of +caricatures, heads drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the +point of a knife, on walls painted in a dark gray, proved that, +barring a difference in expression, the most distinguished young girls +have as much fun and folly in their minds as men. A small stove with a +large pipe, which described a fearful zigzag before it reached the +upper regions of the roof, was the necessary and infallible ornament +of the room. A shelf ran round the walls, on which were models in +plaster, heterogeneously placed, most of them covered with gray dust. +Here and there, above this shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging to a nail, +presented her pose of woe; a Venus smiled; a hand thrust itself +forward like that of a pauper asking alms; a few "ecorches," yellowed +by smoke, looked like limbs snatched over-night from a graveyard; +besides these objects, pictures, drawings, lay figures, frames without +paintings, and paintings without frames gave to this irregular +apartment that studio physiognomy which is distinguished for its +singular jumble of ornament and bareness, poverty and riches, care and +neglect. The vast receptacle of an "atelier," where all seems small, +even man, has something of the air of an Opera "coulisse"; here lie +ancient garments, gilded armor, fragments of stuffs, machinery. And +yet there is something mysteriously grand, like thought, in it; genius +and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside a skull or skeleton, +beauty and destruction, poesy and reality, colors glowing in the +shadows, often a whole drama, motionless and silent. Strange symbol of +an artist's head! + +At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant July sun was +illuminating the studio, and two rays striking athwart it lengthwise, +traced diaphanous gold lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen +easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. Several young +girls were animating the scene by the variety of their expressions, +their attitudes, and the differences in their toilets. The strong +shadows cast by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the +needs of each easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, and the +piquant effects of light and shade. This group was the prettiest of +all the pictures in the studio. + +A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some distance from her +companions, working bravely and seeming to be in dread of some mishap. +No one looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the prettiest, the +most modest, and, apparently, the least rich among them. Two principal +groups, distinctly separated from each other, showed the presence of +two sets or cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where one +might suppose that rank and fortune would be forgotten. + +But, however that might be, these young girls, sitting or standing, in +the midst of their color-boxes, playing with their brushes or +preparing them, handling their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, +talking, singing, absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real +selves, composed a spectacle unknown to man. One of them, proud, +haughty, capricious, with black hair and beautiful hands, was casting +the flame of her glance here and there at random; another, light- +hearted and gay, a smile upon her lips, with chestnut hair and +delicate white hands, was a typical French virgin, thoughtless, and +without hidden thoughts, living her natural real life; a third was +dreamy, melancholy, pale, bending her head like a drooping flower; her +neighbor, on the contrary, tall, indolent, with Asiatic habits, long +eyes, moist and black, said but little, and reflected, glancing +covertly at the head of Antinous. + +Among them, like the "jocoso" of a Spanish play, full of wit and +epigrammatic sallies, another girl was watching the rest with a +comprehensive glance, making them laugh, and tossing up her head, too +lively and arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first group +of girls, who were the daughters of bankers, notaries, and merchants, +--all rich, but aware of the imperceptible though cutting slights +which another group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. The +latter were led by the daughter of one of the King's ushers, a little +creature, as silly as she was vain, proud of being the daughter of a +man with "an office at court." She was a girl who always pretended to +understand the remarks of the master at the first word, and seemed to +do her work as a favor to him. She used an eyeglass, came very much +dressed, and always late, and entreated her companions to speak low. + +In this second group were several girls with exquisite figures and +distinguished features, but there was little in their glance or +expression that was simple and candid. Though their attitudes were +elegant and their movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it +was easy to see that they belonged to a world where polite manners +form the character from early youth, and the abuse of social pleasures +destroys sentiment and develops egotism. + +But when the whole class was here assembled, childlike heads were seen +among this bevy of young girls, ravishingly pure and virgin, faces +with lips half-opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on +which a virgin smile was flickering. The studio then resembled not a +studio, but a group of angels seated on a cloud in ether. + +By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not appeared. For some days +past he had spent most of his time in a studio which he kept +elsewhere, where he was giving the last touches to a picture for the +Exposition. All of a sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, the leader of +the aristocrats, began to speak in a low voice, and very earnestly, to +her neighbor. A great silence fell on the group of patricians, and the +commercial party, surprised, were equally silent, trying to discover +the subject of this earnest conference. The secret of the young ULTRAS +was soon revealed. + +Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, carried it to a +distance from the noble group, and placed it close to a board +partition which separated the studio from the extreme end of the +attic, where all broken casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply +of wood were kept. Amelie's action caused a murmur of surprise, which +did not prevent her from accomplishing the change by rolling hastily +to the side of the easel the stool, the box of colors, and even the +picture by Prudhon, which the absent pupil was copying. After this +coup d'etat the Right began to work in silence, but the Left +discoursed at length. + +"What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?" asked a young girl of +Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, the lively oracle of the banking group. + +"She's not a girl to say anything," was the reply; "but fifty years +hence she'll remember the insult as if it were done to her the night +before, and revenge it cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don't +want to be at war with." + +"The slight these young ladies mean to put upon her is all the more +unkind," said another young girl, "because yesterday, Mademoiselle +Ginevra was very sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They +ought not to add to her trouble, for she was very considerate of them +during the Hundred Days. Never did she say a word to wound them. On +the contrary, she avoided politics. But I think our ULTRAS are acting +more from jealousy than from party spite." + +"I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle Piombo's easel and +place it next to mine," said Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second +thoughts made her sit down again. + +"With a character like hers," she said, "one can't tell how she would +take a civility; better wait events." + +"Ecco la," said the young girl with the black eyes, languidly. + +The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway sounded through +the studio. The words: "Here she comes!" passed from mouth to mouth, +and then the most absolute silence reigned. + +To understand the importance of the ostracism imposed by the act of +Amelie Thirion, it is necessary to add that this scene took place +toward the end of the month of July, 1815. The second return of the +Bourbons had shaken many friendships which had held firm under the +first Restoration. At this moment families, almost all divided in +opinion, were renewing many of the deplorable scenes which stain the +history of all countries in times of civil or religious wars. +Children, young girls, old men shared the monarchial fever to which +the country was then a victim. Discord glided beneath all roofs; +distrust dyed with its gloomy colors the words and the actions of the +most intimate friends. + +Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry; how, then, could she hate +him? The emperor was her compatriot and the benefactor of her father. +The Baron di Piombo was among those of Napoleon's devoted servants who +had co-operated most effectually in the return from Elba. Incapable of +denying his political faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron +remained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra Piombo was all +the more open to condemnation because she made no secret of the grief +which the second Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she +had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the twofold news of +Napoleon's captivity on the "Bellerophon," and Labedoyere's arrest. + +The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged to the most +devoted royalist families in Paris. It would be difficult to give an +idea of the exaggerations prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror +inspired by the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty Amelie's +action may now seem to be, it was at that time a very natural +expression of the prevailing hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin's +first pupils, had occupied the place that was now taken from her since +the first day of her coming to the studio. The aristocratic circle had +gradually surrounded her. To drive her from a place that in some sense +belonged to her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a species +of artistic pain; for all artists have a spot of predilection where +they work. + +Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief influence on the +conduct of the Right clique of the studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of +Servin's pupils, was an object of intense jealousy. The master +testified as much admiration for the talents as for the character of +his favorite pupil, who served as a conclusion to all his comparisons. +In fact, without any one being able to explain the ascendancy which +this young girl obtained over all who came in contact with her, she +exercised over the little world around her a prestige not unlike that +of Bonaparte upon his soldiers. + +The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the +fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid +the Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion's act was, therefore, a decisive +stroke, intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the +accomplices of her hatred. Though Ginevra was sincerely loved by +several of these royalists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at +home with their political ideas, they decided, with the tactics +peculiar to women, that they should do best to keep themselves aloof +from the quarrel. + +On Ginevra's arrival she was received, as we have said, in profound +silence. Of all the young women who had, so far, come to Servin's +studio, she was the handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her +carriage and demeanor had a character of nobility and grace which +commanded respect. Her face, instinct with intelligence, seemed to +radiate light, so inspired was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to +Corsicans,--which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long hair +and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion; the corners of her +mouth, too softly defined, and the lips, a trifle too marked, gave +signs of that kindliness which strong beings derive from the +consciousness of their strength. + +By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her face was, in some +degree, contradicted by a marble forehead, on which lay an almost +savage pride, and from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of +a Corsican. In that was the only link between herself and her native +land. All the rest of her person, her simplicity, the easy grace of +her Lombard beauty, was so seductive that it was difficult for those +who looked at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen attraction +that her old father caused her, as matter of precaution, to be +accompanied to and from the studio. The only defect of this truly +poetic creature came from the very power of a beauty so fully +developed; she looked a woman. Marriage she had refused out of love to +her father and mother, feeling herself necessary to the comfort of +their old age. Her taste for painting took the place of the passions +and interests which usually absorb her sex. + +"You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles," she said, after +advancing a little way among her companions. "Good-morning, my little +Laure," she added, in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young +girl who was painting apart from the rest. "That head is strong,--the +flesh tints a little too rosy, but the drawing is excellent." + +Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Ginevra; their faces +beamed with the expression of a mutual affection. A faint smile +brightened the lips of the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and +walked slowly to her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings and +paintings on her way, and bidding good-morning to each of the young +girls of the first group, not observing the unusual curiosity excited +by her presence. She was like a queen in the midst of her court; she +paid no attention to the profound silence that reigned among the +patricians, and passed before their camp without pronouncing a single +word. Her absorption seemed so great that she sat down before her +easel, opened her color-box, took up her brushes, drew on her brown +sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at her picture, examined her +palette, without, apparently, thinking of what she was doing. All +heads in the group of the bourgeoises were turned toward her. If the +young ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their impatience with +the same frankness, their sidelong glances were none the less directed +on Ginevra. + +"She hasn't noticed it!" said Mademoiselle Roguin. + +At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative attitude in which she +had been contemplating her canvas, and turned her head toward the +group of aristocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that now +separated her from them; but she said nothing. + +"It hasn't occurred to her that they meant to insult her," said +Matilde; "she neither colored nor turned pale. How vexed these girls +will be if she likes her new place as well as the old! You are out of +bounds, mademoiselle," she added, aloud, addressing Ginevra. + +The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she really did not hear. +She rose abruptly; walked with a certain deliberation along the side +of the partition which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, +and seemed to be examining the sash through which her light came,-- +giving so much importance to it that she mounted a chair to raise the +green serge, which intercepted the light, much higher. Reaching that +height, her eye was on a level with a slight opening in the partition, +the real object of her efforts, for the glance that she cast through +it can be compared only to that of a miser discovering Aladdin's +treasure. Then she sprang down hastily and returned to her place, +changed the position of her picture, pretended to be still +dissatisfied with the light, pushed a table close to the partition, on +which she placed a chair, climbed lightly to the summit of this +erection, and again looked through the crevice. She cast but one +glance into the space beyond, which was lighted through a skylight; +but what she saw produced so strong an effect upon her that she +tottered. + +"Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you'll fall!" cried Laure. + +All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, and the fear of +their coming to her gave her courage; she recovered