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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> |