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diff --git a/5798-h/5798-h.htm b/5798-h/5798-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6779595 --- /dev/null +++ b/5798-h/5798-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2582 @@ +<?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> + The Beautiful Lady, by Booth Tarkington + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Beautiful Lady, by Booth Tarkington + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Beautiful Lady + +Author: Booth Tarkington + +Release Date: March 24, 2009 [EBook #5798] +Last Updated: September 16, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEAUTIFUL LADY *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE BEAUTIFUL LADY + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Booth Tarkington + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter One </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter Two </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter Three </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter Four </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter Five </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter Six </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter Seven </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter Eight </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter Nine </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter Ten </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Chapter One + </h2> + <p> + Nothing could have been more painful to my sensitiveness than to occupy + myself, confused with blushes, at the center of the whole world as a + living advertisement of the least amusing ballet in Paris. + </p> + <p> + To be the day’s sensation of the boulevards one must possess an + eccentricity of appearance conceived by nothing short of genius; and my + misfortunes had reduced me to present such to all eyes seeking mirth. It + was not that I was one of those people in uniform who carry placards and + strange figures upon their backs, nor that my coat was of rags; on the + contrary, my whole costume was delicately rich and well chosen, of soft + grey and fine linen (such as you see worn by a marquis in the pe’sage at + Auteuil) according well with my usual air and countenance, sometimes + esteemed to resemble my father’s, which were not wanting in distinction. + </p> + <p> + To add to this my duties were not exhausting to the body. I was required + only to sit without a hat from ten of the morning to midday, and from four + until seven in the afternoon, at one of the small tables under the awning + of the Cafe’ de la Paix at the corner of the Place de l’Opera—that + is to say, the centre of the inhabited world. In the morning I drank my + coffee, hot in the cup; in the afternoon I sipped it cold in the glass. I + spoke to no one; not a glance or a gesture of mine passed to attract + notice. + </p> + <p> + Yet I was the centre of that centre of the world. All day the crowds + surrounded me, laughing loudly; all the voyous making those jokes for + which I found no repartee. The pavement was sometimes blocked; the passing + coachmen stood up in their boxes to look over at me, small infants were + elevated on shoulders to behold me; not the gravest or most sorrowful came + by without stopping to gaze at me and go away with rejoicing faces. The + boulevards rang to their laughter—all Paris laughed! + </p> + <p> + For seven days I sat there at the appointed times, meeting the eye of + nobody, and lifting my coffee with fingers which trembled with + embarrassment at this too great conspicuosity! Those mournful hours + passed, one by the year, while the idling bourgeois and the travellers + made ridicule; and the rabble exhausted all effort to draw plays of wit + from me. + </p> + <p> + I have told you that I carried no placard, that my costume was elegant, my + demeanour modest in all degree. + </p> + <p> + “How, then, this excitement?” would be your disposition to inquire. “Why + this sensation?” + </p> + <p> + It is very simple. My hair had been shaved off, all over my ears, leaving + only a little above the back of the neck, to give an appearance of + far-reaching baldness, and on my head was painted, in ah! so brilliant + letters of distinctness: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Theatre + + Folie-Rouge + + Revue + + de + + Printemps + + Tous les Soirs +</pre> + <p> + Such was the necessity to which I was at that time reduced! One has heard + that the North Americans invent the most singular advertising, but I will + not believe they surpass the Parisian. Myself, I say I cannot express my + sufferings under the notation of the crowds that moved about the Cafe’ de + la Paix! The French are a terrible people when they laugh sincerely. It is + not so much the amusing things which cause them amusement; it is often the + strange, those contrasts which contain something horrible, and when they + laugh there is too frequently some person who is uncomfortable or wicked. + I am glad that I was born not a Frenchman; I should regret to be native to + a country where they invent such things as I was doing in the Place de + l’Opera; for, as I tell you, the idea was not mine. + </p> + <p> + As I sat with my eyes drooping before the gaze of my terrible and + applauding audiences, how I mentally formed cursing words against the day + when my misfortunes led me to apply at the Theatre Folie-Rouge for work! I + had expected an audition and a role of comedy in the Revue; for, perhaps + lacking any experience of the stage, I am a Neapolitan by birth, though a + resident of the Continent at large since the age of fifteen. All + Neapolitans can act; all are actors; comedians of the greatest, as every + traveller is cognizant. There is a thing in the air of our beautiful + slopes which makes the people of a great instinctive musicalness and + deceptiveness, with passions like those burning in the old mountain we + have there. They are ready to play, to sing—or to explode, yet, + imitating that amusing Vesuvio, they never do this last when you are in + expectancy, or, as a spectator, hopeful of it. + </p> + <p> + How could any person wonder, then, that I, finding myself suddenly + destitute in Paris, should apply at the theatres? One after another, I saw + myself no farther than the director’s door, until (having had no more to + eat the day preceding than three green almonds, which I took from a cart + while the good female was not looking) I reached the Folie-Rouge. Here I + was astonished to find a polite reception from the director. It eventuated + that they wished for a person appearing like myself a person whom they + would outfit with clothes of quality in all parts, whose external + presented a gentleman of the great world, not merely of one the + galant-uomini, but who would impart an air to a table at a cafe’ where he + might sit and partake. The contrast of this with the emplacement of the + establishment on his bald head-top was to be the success of the idea. It + was plain that I had no baldness, my hair being very thick and I but + twenty-four years of age, when it was explained that my hair could be + shaved. They