her equilibrium, +and replied, as she balanced herself on the shaking chair:-- + +"Pooh! it is more solid than a throne!" + +She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed the chair and table +as far as possible from the partition, returned to her easel, and +seemed to be arranging it to suit the volume of light she had now +thrown upon it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which was +wholly bent on getting as near as possible to the closet, against the +door of which she finally settled herself. Then she began to prepare +her palette in the deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, +distinctly, a sound which had strongly excited her curiosity the +evening before, and had whirled her young imagination across vast +fields of conjecture. She recognized the firm and regular breathing of +a man whom she had just seen asleep. Her curiosity was satisfied +beyond her expectations, but at the same time she felt saddled by an +immense responsibility. Through the opening in the wall she had seen +the Imperial eagle; and upon the flock bed, faintly lighted from +above, lay the form of an officer of the Guard. She guessed all. +Servin was hiding a proscribed man! + +She now trembled lest any of her companions should come near here to +examine her picture, when the regular breathing or some deeper breath +might reveal to them, as it had to her, the presence of this political +victim. She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trusting to +her wits to baffle all dangerous chances that might arise. + +"Better that I should be here," thought she, "to prevent some luckless +accident, than leave that poor man at the mercy of a heedless +betrayal." + +This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra had apparently +shown to the removal of her easel. She was inwardly enchanted, because +the change had enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural +manner; besides, at this moment, she was too keenly preoccupied to +perceive the reason of her removal. + +Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, indeed, to all the +world, than to see a piece of mischief, an insult, or a biting speech, +miss its effect through the contempt or the indifference of the +intended victim. It seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion +to the height that enemy is raised above us. Ginevra's behavior was an +enigma to all her companions; her friends and enemies were equally +surprised; for the former claimed for her all good qualities, except +that of forgiveness of injuries. Though, of course, the occasions for +displaying that vice of nature were seldom afforded to Ginevra in the +life of a studio, still, the specimens she had now and then given of +her vindictive disposition had left a strong impression on the minds +of her companions. + +After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came to the conclusion +that the Italian's silence showed a grandeur of soul beyond all +praise; and the banking circle, inspired by her, formed a project to +humiliate the aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire of +sarcasms which presently brought down the pride of the Right coterie. + +Madame Servin's arrival put a stop to the struggle. With the +shrewdness that usually accompanies malice, Amelie Thirion had +noticed, analyzed, and mentally commented on the extreme preoccupation +of Ginevra's mind, which prevented her from even hearing the bitterly +polite war of words of which she was the object. The vengeance +Mademoiselle Roguin and her companions were inflicting on Mademoiselle +Thirion and her group had, therefore, the fatal effect of driving the +young ULTRAS to search for the cause of the silence so obstinately +maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. The beautiful Italian became the +centre of all glances, and she was henceforth watched by friends and +foes alike. + +It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or sentiment from +fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied young girls, whose wits and +mischief ask for nothing better than secrets to guess, schemes to +create or baffle, and who know how to find too many interpretations +for each gesture, glance, and word, to fail in discovering the right +one. + +At this moment, however, the presence of Madame Servin produced an +interlude in the drama thus played below the surface in these various +young hearts, the sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were +expressed by phrases that were almost allegorical, by mischievous +glances, by gestures, by silence even, more intelligible than words. +As soon as Madame Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the +door near which Ginevra was seated. Under present circumstances the +fact of this glance was not lost. Though at first none of the pupils +took notice of it, Mademoiselle Thirion recollected it later, and it +explained to her the doubt, fear, and mystery which now gave something +wild and frightened to Madame Servin's eyes. + +"Mesdemoiselles," she said, "Monsieur Servin cannot come to-day." + +Then she went round complimenting each young girl, receiving in return +a volume of those feminine caresses which are given as much by the +tones of the voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently reached +Ginevra, under the influence of an uneasiness she tried in vain to +disguise. They nodded to each other in a friendly way, but said +nothing; one painted, the other stood looking at the painting. The +breathing of the soldier in the closet could be distinctly heard, but +Madame Servin appeared not to notice it; her feigned ignorance was so +obvious that Ginevra recognized it at once for wilful deafness. +Presently the unknown man turned on his pallet. + +The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, who said, without +the slightest change of face:-- + +"Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to choose between the +two I should be puzzled." + +"Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his confidence as to this +mystery," thought Ginevra, who, after replying to the young wife's +speech with a gentle smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican +"canzonetta" to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. + +It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious Italian sing, that all +the other young girls looked up at her in surprise. Later, this +circumstance served as proof to the charitable suppositions of +jealousy. + +Madame Servin soon went away, and the session ended without further +events; Ginevra allowed her companions to depart, and seemed to intend +to work later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her desire +to be left alone by impatient glances, ill-disguised, at the pupils +who were slow in leaving. Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the +girl who excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of +jealousy that her rival's industry hid some purpose. By dint of +watching her she was struck by the attentive air with which Ginevra +seemed to be listening to sounds that no one else had heard. The +expression of impatience she now detected in her companion's eyes was +like a flash of light to her. + +Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio; from there she +went down to Madame Servin's apartment and talked with her for a +moment; then she pretended to have left her bag, ran softly back to +the studio, and found Ginevra once more mounted on her frail +scaffolding, and so absorbed in the contemplation of an unknown object +that she did not hear the slight noise of her companion's footsteps. +It is true that, to use an expression of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped +as if on eggs. She hastily withdrew outside the door and coughed. +Ginevra quivered, turned her head, saw her enemy, blushed, hastened to +alter the shade to give meaning to her position, and came down from +her perch leisurely. She soon after left the studio, bearing with her, +in her memory, the image of a man's head, as beauteous as that of the +Endymion, a masterpiece of Girodet's which she had lately copied. + +"To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for he is not Marshal Ney--" + +These two sentences are the simplest expression of the many ideas that +Ginevra turned over in her mind for two days. On the third day, in +spite of her haste to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle +Thirion already there, having come in a carriage. + +Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a long time, but they +made their faces impenetrable. Amelie had seen the handsome head of +the mysterious man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the +Imperial eagles and uniform were so placed that she did not see them +through the crevice in the partition. She was lost in conjectures. +Suddenly Servin came in, much earlier than usual. + +"Mademoiselle Ginevra," he said, after glancing round the studio, "why +have you placed yourself there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the +rest of the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little." + +Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved his most cordial +attention. + +"Well, well!" he cried; "here, indeed, is a head extremely well done. +You'll be another Ginevra." + +The master then went from easel to easel, scolding, flattering, +jesting, and making, as usual, his jests more dreaded than his +reprimands. Ginevra had not obeyed the professor's order, but remained +at her post, firmly resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of paper +and began to sketch in sepia the head of the hidden man. A work done +under the impulse of an emotion has always a stamp of its own. The +faculty of giving to representations of nature or of thought their +true coloring constitutes genius, and often, in this respect, passion +takes the place of it. So, under the circumstances in which Ginevra +now found herself, the intuition which she owed to a powerful effect +upon her memory, or, possibly, to necessity, that mother of great +things, lent her, for the moment, a supernatural talent. The head of +the young officer was dashed upon the paper in the midst of an awkward +trembling which she mistook for fear, and in which a physiologist +would have recognized the fire of inspiration. From time to time she +glanced furtively at her companions, in order to hide the sketch if +any of them came near her. But in spite of her watchfulness, there was +a moment when she did not see the eyeglass of the pitiless Amelie +turned full upon the drawing from the shelter of a great portfolio. +Mademoiselle Thirion, recognizing the portrait of the mysterious man, +showed herself abruptly, and Ginevra hastily covered the sheet of +paper. + +"Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, mademoiselle?" asked the +professor, gravely. + +The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the master could see the +sketch, which she placed upon it, and said, in an agitated voice:-- + +"Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very good? Had I not +better remain here?" + +Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the piercing eyes of malice, +Mademoiselle Thirion became, as it were, a sharer in the sudden +emotion of master and pupil. + +"You are right," said Servin; "but really," he added, with a forced +laugh, "you will soon come to know more than I do." + +A pause followed, during which the professor studied the drawing of +the officer's head. + +"It is a masterpiece! worthy of Salvator Rosa!" he exclaimed, with the +energy of an artist. + +All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoiselle Thirion darted +forward with the velocity of a tiger on its prey. At this instant, the +prisoner, awakened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra +knocked over her stool, said a few incoherent sentences, and began to +laugh; but she had thrown the portrait into her portfolio before +Amelie could get to her. The easel was now surrounded; Servin +descanted on the beauty of the copy which his favorite pupil was then +making, and the whole class was duped by this stratagem, except +Amelie, who, slipping behind her companions, attempted to open the +portfolio where she had seen Ginevra throw the sketch. But the latter +took it up without a word, and placed it in front of her. The two +young girls then looked at each other fixedly, in silence. + +"Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places," said Servin. "If you wish to +do as well as Mademoiselle di Piombo, you mustn't be always talking +fashions and balls, and trifling away your time as you do." + +When they were all reseated before their easels, Servin sat down +beside Ginevra. + +"Was it not better that I should be the one to discover the mystery +rather than the others?" asked the girl, in a low voice. + +"Yes," replied the painter, "you are one of us, a patriot; but even if +you were not, I should still have confided the matter to you." + +Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared +to ask:-- + +"Who is he?" + +"An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other +man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment +with the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and +was at Waterloo." + +"Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with +citizen's clothes?" said Ginevra, impatiently. + +"He will have them to-night." + +"You ought to have closed the studio for some days." + +"He is going away." + +"Then they'll kill him," said the girl. "Let him stay here with you +till the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in +France where a man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?" she +asked. + +"No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my +hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during +the campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him +from the claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to +defend the general, foolish fellow!" + +"Do you call him that!" cried Ginevra, casting a glance of +astonishment at the painter, who was silent for a moment. + +"My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able to keep him in his +own house," he resumed. "So he brought him to me, by night, about a +week ago. I hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only +spot in the house where he could be safe." + +"If I can be useful to you, employ me," said Ginevra. "I know the +Marechal de Feltre." + +"Well, we'll see," replied the painter. + +This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed by all the other +girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round once more to each easel, and +gave such long lessons that he was still there at the hour when the +pupils were in the habit of leaving. + +"You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thirion," said the +professor, running after the girl, who was now condescending to the +work of a spy to satisfy her jealousy. + +The baffled pupil returned for the bag, expressing surprise at her +carelessness; but this act of Servin's was to her fresh proof of the +existence of a mystery, the importance of which was evident. She now +ran noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door which opened into +the Servins' apartment, to give an impression that she had gone; then +she softly returned and stationed herself outside the door of the +studio. + + + +CHAPTER III + +LABEDOYERE'S FRIEND + +When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves alone, Servin rapped +in a peculiar manner on the door of the dark garret, which turned at +once on its rusty and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and +well-made young man, whose Imperial uniform set her heart to beating. +The officer had one arm in a sling, and the pallor of his face +revealed sharp suffering. Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. + +Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the door being closed, +was afraid to stay longer; she was satisfied with having heard the +opening of the garret door, and departed noiselessly. + +"Fear nothing," said the painter to the officer. "Mademoiselle is the +daughter of a most faithful friend of the Emperor, the Baron di +Piombo." + +The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra's patriotism as +soon as he saw her. + +"You are wounded," she said. + +"Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle," he replied; "the wound is healing." + +Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of newspapers came +up from the street: "Condemned to death!" They all trembled, and the +soldier was the first to hear a name that turned him pale. + +"Labedoyere!" he cried, falling on a stool. + +They looked at each other in silence. Drops gathered on the livid +forehead of the young man; he seized the black tufts of his hair in +one hand with a gesture of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra's +easel. + +"After all," he said, rising abruptly, "Labedoyere and I knew what we +were doing. We were certain of the fate that awaited us, whether from +triumph or defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding +myself!" + +He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, quicker than he, Ginevra +reached it, and barred his way. + +"Can you restore the Emperor?" she said. "Do you expect to raise that +giant who could not maintain himself?" + +"But what can I do?" said the young man, addressing the two friends +whom chance had sent to him. "I have not a relation in the world. +Labedoyere was my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. +To-morrow I myself may be condemned; my only fortune was my pay. I +spent my last penny to come here and try to snatch Labedoyere from his +fate; death is, therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides to +die he ought to know how to sell his life to the executioner. I was +thinking just now that the life of an honest man is worth that of two +traitors, and the blow of a dagger well placed may give immortality." + +This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even Ginevra, whose own +nature comprehended that of the young man. She admired his handsome +face and his delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely +lessened by its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, she poured a +balm upon the wounds of the unfortunate man:-- + +"Monsieur," she said, "as for your pecuniary distress, permit me to +offer you my savings. My father is rich; I am his only child; he loves +me, and I am sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in accepting +my offer; our property is derived from the Emperor; we do not own a +penny that is not the result of his munificence. Is it not gratitude +to him to assist his faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as +indifferently as I offer them. It is only money!" she added, in a tone +of contempt. "Now, as for friends,--those you shall have." + +She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone with dazzling +brilliancy. + +"The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen muskets will save +yours," she went on. "Wait till the storm is over; you can then escape +and take service in foreign countries if you are not forgotten here; +or in the French army, if you are." + +In the comfort that women give there is always a delicacy which has +something maternal, foreseeing, and complete about it. But when the +words of hope and peace are said with grace of gesture and that +eloquence of tone which comes from the heart, and when, above all, the +benefactress is beautiful, a young man does not resist. The prisoner +breathed in love through all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his +white cheeks; his eyes lost something of the sadness that dulled them, +and he said, in a peculiar tone of voice:-- + +"You are an angle of goodness-- But Labedoyere!" he added. "Oh, +Labedoyere!" + +At this cry they all three looked at one another in silence, each +comprehending the others' thoughts. No longer friends of twenty +minutes only, they were friends of twenty years. + +"Dear friend," said Servin, "can you save him?" + +"I can avenge him." + +Ginevra quivered. Though the stranger was handsome, his appearance had +not influenced her; the soft pity in a woman's heart for miseries that +are not ignoble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to hear +a cry of vengeance, to find in that proscribed being an Italian soul, +devotion to Napoleon, Corsican generosity!--ah! that was, indeed, too +much for her. She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion +which shook his heart. For the first time in her life a man had caused +her a keen emotion. She now, like other women, put the soul of the +stranger on a par with the noble beauty of his features and the happy +proportions of his figure, which she admired as an artist. Led by +accidental curiosity to pity, from pity to a powerful interest, she +came, through that interest, to such profound sensations that she felt +she was in danger if she stayed there longer. + +"Until to-morrow, then," she said, giving the officer a gentle smile +by way of a parting consolation. + +Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Ginevra's features, the +stranger forgot all else for an instant. + +"To-morrow," he said, sadly; "but to-morrow, Labedoyere--" + +Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked at him, as if to +say: "Be calm, be prudent." + +And the young man cried out in his own language: + +"Ah! Dio! che non vorrei vivere dopo averla veduta?--who would not +wish to live after seeing her?" + +The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the words made Ginevra +quiver. + +"Are you Corsican?" she cried, returning toward him with a beating +heart. + +"I was born in Corsica," he replied; "but I was brought, while very +young, to Genoa, and as soon as I was old enough for military service +I enlisted." + +The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent to him by his +attachment to the Emperor, his wound, his misfortunes, his danger, all +disappeared to Ginevra's mind, or, rather, all were blended in one +sentiment,--a new and delightful sentiment. This persecuted man was a +child of Corsica; he spoke its cherished language! She stood, for a +moment, motionless; held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a +living picture, to which all human sentiments, united by chance, gave +vivid colors. By Servin's invitation, the officer had seated himself +on a divan, and the painter, after removing the sling which supported +the arm of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order to dress the +wound. Ginevra shuddered when she saw the long, broad gash made by the +blade of a sabre on the young man's forearm, and a moan escaped her. +The stranger raised his head and smiled to her. There was something +touching which went to the soul, in the care with which Servin lifted +the lint and touched the lacerated flesh, while the face of the +wounded man, though pale and sickly, expressed, as he looked at the +girl, more pleasure than suffering. An artist would have admired, +involuntarily, this opposition of sentiments, together with the +contrasts produced by the whiteness of the linen and the bared arm to +the red and blue uniform of the officer. + +At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio; but a parting +ray of the evening sunlight suddenly illuminated the spot where the +soldier sat, so that his noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his +clothes were bathed in its glow. The effect was simple enough, but to +the girl's Italian imagination it was a happy omen. The stranger +seemed to her a celestial messenger, speaking the language of her own +country. He thus unconsciously put her under the spell of childhood's +memories, while in her heart there dawned another feeling as fresh, as +pure as her own innocence. For a short, very short moment, she was +motionless and dreamy, as though she were plunged in boundless +thought. Then she blushed at having allowed her absorption to be +noticed, exchanged one soft and rapid glance with the wounded man, and +fled with the vision of him still before her eyes. + +The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came to the studio, and +the prisoner was free to sit beside her easel. Servin, who had a +sketch to finish, played the part of mentor to the two young people, +who talked to each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier related the +sufferings of the retreat from Moscow; for, at nineteen years of age, +he had made the passage of the Beresins, and was almost the last man +left of his regiment. He described, in words of fire, the great +disaster of Waterloo. His voice was music itself to the Italian girl. +Brought up as a Corsican, Ginevra was, in some sense, a child of +Nature; falseness was a thing unknown to her; she gave herself up +without reserve to her impressions; she acknowledged them, or, rather, +allowed them to be seen without the affectations of petty and +calculating coquetry, characteristic of Parisian girlhood. During this +day she sat more than once with her palette in one hand, her brushes +in another, without touching a color. With her eyes fastened on the +officer, and her lips slightly apart, she listened, in the attitude of +painting a stroke which was never painted. She was not surprised to +see such softness in the eyes of the young man, for she felt that her +own were soft in spite of her will to keep them stern and calm. After +periods like this she painted diligently, without raising her head, +for he was there, near her, watching her work. The first time he sat +down beside her to contemplate her silently, she said, in a voice of +some emotion, after a long pause:-- + +"Does it amuse you to see me paint?" + +That day she learned that his name was Luigi. Before separating, it +was agreed between them that if, on class-days when they could not see +each other, any important political event occurred, Ginevra was to +inform him by singing certain Corsican melodies then agreed upon. + +The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed all the members of the +class, under pledge of secrecy that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, a +young man who came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed +himself in the garret beyond the studio. + +"You, who take her part," she said to Mademoiselle Roguin, "watch her +carefully, and you will see how she spends her time." + +Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical attention. They +listened to her songs, they watched her glances. At times, when she +supposed that no one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively +upon her. Thus enlightened, the girls were able to interpret truly the +emotions that crossed the features of the beautiful Italian,--her +gestures, the peculiar tones in which she hummed a tune, and the +attention with which they saw her listen to sounds which only she +could hear through the partition. + +By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Servin's fifteen +pupils who had resisted the temptation of looking at Luigi through the +crevice of the partition; and she, through an instinct of weakness, +still defended her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin endeavored to +make her wait on the staircase after the class dispersed, that she +might prove to her the intimacy of Ginevra and the young man by +entering the studio and surprising them together. But Laure refused to +condescend to an act of espial which no curiosity could justify, and +she consequently became the object of much reprobation. + +Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that she thought it +improper to attend the classes of a painter whose opinions were +tainted with patriotism and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were +synonymous), and she ceased her attendance at the studio. But, +although she herself forgot Ginevra, the harm she had planted bore +fruit. Little by little, the other young girls revealed to their +mothers the strange events which were happening at the studio. One day +Matilde Roguin did not come; the next day another girl was missing, +and so on, till the last three or four who were left came no more. +Ginevra and Laure, her little friend, were the sole occupants of the +deserted studio for three or four days. + +Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the cause of her +companions' absence. As soon as she had invented means of +communication with Luigi she lived in the studio in a delightful +solitude, alone amid her own world, thinking only of the officer and +the dangers that threatened him. Though a sincere admirer of noble +characters that never betray their political faiths, she nevertheless +urged Luigi to submit himself to the royal authority, that he might be +released from his present life and remain in France. But to this he +would not consent. If passions are born and nourished, as they say, +under the influence of romantic causes, never did so many +circumstances of that kind concur in uniting two young souls by one +and the same sentiment. The friendship of Ginevra for Luigi and that +of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress in a month than a friendship +in society would make in ten years. Adversity is the touchstone of +character. Ginevra was able, therefore, to study Luigi, to know him; +and before long they mutually esteemed each other. The girl, who was +older than Luigi, found a charm in being courted by a youth already so +grand, so tried by fate,--a youth who joined to the experience of a +man the graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his side, felt an unspeakable +pleasure in allowing himself to be apparently protected by a woman, +now twenty-five years of age. Was it not a proof of love? The union of +gentleness and pride, strength and weakness in Ginevra were, to him, +irresistible attractions, and he was utterly subjugated by her. In +short, before long, they loved each other so profoundly that they felt +no need of denying to each other their love, nor yet of telling it. + +One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accustomed signal. Luigi +scratched with a pin on the woodwork in a manner that produced no more +noise than a spider might make as he fastened his thread. The signal +meant that he wished to come out of his retreat. + +Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing Laure, opened the +door; but as she did so Luigi caught sight of the little pupil and +abruptly retired. Surprised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw +Laure, and said, as she went up to the girl's easel:-- + +"You are staying late, my dear. That head seems to me finished; you +only want a high-light,--see! on that knot of hair." + +"You would do me a great kindness," said Laure, in a trembling voice, +"if you would give this copy a few touches; for then I could carry +away with me something to remind me of you." + +"Willingly," said Ginevra, painting a few strokes on the picture. "But +I thought it was a long way from your home to the studio, and it is +late." + +"Oh! Ginevra, I am going away, never to return," cried the poor girl, +sadly. + +"You mean to leave Monsieur Servin!" exclaimed Ginevra, less affected, +however, by this news than she would have been a month earlier. + +"Haven't you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days past you and I have +been alone in the studio?" + +"True," said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recollection. "Are all +those young ladies ill, or going to be married, or are their fathers +on duty at court?" + +"They have left Monsieur Servin," replied Laure. + +"Why?" + +"On your account, Ginevra." + +"My account!" repeated the Corsican, springing up, with a threatening +brow and her eyes flashing. + +"Oh! don't be angry, my kind Ginevra," cried Laure, in deep distress. +"My mother insists on my leaving the studio. The young ladies say that +you have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows the young man +whom you love to stay in the dark attic. I have never believed these +calumnies nor said a word to my mother about them. But last night +Madame Roguin met her at a ball and asked her if she still sent me +here. When my mother answered yes, Madame Roguin told her the +falsehoods of those young ladies. Mamma scolded me severely; she said +I must have known it all, and that I had failed in proper confidence +between mother and daughter by not telling her. Oh! my dear Ginevra! +I, who took you for my model, oh! how grieved I am that I can't be +your companion any longer." + +"We shall meet again in life; girls marry--" said Ginevra. + +"When they are rich," signed Laure. + +"Come and see me; my father has a fortune--" + +"Ginevra," continued Laure, tenderly. "Madame Roguin and my mother are +coming to see Monsieur Servin to-morrow and reproach him; hadn't you +better warn him." + +A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra's feet could not have astonished her +more than this revelation. + +"What matter is it to them?" she asked, naively. + +"Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral." + +"And you, Laure, what do you say?" + +The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure +could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend's +breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. + +"Mademoiselle Ginevra," he cried, with enthusiasm, "I have finished my +picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, +meanwhile? Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or +are they in the country?" + +Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away. + +"The studio has been deserted for some days," replied Ginevra, "and +the young ladies are not coming back." + +"Pooh!" + +"Oh! don't laugh," said Ginevra. "Listen: I am the involuntary cause +of the loss of your reputation--" + +The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his pupil:-- + +"My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture will make it at the +Exposition." + +"That relates to your talent," replied the girl. "I am speaking of +your morality. Those young ladies have told their mothers that Luigi +was shut up here, and that you lent yourself--to--our love." + +"There is some truth in that, mademoiselle," replied the professor. +"The mothers of those young ladies are foolish women; if they had come +straight to me I should have explained the matter. But I don't care a +straw about it! Life is short, anyhow." + +And the painter snapped his fingers above his head. Luigi, who had +heard part of the conversation, came in. + +"You have lost all your scholars," he cried. "I have ruined you!" + +The artist took Luigi's hand and that of Ginevra, and joined them. + +"Marry one another, my children," he said, with fatherly kindness. + +They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was the first avowal +they had made to each other of their love. + +"You will surely be happy," said Servin. "There is nothing in life to +equal the happiness of two beings like yourselves when bound together +in love." + +Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at first being able to +utter a word; but presently he said, in a voice of emotion:-- + +"To you I owe it all." + +"Be happy! I bless and wed you," said the painter, with comic unction, +laying his hands upon the heads of the lovers. + +This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. All three +looked at one another and laughed merrily. Ginevra pressed Luigi's +hand in a strong clasp, with a simplicity of action worthy of the +customs of her native land. + +"Ah ca, my dear children," resumed Servin, "you think that all will go +right now, but you are much mistaken." + +The lovers looked at him in astonishment. + +"Don't be anxious. I'm the only one that your romance will harm. But +the fact is, Madame Servin is a little straitlaced; and I don't really +see how we are to settle it with her." + +"Heavens! and I forgot to tell you," exclaimed Ginevra, "that Madame +Roguin and Laure's mother are coming here to-morrow to--" + +"I understand," said the painter. + +"But you can easily justify yourself," continued the girl, with a +proud movement of her head. "Monsieur Luigi," she added, turning to +him with an arch look, "will no longer object to entering the royal +service. Well, then," after receiving a smile from the young man, "to- +morrow morning I will send a petition to one of the most influential +persons at the ministry of War,--a man who will refuse nothing to the +daughter of the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a 'tacit' pardon for +Captain Luigi, for, of course, they will not allow him the rank of +major. And then," she added, addressing Servin, "you can confound the +mothers of my charitable companions by telling them the truth." + +"You are an angel!" cried Servin. + +While this scene was passing at the studio the father and mother of +Ginevra were becoming impatient at her non-return. + +"It is six o'clock, and Ginevra not yet home!" cried Bartolomeo. + +"She was never so late before," said his wife. + +The two old people looked at each other with an anxiety that was not +usual with them. Too anxious to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose +and walked about the salon with an active step for a man who was over +seventy-seven years of age. Thanks to his robust constitution, he had +changed but little since the day of his arrival in Paris, and, despite +his tall figure, he walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left +uncovered a broad and protuberant skull, which gave a strong idea of +his character and firmness. His face, seamed with deep wrinkles, had +taken, with age, a nobler expression, preserving the pallid tones +which inspire veneration. The ardor of passions still lived in the +fire of his eyes, while the eyebrows, which were not wholly whitened, +retained their terrible mobility. The aspect of the head was stern, +but it conveyed the impression that Piombo had a right to be so. His +kindness, his gentleness were known only to his wife and daughter. In +his functions, or in presence of strangers, he never laid aside the +majesty that time had impressed upon his person; and the habit of +frowning with his heavy eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles of his +face, and giving to his eyes a Napoleonic fixity, made his manner of +accosting others icy. + +During the course of his political life he had been so generally +feared that he was thought unsocial, and it is not difficult to +explain the causes of that opinion. The life, morals, and fidelity of +Piombo made him obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that +delicate missions were constantly intrusted to his discretion which to +any other man about the court would have proved lucrative, he +possessed an income of not more than thirty thousand francs from an +investment in the Grand Livre. If we recall the cheapness of +government securities under the Empire, and the liberality of Napoleon +towards those of his faithful servants who knew how to ask for it, we +can readily see that the Baron di Piombo must have been a man of stern +integrity. He owed his plumage as baron to the necessity Napoleon felt +of giving him a title before sending him on missions to foreign +courts. + +Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the traitors with whom +Napoleon surrounded himself, expecting to bind them to his cause by +dint of victories. It was he of whom it is told that he made three +steps to the door of the Emperor's cabinet after advising him to get +rid of three men in France on the eve of Napoleon's departure for his +celebrated and admirable campaign of 1814. After the second return of +the Bourbons Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of the Legion of +honor. No man offered a finer image of those old Republicans, +incorruptible friends to the Empire, who remained the living relics of +the two most energetic governments the world has ever seen. Though the +Baron di Piombo displeased mere courtiers, he had the Darus, Drouots, +and Carnots with him as friends. As for the rest of the politicians, +he cared not a whiff of his cigar's smoke for them, especially since +Waterloo. + +Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very moderate sum which +Madame Mere, the Emperor's mother, had paid him for his estates in +Corsica, the old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he had +made no changes. Lodged, usually, at the cost of the government, he +did not occupy this house until after the catastrophe of +Fontainebleau. Following the habits of simple persons of strict +virtue, the baron and his wife gave no heed to external splendor; +their furniture was that which they bought with the mansion. The grand +apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, the wide mirrors in gilded frames +that were almost black, the furniture of the period of Louis XIV. were +in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, personages worthy of +antiquity. + +Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, while exercising +functions that were liberally rewarded, the old Corsican had +maintained a great establishment, more for the purpose of doing honor +to his office than from any desire to shine himself. His life and that +of his wife were so frugal, so tranquil, that their modest fortune +sufficed for all their wants. To them, their daughter Ginevra was more +precious than the wealth of the whole world. When, therefore, in May, +1814, the Baron di Piombo resigned his office, dismissed his crowd of +servants, and closed his stable door, Ginevra, quiet, simple and +unpretending like her parents, saw nothing to regret in the change. +Like all great souls, she found her luxury in strength of feeling, and +derived her happiness from quietness and work. These three beings +loved each other too well for the externals of existence to be of +value in their eyes. + +Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall of Napoleon, +Bartolomeo and his wife passed delightful evenings alone with their +daughter, listening while she sang and played. To them there was a +vast secret pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that +child; their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; they heard her +step in the court-yard, lightly as she trod. Like lovers, the three +would often sit silently together, understanding thus, better than by +speech, the eloquence of their souls. This profound sentiment, the +life itself of the two old people, animated their every thought. Here +were not three existences, but one,--one only, which, like the flame +on the hearth, divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, +occasionally, some memory of Napoleon's benefits and misfortunes, if +the public events of the moment distracted the minds of the old people +from this source of their constant solicitude, they could always talk +of those interests without affecting their community of thought, for +Ginevra shared their political passions. What more natural, therefore, +than the ardor with which they found a refuge in the heart of their +only child? + +Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed the energy of +the Baron di Piombo; but after leaving those employments he felt the +need of casting that energy into the last sentiment that remained to +him. Apart from the ties of parentage, there may have been, unknown to +these three despotic souls, another powerful reason for the intensity +of their reciprocal love: it was love undivided. Ginevra's whole heart +belonged to her father, as Piombo's whole heart belonged to his child; +and if it be true that we are bound to one another more by our defects +than by our virtues, Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the +passions of her father. There lay the sole imperfection of this triple +life. Ginevra was born unyielding of will, vindictive, and passionate, +like her father in his youth. + +The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these savage sentiments +in the heart of his daughter, precisely as a lion teaches the lion- +cubs to spring upon their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance +having no means of action in their family life, it came to pass that +Ginevra turned the principle against her father; as a child she +forgave him nothing, and he was forced to yield to her. Piombo saw +nothing more than childish nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but +the child was all the while acquiring a habit of ruling her parents. +In the midst, however, of the tempests which the father was fond of +exciting, a look, a word of tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry +souls, and often they were never so near to a kiss as when they were +threatening each other vehemently. + +Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown wiser than her +father, avoided such scenes. Her faithfulness, her devotion, the love +which filled her every thought, and her admirable good sense had got +the better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a very great evil had +resulted from her training; Ginevra lived with her father and mother +on the footing of an equality which is always dangerous. + +Piombo and his wife, persons without education, had allowed Ginevra to +study as she pleased. Following her caprices as a young girl, she had +studied all things for a time, and then abandoned them,--taking up and +leaving each train of thought at will, until, at last, painting had +proved to be her dominant passion. Ginevra would have made a noble +woman had her mother been capable of guiding her studies, of +enlightening her mind, and bringing into harmony her gifts of nature; +her defects came from the fatal education which the old Corsican had +found delight in giving her. + +After marching up and down the room for some time, Piombo rang the +bell; a servant entered. + +"Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra," said his master. + +"I always regret our carriage on her account," remarked the baroness. + +"She said she did not want one," replied Piombo, looking at his wife, +who, accustomed for forty years to habits of obedience, lowered her +eyes and said no more. + +Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and wrinkled, the +baroness exactly resembled those old women whom Schnetz puts into the +Italian scenes of his "genre" pictures. She was so habitually silent +that she might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; but, +occasionally, a word, look, or gesture betrayed that her feelings +still retained all the vigor and the freshness of their youth. Her +dress, devoid of coquetry, was often in bad taste. She usually sat +passive, buried in a low sofa, like a Sultana Valide, awaiting or +admiring her Ginevra, her pride, her life. The beauty, toilet, and +grace of her daughter seemed to have become her own. All was well with +her if Ginevra was happy. Her hair was white, and a few strands only +were seen above her white and wrinkled forehead, or beside her hollow +cheeks. + +"It is now fifteen days," she said, "since Ginevra made a practice of +being late." + +"Jean is so slow!" cried the impatient old man, buttoning up his blue +coat and seizing his hat, which he dashed upon his head as he took his +cane and departed. + +"You will not get far," said his wife, calling after him. + +As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, and the old +mother heard the steps of her Ginevra in the court-yard. Bartolomeo +almost instantly reappeared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in +his arms. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +LOVE + +"Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginevrola, mia Ginevra bella!" +cried the old man. + +"Oh, father, you hurt me!" + +Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of respect. She nodded her +head with a graceful movement at her mother, who was frightened by her +cry, as if to say, "Don't be alarmed, it was only a trick to get +away." + +The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its usual tones, and even +assumed a look of gayety. Piombo rubbed his hands violently,--with him +the surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit at court when he +saw Napoleon becoming angry with those of his generals and ministers +who served him ill or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles of +his face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead expressed benevolence. +These two old people presented at this moment precisely the aspect of +a drooping plant to which a little water has given fresh life after +long dryness. + +"Now, to dinner! to dinner!" cried the baron, offering his large hand +to his daughter, whom he called "Signora Piombellina,"--another +symptom of gayety, to which Ginevra replied by a smile. + +"Ah ca!" said Piombo, as they left the table, "your mother has called +my attention to the fact that for some weeks you have stayed much +longer than usual at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you +than your parents--" + +"Oh, father!" + +"Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I think," said the mother. + +"A picture of your own! will you bring us that?" cried the Corsican, +clapping his hands. + +"Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio," replied Ginevra, rather +slowly. + +"What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning pale!" cried her mother. + +"No!" exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolution,--"no! it shall +never be said that Ginevra Piombo acted a lie." + +Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his wife looked at their +daughter in astonishment. + +"I love a young man," she added, in a voice of emotion. + +Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she lowered her large +eyelids as if to veil the fire of her eyes. + +"Is he a prince?" asked her father, ironically, in a tone of voice +which made the mother quail. + +"No, father," she said, gently, "he is a young man without fortune." + +"Is he very handsome?" + +"He is very unfortunate." + +"What is he?" + +"Labedoyere's comrade; he was proscribed, without a refuge; Servin +concealed him, and--" + +"Servin is a good fellow, who has done well," cried Piombo; "but you, +my daughter, you do wrong to love any man, except your father." + +"It does not depend on me to love, or not to love," replied Ginevra, +still gently. + +"I flattered myself," continued her father, "that my Ginevra would be +faithful to me until I died; and that my love and that of her mother +would suffice her till then; I did not expect that our tenderness +would find a rival in her soul, and--" + +"Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for Napoleon?" said +Ginevra. "Have you never loved any one but me? Did you not leave me +for months together when you went on missions. I bore your absence +courageously. Life has necessities to which we must all submit." + +"Ginevra!" + +"No, you don't love me for myself; your reproaches betray your +intolerable egotism." + +"You dare to blame your father's love!" exclaimed Piombo, his eyes +flashing. + +"Father, I don't blame you," replied Ginevra, with more gentleness +than her trembling mother expected. "You have grounds for your +egotism, as I have for my love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has +ever fulfilled her duty to her parents better than I have done to you. +I have never felt anything but love and happiness where others often +see obligation. It is now fifteen years that I have never left your +protecting wing, and it has been a most dear pleasure to me to charm +your life. But am I ungrateful for all this in giving myself up to the +joy of loving; is it ingratitude to desire a husband who will protect +me hereafter?" + +"What! do you reckon benefits with your father, Ginevra?" said Piombo, +in a dangerous tone. + +A dreadful pause then followed, during which no one dared to speak. +Bartolomeo at last broke the silence by crying out in a heart-rending +tone:-- + +"Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old father! I cannot +have you love another man. Ginevra, you will not have long to await +your liberty." + +"But, father, remember that I need not leave you; we shall be two to +love you; you will learn to know the man to whose care you bequeath +me. You will be doubly cherished by me and by him,--by him who is my +other self, by me who am all his." + +"Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!" cried the Corsican, clenching his fists; "why +did you not marry when Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did +you not take the counts and dukes he presented to you?" + +"They loved me to order," said the girl. "Besides, they would have +made me live with them, and I did not wish to leave you alone." + +"You don't wish to leave me alone," said Piombo, "and yet you marry!-- +that is leaving me alone. I know you, my daughter; in that case, you +would cease to love us. Elisa," he added, looking at his wife, who +remained motionless, and as if stupefied, "we have no longer a +daughter; she wishes to marry." + +The old man sat down, after raising his hands to heaven with a gesture +of invoking the Divine power; then he bowed himself over as if weighed +down with sorrow. + +Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which he put upon his +anger touched her to the heart; she expected some violent crisis, some +ungovernable fury; she had not armed her soul against paternal +gentleness. + +"Father," she said, in a tender voice, "no, you shall never be +abandoned by your Ginevra. But love her a little for her own sake. If +you know how he loves me! Ah! HE would never make me unhappy!" + +"Comparisons already!" cried Piombo, in a terrible voice. "No, I can +never endure the idea of your marriage. If he loved you as you deserve +to be loved he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should put a +dagger through him." + +The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trembled, his body +trembled, but his eyes flashed lightnings. Ginevra alone was able to +endure his glance, for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was +worthy of the sire. + +"Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a life?" continued +Piombo. "To love you as a father is paradise on earth; who is there +worthy to be your husband?" + +"HE," said Ginevra; "he of whom I am not worthy." + +"He?" repeated Piombo, mechanically; "who is HE?" + +"He whom I love." + +"How can he know you enough to love you?" + +"Father," said Ginevra, with a gesture of impatience, "whether he +loves me or not, if I love him--" + +"You love him?" cried Piombo. + +Ginevra bent her head softly. + +"You love him more than you love us?" + +"The two feelings cannot be compared," she replied. + +"Is one stronger than the other?" + +"I think it is," said Ginevra. + +"You shall not marry him," cried the Corsican, his voice shaking the +window-panes. + +"I shall marry him," replied Ginevra, tranquilly. + +"Oh, God!" cried the mother, "how will this quarrel end? Santa +Virgina! place thyself between them!" + +The baron, who had been striding up and down the room, now seated +himself; an icy sternness darkened his face; he looked fixedly at his +daughter, and said to her, in a gentle, weakened voice,-- + +"Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say nothing more to-night-- +let me think the contrary. Do you wish to see your father on his +knees, his white hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you--" + +"Ginevra Piombo does not pass her word and break it," she replied. "I +am your daughter." + +"She is right," said the baroness. "We are sent into the world to +marry." + +"Do you encourage her in disobedience?" said the baron to his wife, +who, terrified by the word, now changed to marble. + +"Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedience," said Ginevra. + +"No order can be unjust from the lips of your father, my daughter. Why +do you judge my action? The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on +high, sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil." + +"The only evil could be that he did not love me." + +"Always HE!" + +"Yes, always," she answered. "He is my life, my good, my thought. Even +if I obeyed you he would be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him +is to make me hate you." + +"You love us not!" cried Piombo. + +"Oh!" said Ginevra, shaking her head. + +"Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After we are gone--you +understand?" + +"Father, do you wish me to long for your death?" cried Ginevra. + +"I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor their parents die +early," said the father, driven to exasperation. + +"All the more reason why I should marry and be happy," she replied. + +This coolness and power of argument increased Piombo's trouble; the +blood rushed violently to his head, and his face turned purple. +Ginevra shuddered; she sprang like a bird on her father's knee, threw +her arms around his neck, and caressed his white hair, exclaiming, +tenderly:-- + +"Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never survive you, my father, +my kind father!" + +"Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!" replied Piombo, whose anger melted +under this caress like snow beneath the rays of the sun. + +"It was time you ceased," said the baroness, in a trembling voice. + +"Poor mother!" + +"Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra!" + +And the father played with his daughter as though she were a child of +six. He amused himself by releasing the waving volume of her hair, by +dandling her on his knee; there was something of madness in these +expressions of his love. Presently his daughter scolded while kissing +him, and tried, by jesting, to obtain admission for Luigi; but her +father, also jesting, refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once +more, and sulked again, until, by the end of the evening, she was +forced to be content with having impressed upon her father's mind both +her love for Luigi and the idea of an approaching marriage. + +The next day she said no more about her love; she was more caressing +to her father than she had ever been, and testified the utmost +gratitude, as if to thank him for the consent he seemed to have given +by his silence. That evening she sang and played to him for a long +time, exclaiming now and then: "We want a man's voice for this +nocturne." Ginevra was an Italian, and that says all. + +At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She went; and Elisa +Piombo whispered in her ear:-- + +"I have persuaded your father to receive him." + +"Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!" + +That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on the arm of her Luigi. +The officer came out of his hiding-place for the second time only. The +earnest appeals which Ginevra made to the Duc de Feltre, then minister +of war, had been crowned with complete success. Luigi's name was +replaced upon the roll of officers awaiting orders. This was the first +great step toward better things. Warned by Ginevra of the difficulties +he would encounter with her father, the young man dared not express +his fear of finding it impossible to please the old man. Courageous +under adversity, brave on a battlefield, he trembled at the thought of +entering Piombo's salon. Ginevra felt him tremble, and this emotion, +the source of which lay in her, was, to her eyes, another proof of +love. + +"How pale you are!" she said to him when they reached the door of the +house. + +"Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only!--" + +Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of the formal +presentation Ginevra was to make of her lover, he would not advance to +meet him, but remained seated in his usual arm-chair, and the +sternness of his brow was awful. + +"Father," said Ginevra, "I bring you a person you will no doubt be +pleased to see,--a soldier who fought beside the Emperor at Mont- +Saint-Jean." + +The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance at Luigi, and said, in a +sardonic tone:-- + +"Monsieur is not decorated." + +"I no longer wear the Legion of honor," replied Luigi, timidly, still +standing. + +Ginevra, mortified by her father's incivility, dragged forward a +chair. The officer's answer seemed to satisfy the old servant of +Napoleon. Madame Piombo, observing that her husband's eyebrows were +resuming their natural position, said, by way of conversation: + +"Monsieur's resemblance to a person we knew in Corsica, Nina Porta, is +really surprising." + +"Nothing could be more natural," replied the young man, on whose face +Piombo's flaming eyes now rested. "Nina was my sister." + +"Are you Luigi Porta?" asked the old man. + +"Yes." + +Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against a chair and +beckon to his wife. Elisa Piombo came to him. Then the two old people, +silently, each supporting the other, left the room, abandoning their +daughter with a sort of horror. + +Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had turned as white as +a marble statue, and stood gazing at the door through which her father +and mother had disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed to +her so solemn that, for the first time, in her whole life, a feeling +of fear entered her soul. She struck her hands together with great +force, and said, in a voice so shaken that none but a lover could have +heard the words:-- + +"What misery in a word!" + +"In the name of our love, what have I said?" asked Luigi Porta. + +"My father," she replied, "never spoke to me of our deplorable +history, and I was too young when we left Corsica to know anything +about it." + +"Are we in vendetta?" asked Luigi, trembling. + +"Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas killed my brother and +burned our house. My father then massacred the whole family. How is it +that you survived?--for you were tied to the posts of the bed before +they set fire to the house." + +"I do not know," replied Luigi. "I was taken to Genoa when six years +old, and given in charge of an old man named Colonna. No detail about +my family was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, and +without property. Old Colonna was a father to me; and I bore his name +until I entered the army. In order to do that, I had to show my +certificate of birth in order to prove my identity. Colonna then told +me, still a mere child, that I had enemies. And he advised me to take +Luigi as my surname, and so evade them." + +"Go, go, Luigi!" cried Ginevra. "No, stay; I must go with you. So long +as you are in my father's house you have nothing to fear; but the +moment you leave it, take care! you will go from danger to danger. My +father has two Corsicans in his service, and if he does not lie in +wait to kill you, they will." + +"Ginevra," he said, "this feud, does it exist between you and me?" + +The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presently she raised it, and +said, with a sort of pride:-- + +"Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, indeed, to give me +strength to tread the path I am about to enter. But it involves a +happiness that will last throughout our lives, will it not?" + +Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. + +Ginevra comprehended that true love could despise all vulgar +protestations at such a moment. This calm and restrained expression of +his feelings foreshadowed, in some sense, their strength and their +duration. + +The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. Ginevra foresaw a +cruel struggle, but the idea of abandoning Luigi--an idea which may +have floated in her soul--vanished completely. His forever, she +dragged him suddenly, with a desperate sort of energy, from her +father's house, and did not leave him till she saw him reach the house +where Servin had engaged a modest lodging. + +By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained to that serenity +which is caused by a firm resolution; no sign in her manner betrayed +uneasiness. She turned on her father and mother, whom she found in the +act of sitting down to dinner, a glance of exceeding gentleness devoid +of hardihood. She saw that her mother had been weeping; the redness of +those withered eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emotion. No +one touched the dinner which was served to them. A horror of food is +one of the chief symptoms which reveal a great crisis in life. All +three rose from table without having addressed a single word to one +another. + +When Ginevra had placed herself between her father and mother in the +great and gloomy salon, Piombo tried to speak, but his voice failed +him; he tried to walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned +to his seat and rang the bell. + +"Pietro," he said, at last, to the footman, "light the fire; I am +cold." + +Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anxiously. The struggle +within him must have been horrible, for his face was distorted. +Ginevra knew the extent of the peril before her, but she did not +flinch. Bartolomeo, meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his daughter, +as if he feared a character whose violence was the work of his own +hands. + +Between such natures all things must be extreme. The certainty of some +impending change in the feelings of father and daughter gave to the +worn and weary face of the baroness an expression of terror. + +"Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family," said Piombo, at last, +not daring to look at his daughter. + +"That is true," she replied. + +"You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a part of our being. +Whoso does not share my vengeance is not a member of my family." + +"My choice is made," replied Ginevra, calmly. + +His daughter's tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. + +"Oh! my dear child!" he cried, letting her see his eyes moistened with +tears, the first and only tears he ever shed in life. + +"I shall be his wife," said Ginevra, abruptly. + +Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he recovered his coolness +instantly, and replied:-- + +"The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I will never consent +to it." + +Ginevra kept silence. + +"Ginevra," continued the baron, "have you reflected that Luigi is the +son of the man who killed your brother?" + +"He was six years old when that crime was committed; he was, +therefore, not guilty of it," she replied. + +"He is a Porta!" cried Bartolomeo. + +"I have never shared that hatred," said Ginevra, eagerly. "You did not +bring me up to think a Porta must be a monster. How could I know that +one of those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is it not +natural that you should now yield your vendetta to my feelings?" + +"A Porta!" repeated Piombo. "If his father had found you in your bed +you would not be living now; he would have taken your life a hundred +times." + +"It may be so," she answered; "but his son has given me life, and more +than life. To see Luigi is a happiness without which I cannot live. +Luigi has revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, perhaps, have +seen faces more beautiful than his, but none has ever charmed me thus; +I may have heard voices--no, no, never any so melodious! Luigi loves +me; he will be my husband." + +"Never," said Piombo. "I would rather see you in your coffin, +Ginevra." + +The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and down the salon, +dropping the following sentences, one by one, after pauses which +betrayed his agitation. + +"You think you can bend my will. Undeceive yourself. A Porta shall +never be my son; that is my decree. Let there be no further question +of this between us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, +Ginevra?" + +"Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those words?" she asked, +coldly. + +"They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not fear man's justice. +Corsicans explain themselves to God." + +"And I," said the daughter, rising, "am Ginevra Piombo, and I declare +that within six months I shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a +tyrant, my father," she added, after a terrifying pause. + +Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on the marble of the +chimneypiece. + +"Ah! we are in Paris!" he muttered. + +Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head on his breast, +and said not another word during the whole evening. + +After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra affected +inconceivable coolness. She opened the piano and sang, played charming +nocturnes and scherzos with a grace and sentiment which displayed a +perfect freedom of mind, thus triumphing over her father, whose +darkling face showed no softening. The old man was cruelly hurt by +this tacit insult; he gathered in this one moment the bitter fruits of +the training he had given to his daughter. Respect is a barrier which +protects parents as it does children, sparing grief to the former, +remorse to the latter. + +The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the house at the hour when +she usually went to the studio, she found the gates of the mansion +closed to her. She said nothing, but soon found means to inform Luigi +Porta of her father's severity. A chambermaid, who could neither read +nor write, was able to carry letters between the lovers. For five days +they corresponded thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of the +youth. + +The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. Both were nursing +in the depths of their heart a sentiment of hatred; they suffered, but +they suffered proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong were the +ties of love which bound them to each other, they each tried to break +them, but without success. No gentle thought came, as formerly, to +brighten the stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his +Ginevra. The girl had something savage in her eye when she looked at +her father; reproach sat enthroned on that innocent brow; she gave +herself up, it is true, to happy thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse +seemed to dull her eyes. It was not difficult to believe that she +could never enjoy, peacefully, any happiness which caused sorrow to +her parents. + +With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesitations of this period +caused by the native goodness of their souls were, nevertheless, +compelled to give way before their pride and the rancor of their +Corsican nature. They encouraged each other in their anger, and closed +their eyes to the future. Perhaps they mutually flattered themselves +that the one would yield to the other. + +At last, on Ginevra's birthday, her mother, in despair at the +estrangement which, day by day, assumed a more serious character, +meditated an attempt to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of +the memories of this family anniversary. They were all three sitting +in Bartolomeo's study. Ginevra guessed her mother's intention by the +timid hesitation on her face, and she smiled sadly. + +At this moment a servant announced two notaries, accompanied by +witnesses. Bartolomeo looked fixedly at these persons, whose cold and +formal faces were grating to souls so passionately strained as those +of the three chief actors in this scene. The old man turned to his +daughter and looked at her uneasily. He saw upon her face a smile of +triumph which made him expect some shock; but, after the manner of +savages, he affected to maintain a deceitful indifference as he gazed +at the notaries with an assumed air of calm curiosity. The strangers +sat down, after being invited to do so by a gesture of the old man. + +"Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?" began the oldest of +the notaries. + +Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight inclination of the head, +looked at Ginevra with a sly expression, took out his snuff-box, +opened it, and slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words +with which to open his errand; then, while uttering them, he made +continual pauses (an oratorical manoeuvre very imperfectly represented +by the printer's dash--). + +"Monsieur," he said, "I am Monsieur Roguin, your daughter's notary, +and we have come--my colleague and I--to fulfil the intentions of the +law and--put an end to the divisions which--appear--to exist--between +yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter,--on the subject--of--her-- +marriage with Monsieur Luigi Porta." + +This speech, pedantically delivered, probably seemed to Monsieur +Roguin so fine that his hearer could not at once understand it. He +paused, and looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of the +mere business lawyer, a mixture of servility with familiarity. +Accustomed to feign much interest in the persons with whom they deal, +notaries have at last produced upon their features a grimace of their +own, which they take on and off as an official "pallium." This mask of +benevolence, the mechanism of which is so easy to perceive, irritated +Bartolomeo to such an extent that he was forced to collect all the +powers of his reason to prevent him from throwing Monsieur Roguin +through the window. An expression of anger ran through his wrinkles, +which caused the notary to think to himself: "I've produced an +effect." + +"But," he continued, in a honeyed tone, "Monsieur le baron, on such +occasions our duties are preceded by--efforts at--conciliation--Deign, +therefore, to have the goodness to listen to me--It is in evidence +that Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo--attains this very day--the age at +which the law allows a respectful summons before proceeding to the +celebration of a marriage--in spite of the non-consent of the parents. +Now--it is usual in families--who enjoy a certain consideration--who +belong to society--who preserve some dignity--to whom, in short, it is +desirable not to let the public into the secret of their differences-- +and who, moreover, do not wish to injure themselves by blasting with +reprobation the future of a young couple (for--that is injuring +themselves), it is usual, I say--among these honorable families--not +to allow these summonses--to take place--or remain--a monument to-- +divisions which should end--by ceasing--Whenever, monsieur, a young +lady has recourse to respectful summons, she exhibits a determination +too marked to allow of a father--of a mother," here he turned to the +baroness, "hoping or expecting that she will follow their wishes-- +Paternal resistance being null--by reason of this fact--in the first +place--and also from its being nullified by law, it is customary--for +every sensible man--after making a final remonstrance to his child-- +and before she proceeds to the respectful summons--to leave her at +liberty to--" + +Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might talk on for two +hours without obtaining any answer; he felt, moreover, a singular +emotion at the aspect of the man he was attempting to convert. An +extraordinary revolution had taken place on Piombo's face; his +wrinkles, contracting into narrow lines, gave him a look of +indescribable cruelty, and he cast upon the notary the glance of a +tiger. The baroness was mute and passive. Ginevra, calm and resolute, +waited silently; she knew that the notary's voice was more potent than +hers, and she seemed to have decided to say nothing. At the moment +when Roguin ceased speaking, the scene had become so terrifying that +the men who were there as witnesses trembled; never, perhaps, had they +known so awful a silence. The notaries looked at each other, as if in +consultation, and finally rose and walked to the window. + +"Did you ever meet people born into the world like that?" asked Roguin +of his brother notary. + +"You can't get anything out of him," replied the younger man. "In your +place, I should simply read the summons. That old fellow isn't a +comfortable person; he is furious, and you'll gain nothing whatever by +arguing with him." + +Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, containing the "respectful +summons," prepared for the occasion; after which he proceeded to ask +Bartolomeo what answer he made to it. + +"Are there laws in France which destroy paternal authority?--" +demanded the Corsican. + +"Monsieur--" said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. + +"Which tear a daughter from her father?--" + +"Monsieur--" + +"Which deprive an old man of his last consolation?--" + +"Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you if--" + +"And kill him?--" + +"Monsieur, permit me--" + +There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and precise reasoning +of notaries amid the many passionate scenes in which they are +accustomed to take part. + +The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his eyes, escaped from +hell; his repressed and concentrated rage knew no longer any bounds as +the calm and fluted voice of the little notary uttered the words: +"permit me." By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger that was +hanging to a nail above the fireplace, and rushed toward his daughter. +The younger of the two notaries and one of the witnesses threw +themselves before Ginevra; but Piombo knocked them violently down, his +face on fire, and his eyes casting flames more terrifying than the +glitter of the dagger. When Ginevra saw him approach her she looked at +him with an air of triumph, and advancing slowly, knelt down. "No, no! +I cannot!" he cried, flinging away the weapon, which buried itself in +the wainscot. + +"Well, then! have mercy! have pity!" she said. "You hesitate to be my +death, and you refuse me life! Oh! father, never have I loved you as I +do at this moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon my +knees: a daughter can humiliate herself before her father. My Luigi, +give me my Luigi, or I die!" + +The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped her words, for she +had no voice; her convulsive movements showed plainly that she lay, as +it were, between life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from +him. + +"Go," he said. "The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be a Piombo. I have no +daughter. I have not the strength to curse you, but I cast you off; +you have no father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here," he said, in a +deep voice, pressing violently on his heart. "Go, leave my house, +unhappy girl," he added, after a moment's silence. "Go, and never come +into my sight again." + +So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate of the house and +silently put her out. + +"Luigi!" cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodging of her lover,--"my +Luigi, we have no other fortune than our love." + +"Then am I richer than the kings of the earth!" he cried. + +"My father and my mother have cast me off," she said, in deepest +sadness. + +"I will love you in place of them." + +"Then let us be happy,--we WILL be happy!" she cried, with a gayety in +which there was something dreadful. + + + +CHAPTER V + +MARRIAGE + +The day after Ginevra was driven from her father's house she went to +ask Madame Servin for asylum and protection until the period fixed by +law for her marriage to Luigi. + +Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble which the world +strews about the path of those who do not follow its conventions. +Madame Servin received her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm +which Ginevra's affair had inflicted on her husband, and told her, in +politely cautious words, that she must not count on her help in +future. Too proud to persist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto +unknown to her, the girl took a room in the lodging-house that was +nearest to that of Luigi. The son of the Portas passed all his days at +the feet of his future wife; and his youthful love, the purity of his +words, dispersed the clouds from the mind of the banished daughter; +the future was so beautiful as he painted it that she ended by smiling +joyfully, though without forgetting her father's severity. + +One morning the servant of the lodging house brought to Ginevra's room +a number of trunks and packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and +a great quantity of other articles necessary for a young wife in +setting up a home of her own. In this welcome provision she recognized +her mother's foresight, and, on examining the gifts, she found a +purse, in which the baroness had put the money belonging to her +daughter, adding to it the amount of her own savings. The purse was +accompanied by a letter, in which the mother implored the daughter to +forego the fatal marriage if it were still possible to do so. It had +cost her, she said, untold difficulty to send these few things to her +daughter; she entreated her not to think her hard if, henceforth, she +were forced to abandon her to want; she feared she could never again +assist her; but she blessed her and prayed for her happiness in this +fatal marriage, if, indeed, she persisted in making it, assuring her +that she should never cease to think of her darling child. Here the +falling tears had effaced some words of the letter. + +"Oh, mother!" cried Ginevra, deeply moved. + +She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the blessed air of her +father's house, to fling herself at his feet, to see her mother. She +was springing forward to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At +the mere sight of him her filial emotion vanished; her tears were +stopped, and she no longer had the strength to abandon that loving and +unfortunate youth. To be the sole hope of a noble being, to love him +and then abandon him!--that sacrifice is the treachery of which young +hearts are incapable. Ginevra had the generosity to bury her own grief +and suffering silently in her soul. + +The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend with her. While she +was dressing, Luigi fetched the witnesses necessary to sign the +certificate of marriage. These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a +cavalry sergeant, was under obligations to Luigi, contracted on the +battlefield, obligations which are never obliterated from the heart of +an honest man; the other, a master-mason, was the proprietor of the +house in which the young couple had hired an apartment for their +future home. Each witness brought a friend, and all four, with Luigi, +came to escort the bride. Little accustomed to social functions, and +seeing nothing in the service they were rendering to Luigi but a +simple matter of business, they were dressed in their ordinary +clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about them denoted the usual +joy of a marriage procession. + +Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her present fortunes; +and yet her beauty was so noble and so imposing that the words of +greeting died away on the lips of the witnesses, who supposed +themselves obliged to pay her some usual compliments. They bowed to +her with respect, and she returned the bow; but they did so in +silence, looking at her with admiration. This reserve cast a chill +over the whole party. Joy never bursts forth freely except among those +who are equals. Thus chance determined that all should be dull and +grave around the bridal pair; nothing reflected, outwardly, the +happiness that reigned within their hearts. + +The church and the mayor's office being near by, Luigi and Ginevra, +followed by the four witnesses required by law, walked the distance, +with a simplicity that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in +social life. They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the mayor's +court-yard; and when they reached the great hall where the civil +marriages take place, they found two other wedding-parties impatiently +awaiting the mayor's arrival. + +Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long bench; their +witnesses remained standing, for want of seats. Two brides, +elaborately dressed in white, with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and +crowned with orange-blossoms whose satiny petals nodded beneath their +veils, were surrounded by joyous families, and accompanied by their +mothers, to whom they looked up, now and then, with eyes that were +content and timid both; the faces of all the rest reflected happiness, +and seemed to be invoking blessings on the youthful pairs. Fathers, +witnesses, brothers, and sisters went and came, like a happy swarm of +insects disporting in the sun. Each seemed to be impressed with the +value of this passing moment of life, when the heart finds itself +within two hopes,--the wishes of the past, the promises of the future. + +As she watched them, Ginevra's heart swelled within her; she pressed +Luigi's arm, and gave him a look. A tear rolled from the eyes of the +young Corsican; never did he so well understand the joys that his +Ginevra was sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her to +forget all else but him,--even the abandonment in which she sat there. +Love poured down its treasures of light upon their hearts; they saw +nought else but themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they +were there alone, in that crowd, as they were destined to be, +henceforth, in life. Their witnesses, indifferent to what was +happening, conversed quietly on their own affairs. + +"Oats are very dear," said the sergeant to the mason. + +"But they have not gone up like lime, relatively speaking," replied +the contractor. + +Then they walked round the hall. + +"How one loses time here," said the mason, replacing a thick silver +watch in his fob. + +Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, seemed like one +person. A poet would have admired their two heads, inspired by the +same sentiment, colored in the same tones, silent and saddened in +presence of that humming happiness sparkling in diamonds, gay with +flowers,--a gayety in which there was something fleeting. The joy of +those noisy and splendid groups was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi +was buried in their bosom. On one side the tumult of common pleasure, +on the other, the delicate silence of happy souls,--earth and heaven! + +But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weaknesses of women. +Superstitious as an Italian, she saw an omen in this contrast, and in +her heart there lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. + +Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, opened a folding- +door. Silence reigned, and his voice was heard, like the yapping of a +dog, calling Monsieur Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di +Piombo. This caused some embarrassment to the young pair. The +celebrity of the bride's name attracted attention, and the spectators +seemed to wonder that the wedding was not more sumptuous. Ginevra +rose, took Luigi's arm, and advanced firmly, followed by the +witnesses. A murmur of surprise, which went on increasing, and a +general whispering reminded Ginevra that all present were wondering at +the absence of her parents; her father's wrath seemed present to her. + +"Call in the families," said the mayor to the clerk whose business it +was to read aloud the certificates. + +"The father and mother protest," replied the clerk, phlegmatically. + +"On both sides?" inquired the mayor. + +"The groom is an orphan." + +"Where are the witnesses?" + +"Here," said the clerk, pointing to the four men, who stood with arms +folded, like so many statues. + +"But if the parents protest--" began the mayor. + +"The respectful summons has been duly served," replied the clerk, +rising, to lay before the mayor the papers annexed to the marriage +certificate. + +This bureaucratic decision had something blighting about it; in a few +words it contained the whole story. The hatred of the Portas and the +Piombos and their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of the +civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it may be, in one word +only,--Napoleon, Robespierre) are engraved on a tombstone. Ginevra +trembled. Like the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to +rest its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge only in the +eyes of Luigi from the cold and dreary waste around her. + +The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and his clerk looked up +at the couple with malicious curiosity. No marriage was ever so little +festal. Like other human beings when deprived of their accessories, it +became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. + +After a few questions, to which the bride and bridegroom responded, +and a few words mumbled by the mayor, and after signing the registers, +with their witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. Then the +wedded pair walked back through two lines of joyous relations who did +not belong to them, and whose only interest in their marriage was the +delay caused to their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. When, at +last, Ginevra found herself in the mayor's court-yard, under the open +sky, a sigh escaped her breast. + +"Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove my gratitude for +your courage and tenderness, my Ginevra?" said Luigi. + +At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride forgot her +sufferings; for she had indeed suffered in presenting herself before +the public to obtain a happiness her parents refused to sanction. + +"Why should others come between us?" she said with an artlessness of +feeling that delighted Luigi. + +A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step of the young pair +lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor earth, nor houses; they flew, as +it were, on wings to the church. When they reached a dark little +chapel in one corner of the building, and stood before a plain +undecorated altar, an old priest married them. There, as in the +mayor's office, two other marriages were taking place, still pursuing +them with pomp. The church, filled with friends and relations, echoed +with the roll of carriages, and the hum of beadles, sextons, and +priests. Altars were resplendent with sacramental luxury; the wreaths +of orange-flowers that crowned the figures of the Virgin were fresh. +Flowers, incense, gleaming tapers, velvet cushions embroidered with +gold, were everywhere. When the time came to hold above the heads of +Luigi and Ginevra the symbol of eternal union,--that yoke of satin, +white, soft, brilliant, light for some, lead for most,--the priest +looked about him in vain for the acolytes whose place it was to +perform that joyous function. Two of the witnesses fulfilled it for +them. The priest addressed a hasty homily to the pair on the perils of +life, on the duties they must, some day, inculcate upon their +children,--throwing in, at this point, an indirect reproach to Ginevra +on the absence of her parents; then, after uniting them before God, as +the mayor had united them before the law, he left the now married +couple. + +"God bless them!" said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to the mason, when +they reached the church porch. "No two creatures were ever more fitted +for one another. The parents of the girl are foolish. I don't know a +braver soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole army had behaved like +him, 'l'autre' would be here still." + +This blessing of the old soldier, the only one bestowed upon their +marriage-day, shed a balm on Ginevra's heart. + +They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi thanked his landlord. + +"Adieu, 'mon brave,'" he said to the sergeant. "I thank you." + +"I am now and ever at your service, colonel,--soul, body, horses, and +carriages; all that is mine is yours." + +"How he loves you!" said Ginevra. + +Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were to occupy. Their +modest apartment was soon reached; and there, when the door closed +upon them, Luigi took his wife in his arms, exclaiming,-- + +"Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is our true wedding. +Here," he added, "all things will smile upon us." + +Together they went through the three rooms contained in their lodging. +The room first entered served as salon and dining-room in one; on the +right was a bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had +arranged for his wife; in it she found easels, color-boxes, lay- +figures, casts, pictures, portfolios,--in short, the paraphernalia of +an artist. + +"So here I am to work!" she said, with an expression of childlike +happiness. + +She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, turning again and +again to thank Luigi, for there was something that approached +magnificence in the little retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite +books; a piano filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon a divan, +drew Luigi to her side, and said, in a caressing voice, her hand in +his,-- + +"You have good taste." + +"Those words make me happy," he replied. + +"But let me see all," said Ginevra, to whom Luigi had made a mystery +of the adornment of the rooms. + +They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white as a virgin. + +"Oh! come away," said Luigi, smiling. + +"But I wish to see all." + +And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of furniture with the +minute care of an antiquary examining a coin; she touched the silken +hangings, and went over every article with the artless satisfaction of +a bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. + +"We begin by ruining ourselves," she said, in a half-joyous, half- +anxious tone. + +"True! for all my back pay is there," replied Luigi. "I have mortgaged +it to a worthy fellow named Gigonnet." + +"Why did you do so?" she said, in a tone of reproach, through which +could be heard her inward satisfaction. "Do you believe I should be +less happy in a garret? But," she added, "it is all charming, and--it +is ours!" + +Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she lowered her eyes. + +"Now let us see the rest," she cried. + +Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a study for Luigi, a +kitchen, and a servant's-room. Ginevra was much pleased with her +little domain, although the view from the windows was limited by the +high wall of a neighboring house, and the court-yard, from which their +light was derived, was gloomy. But the two lovers were so happy in +heart, hope so adorned their future, that they chose to see nothing +but what was charming in their hidden nest. They were there in that +vast house, lost in the immensity of Paris, like two pearls in their +shell in the depths of ocean; to all others it might have seemed a +prison; to them it was paradise. + +The first few days of their union were given to love. The effort to +turn at once to work was too difficult; they could not resist the +charm of their own passion. Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his +wife, admiring the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, +the enchanting socket of her eyes, the purity and whiteness of the two +arches beneath which the eyes themselves turned slowly, expressing the +happiness of a satisfied love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her Luigi, +never weary of gazing at what she called his "belta folgorante," and +the delicacy of his features. She was constantly charmed by the +nobility of his manners, as she herself attracted him by the grace of +hers. + +They played together, like children, with nothings,--nothings that +brought them ever back to their love,--ceasing their play only to fall +into a revery of the "far niente." An air sung by Ginevra reproduced +to their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their passion. +Together, uniting their steps as they did their souls, they roamed +about the country, finding everywhere their love,--in the flowers, in +the sky, in the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in even +the capricious vapors which met and struggled in the ether. Each day +resembled in nothing its predecessors; their love increased, and still +increased, because it was a true love. They had tested each other in +what seemed only a short time; and, instinctively, they recognized +that their souls were of a kind whose inexhaustible riches promised +for the future unceasing joys. + +Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its interminable +conversations, unfinished speeches, long silences, oriental reposes, +and oriental ardor. Luigi and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like +the ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called monotonous by +common souls, whereas some privileged beings can pass their lives in +admiring it, and in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that +enchant them. + +Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the young couple from their +Eden; it was necessary to work to live. Ginevra, who possessed a +special talent for imitating old paintings, took up the business of +copying, and soon found many customers among the picture-dealers. +Luigi, on his side, sought long and actively for occupation, but it +was hard for a young officer whose talents had been restricted to the +study of strategy to find anything to do in Paris. + +At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with despair at seeing +the whole burden of their subsistence falling on Ginevra, it occurred +to him to make use of his handwriting, which was excellent. With a +persistency of which he saw an example in his wife, he went round +among the layers and notaries of Paris, asking for papers to copy. The +frankness of his manners and his situation interested many in his +favor; he soon obtained enough work to be obliged to find young men to +assist him; and this employment became, little by little, a regular +business. The profits of his office and the sale of Ginevra's pictures +gave the young couple a competence of which they were justly proud, +for it was the fruit of their industry. + +This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of their lives. The +days flowed rapidly by, filled with occupation and the joys of their +love. At night, after working all day, they met with delight in +Ginevra's studio. Music refreshed their weariness. No expression of +regret or melancholy obscured the happy features of the young wife, +and never did she utter a complaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a +smile upon her lips and her eyes beaming. Each cherished a ruling +thought which would have made them take pleasure in a labor still more +severe; Ginevra said in her heart that she worked for Luigi, and Luigi +the same for Ginevra. + +Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the thought of the perfect +happiness she might have had if this life of love could have been +lived in the presence of her father and mother overcame the young +wife; and then, as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped +into melancholy; mournful pictures passed like shadows across her +imagination; she saw her old father alone, or her mother weeping in +secret lest the inexorable Piombo should perceive her tears. The two +white, solemn heads rose suddenly before her, and the thought came +that never again should she see them except in memory. This thought +pursued her like a presentiment. + +She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by giving her husband a +portrait he had long desired,--that of his Ginevra, painted by +herself. Never had the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside +from the resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the purity of her +feelings, the happiness of love were there depicted by a sort of +magic. This masterpiece of her art and her joy was a votive offering +to their wedded felicity. + +Another year of ease and comfort went by. The history of their life +may be given in three words: THEY WERE HAPPY. No event happened to +them of sufficient importance to be recorded. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +RETRIBUTION + +At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers requested +Ginevra to give them something beside copies; for competition had so +increased that they could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame +Porta then perceived the mistake she had made in not exercising her +talent for "genre" painting, which might, by this time, have brought +her reputation. She now attempted portrait-painting. But here she was +forced to compete against a crowd of artists in greater need of money +than herself. However, as Luigi and Ginevra had laid by a few savings, +they were not, as yet, uneasy about the future. + +Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi worked without +intermission. He, too, was struggling against competitors. The payment +for writing had so decreased that he found it impossible to employ +assistance; he was forced, therefore, to work a much longer time +himself to obtain the same emolument. His wife had finished several +pictures which were not without merit; but the dealers were scarcely +buying those of artists with reputations; consequently, her paintings +had little chance. Ginevra offered them for almost nothing, but +without success. + +The situation of the household now began to be alarming. The souls of +the husband and wife floated on the ocean of their happiness, love +overwhelmed them with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a +skeleton, amid their harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they hid from +each other their secret anxiety. When Ginevra felt like weeping as she +watched Luigi's worn and suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; +and Luigi, keeping his dark forebodings in the depths of his soul, +expressed to his Ginevra the tenderest love. They sought a +compensation for their troubles in exalting their feelings; and their +words, their joys, their caresses became suffused, as it were, with a +species of frenzy. They feared the future. What feeling can be +compared in strength with that of a passion which may cease on the +morrow, killed by death or want? When they talked together of their +poverty each felt the necessity of deceiving the other, and they +fastened with mutual ardor on the slightest hope. + +One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her side. She rose in +terror. A faint light shining on the opposite wall of the little +court-yard revealed to her that her husband was working in his study +at night. Luigi was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was +asleep, and then going up to his garret to write. Four o'clock struck. +Ginevra lay down again, and pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi +returned, overcome with fatigue and drowsiness. Ginevra looked sadly +on the beautiful, worn face, where toil and care were already drawing +lines of wrinkles. + +"It is for me he spends his nights in writing," she said to herself, +weeping. + +A thought dried her tears. She would imitate Luigi. That same day she +went to a print-shop, and, by help of a letter of recommendation she +had obtained from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she obtained +an order for the coloring of lithographs. During the day she painted +her pictures and attended to the cares of the household; then, when +night came, she colored the engravings. This loving couple entered +their nuptial bed only to deceive each other; both feigned sleep, and +left it,--Luigi, as soon as he thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra +as soon as he had gone. + +One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, induced by a toil under +which his strength was beginning to give way, opened the casement of +his garret to breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, +the burden of his care. Happening to glance downward, he saw the +reflection of Ginevra's lamp on the opposite wall, and the poor fellow +guessed the truth. He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his +wife in her studio, coloring engravings. + +"Oh, Ginevra!" he cried. + +She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and blushed. + +"Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out with toil?" she +said. + +"But to me alone belongs the right to work in this way," he answered. + +"Could I be idle," she asked, her eyes filling with tears, "when I +know that every mouthful we eat costs a drop of your blood? I should +die if I could not add my efforts to yours. All should be in common +between us: pains and pleasures, both." + +"She is cold!" cried Luigi, in despair. "Wrap your shawl closer round +you, my own Ginevra; the night is damp and chilly." + +They went to the window, the young wife leaning on the breast of her +beloved, who held her round the waist, and, together, in deep silence, +they gazed upward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brightening. +Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; the East was growing +luminous. + +"See!" said Ginevra. "It is an omen. We shall be happy." + +"Yes, in heaven," replied Luigi, with a bitter smile. "Oh, Ginevra! +you who deserved all the treasures upon earth--" + +"I have your heart," she said, in tones of joy. + +"Ah! I complain no more!" he answered, straining her tightly to him, +and covering with kisses the delicate face, which was losing the +freshness of youth, though its expression was still so soft, so tender +that he could not look at it and not be comforted. + +"What silence!" said Ginevra, presently. "Dear friend, I take great +pleasure in sitting up. The majesty of Night is so contagious, it +awes, it inspires. There is I know not what great power in the +thought: all sleep, I wake." + +"Oh, my Ginevra," he cried, "it is not to-night alone I feel how +delicately moulded is your soul. But see, the dawn is shining,--come +and sleep." + +"Yes," replied Ginevra, "if I do not sleep alone. I suffered too much +that night I first discovered that you were waking while I slept." + +The courage with which these two young people fought with misery +received for a while its due reward; but an event which usually crowns +the happiness of a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a son, +who was, to use the popular expression, "as beautiful as the day." The +sense of motherhood doubled the strength of the young wife. Luigi +borrowed money to meet the expenses of Ginevra's confinement. At first +she did not feel the fresh burden of their situation; and the pair +gave themselves wholly up to the joy of possessing a child. It was +their last happiness. + +Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a current, these two +Corsican souls struggled courageously; but sometimes they gave way to +an apathy which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon they +were obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty appeared to them suddenly, +--not hideous, but plainly clothed, almost easy to endure; its voice +had nothing terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, +nor rags; but it made them lose the memory and the habits of comfort; +it dried the springs of pride. Then, before they knew it, came want,-- +want in all its horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot +all human sentiments. + +Seven or eight months after the birth of the little Bartolomeo, it +would have been hard to see in the mother who suckled her sickly babe +the original of the beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of +the squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, the graceful +outlines of Ginevra's figure were slowly destroyed; her cheeks grew +white as porcelain, and her eyes dulled as though the springs of life +were drying up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored child, +she felt no suffering but for that young misery; and Luigi had no +courage to smile upon his son. + +"I have wandered over Paris," he said, one day. "I know no one; can I +ask help of strangers? Vergniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a +conspiracy, and they have put him in prison; besides, he has already +lent me all he could spare. As for our landlord, it is over a year +since he asked me for any rent." + +"But we are not in want," replied Ginevra, gently, affecting calmness. + +"Every hour brings some new difficulty," continued Luigi, in a tone of +terror. + +Another day Luigi took Ginevra's pictures, her portrait, and the few +articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold +them for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless +household for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed +the sublimity of her nature and the extent of her resignation. + +Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up +against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying +son, performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and +sufficed for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi's +lips a smile of surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one +poor room where they had taken refuge. + +"Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you," she said, one evening, when +he returned, worn-out. + +"And you?" + +"I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more." + +And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her +words to take the food of which she had deprived herself. + +Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given +in 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme +moments two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi, +comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the +fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that +some business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest +poison than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was +left in his home. + +He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the +bosom of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; he +hurried past the windows of the money-changers where gold was +glittering; and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute +for military service, hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra, +and that her father, during his absence, would take her home. + +He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt +a sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial +guard. + +"It is two days since I have eaten anything," he said to him in a +slow, weak voice. "My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered +one word of complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God's sake, +comrade," he added, bitterly, "buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no +longer in the service, and I--" + +The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to +procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped +the gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying +out at times:-- + +"Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!" + +It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very +softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he +had left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the +garret window, were fading from Ginevra's face as she sat sleeping in +her chair, and holding her child upon her breast. + +"Wake, my dear one," he said, not observing the infant, which shone, +at that moment, with supernatural light. + +Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi's look, +and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely +recognized his wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he +showed her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly +she cried, in a dreadful voice:-- + +"The child, Luigi, he is cold!" + +She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead. +Luigi took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she +clasped with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he +went out to seek help. + +"Oh! my God!" he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. "I have +gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying, +too! Help me!" + +He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason, +and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the +needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans +had carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride. + +Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on +which lay his wife. + +"Father! take care of my son, who bears your name," she was saying in +her delirium. + +"Oh, my angel! be calm," said Luigi, kissing her; "our good days are +coming back to us." + +"My Luigi," she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention, +"listen to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered +too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for. +Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to +live again I would again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret +you more than I regret my child-- My child!" she added, in a hollow +voice. + +Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little +body she had no power to warm. + +"Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra," she said. "Tell +him I have never blamed him." + +Her head fell upon her husband's arm. + +"No, you cannot die!" cried Luigi. "The doctor is coming. We have +food. Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with +us, angel!" + +But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra +turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was +conscious of nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now +losing memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped +his icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to +save herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall. + +"Dear," she said, at last, "you are cold; I will warm you." + +She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. + +Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room, +bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their +despair. These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they +had entered, an awful silence filled the room. + +While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were +sitting in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast +fireplace, where a glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of +their salon. The clock told midnight. + +For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At +the present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their +dotage, gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted +salon, so filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single +lamp which seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon +the hearth, they might soon have been in total darkness. + +A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been +sitting, remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo +was casting glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding +one upon another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra's. +Elisa Piombo watched the expressions that now began to cross her +husband's pallid face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings +from the changeful agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so +threatening, and anon so melancholy that she felt she could no longer +read a soul that was now incomprehensible, even to her. + +Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that +chair? Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for +the first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy +struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now? + +These reflections shook the mother's heart successively. For an +instant her husband's countenance became so terrible that she trembled +at having used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra's +name. The night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so +sharply against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard +a gentle rustling. Ginevra's mother dropped her head to hide her +tears. Suddenly a sigh burst from the old man's breast; his wife +looked at him; he seemed to her crushed. Then she risked speaking--for +the second time in three long years--of his daughter. + +"Ginevra may be cold," she said, softly. + +Piombo quivered. + +"She may be hungry," she continued. + +The old man dropped a tear. + +"Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!" +said the mother, in accents of despair. + +"Let her come! let her come to me!" cried Piombo. "Oh! my precious +child, thou hast conquered me." + +The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door +opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of +humanity, stood suddenly before them. + +"Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is +all that remains of her," he said, laying Ginevra's long black hair +upon the table. + +The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had +blasted them. + +Luigi no longer stood before them. + +"He has spared me a shot, for he is dead," said Bartolomeo, slowly, +gazing on the ground at his feet. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Vendetta, by Honore de Balzac + diff --git a/old/old/vndta10.zip b/old/old/vndta10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..13d46cc --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/vndta10.zip |