asked me to accept, alas! not a part in the Revue, but a + specialty as a sandwich-man. Knowing the English tongue as I do, I may + afford the venturesomeness to play upon it a little: I asked for bread, + and they offered me not a role, but a sandwich! + </p> + <p> + It must be undoubted that I possessed not the disposition to make any fun + with my accomplishments during those days that I spent under the awning of + the Cafe’ de la Paix. I had consented to be the advertisement in greatest + desperation, and not considering what the reality would be. Having + consented, honour compelled that I fulfil to the ending. Also, the costume + and outfittings I wore were part of my emolument. They had been + constructed for me by the finest tailor; and though I had impulses, often, + to leap up and fight through the noisy ones about me and run far to the + open country, the very garments I wore were fetters binding me to remain + and suffer. It seemed to me that the hours were spent not in the centre of + a ring of human persons, but of un-well-made pantaloons and ugly skirts. + Yet all of these pantaloons and skirts had such scrutinous eyes and + expressions of mirth to laugh like demons at my conscious, burning, + painted head; eyes which spread out, astonished at the sight of me, and + peered and winked and grinned from the big wrinkles above the gaiters of + Zouaves, from the red breeches of the gendarmes, the knickerbockers of the + cyclists, the white ducks of sergents de ville, and the knees of the + boulevardiers, bagged with sitting cross-legged at the little tables. I + could not escape these eyes;—how scornfully they twinkled at me from + the spurred and glittering officers’ boots! How with amaze from the + American and English trousers, both turned up and creased like folded + paper, both with some dislike for each other but for all other trousers + more. + </p> + <p> + It was only at such times when the mortifications to appear so greatly + embarrassed became stronger than the embarrassment itself that I could by + will power force my head to a straight construction and look out upon my + spectators firmly. On the second day of my ordeal, so facing the laughers, + I found myself facing straight into the monocle of my half-brother and + ill-wisher, Prince Caravacioli. + </p> + <p> + At this, my agitation was sudden and very great, for there was no one I + wished to prevent perceiving my condition more than that old Antonio + Caravacioli! I had not known that he was in Paris, but I could have no + doubt it was himself: the monocle, the handsome nose, the toupee’, the + yellow skin, the dyed-black moustache, the splendid height—it was + indeed Caravacioli! He was costumed for the automobile, and threw but one + glance at me as he crossed the pavement to his car, which was in waiting. + There was no change, not of the faintest, in that frosted tragic mask of a + countenance, and I was glad to think that he had not recognized me. + </p> + <p> + And yet, how strange that I should care, since all his life he had + declined to recognize me as what I was! Ah, I should have been glad to + shout his age, his dyes, his artificialities, to all the crowd, so to + touch him where it would most pain him! For was he not the vainest man in + the whole world? How well I knew his vulnerable point: the monstrous depth + of his vanity in that pretense of youth which he preserved through + superhuman pains and a genius of a valet, most excellently! I had much to + pay Antonio for myself, more for my father, most for my mother. This was + why that last of all the world I would have wished that old fortune-hunter + to know how far I had been reduced! + </p> + <p> + Then I rejoiced about that change which my unreal baldness produced in me, + giving me a look of forty years instead of twenty-four, so that my oldest + friend must take at least three stares to know me. Also, my costume would + disguise me from the few acquaintances I had in Paris (if they chanced to + cross the Seine), as they had only seen me in the shabbiest; while, at my + last meeting with Antonio, I had been as fine in the coat as now. + </p> + <p> + Yet my encouragement was not so joyful that my gaze lifted often. On the + very last day, in the afternoon when my observances were most and + noisiest, I lifted my eyes but once during the final half-hour—but + such a one that was! + </p> + <p> + The edge of that beautiful grey pongee skirt came upon the lid of my + lowered eyelid like a cool shadow over hot sand. A sergent had just made + many of the people move away, so there remained only a thin ring of the + laughing pantaloons about me, when this divine skirt presented its + apparition to me. A pair of North-American trousers accompanied it, turned + up to show the ankle-bones of a rich pair of stockings; neat, enthusiastic + and humorous, I judged them to be; for, as one may discover, my only + amusement during my martyrdom—if this misery can be said to possess + such alleviatings—had been the study of feet, pantaloons, and + skirts. The trousers in this case detained my observation no time. They + were but the darkest corner of the chiaroscuro of a Rembrandt—the + mellow glow of gold was all across the grey skirt. + </p> + <p> + How shall I explain myself, how make myself understood? Shall I be thought + sentimentalistic or but mad when I declare that my first sight of the grey + pongee skirt caused me a thrill of excitation, of tenderness, and—oh-i-me!—of + self-consciousness more acute than all my former mortifications. It was so + very different from all other skirts that had shown themselves to me those + sad days, and you may understand that, though the pantaloons far + outnumbered the skirts, many hundreds of the latter had also been objects + of my gloomy observation. + </p> + <p> + This skirt, so unlike those which had passed, presented at once the + qualifications of its superiority. It had been constructed by an artist, + and it was worn by a lady. It did not pine, it did not droop; there was no + more an atom of hanging too much than there was a portion inflated by + flamboyancy; it did not assert itself; it bore notice without seeking it. + Plain but exquisite, it was that great rarity—goodness made + charming. + </p> + <p> + The peregrination of the American trousers suddenly stopped as they caught + sight of me, and that precious skirt paused, precisely in opposition to my + little table. I heard a voice, that to which the skirt pertained. It spoke + the English, but not in the manner of the inhabitants of London, who seem + to sing undistinguishably in their talking, although they are + comprehensible to each other. To an Italian it seems that many + North-Americans and English seek too often the assistance of the nose in + talking, though in different manners, each equally unagreeable to our + ears. The intelligent among our lazzaroni of Naples, who beg from + tourists, imitate this, with the purpose of reminding the generous + traveller of his home, in such a way to soften his heart. But there is + some difference: the Italian, the Frenchman, or German who learns English + sometimes misunderstands the American: the Englishman he sometimes + understands. + </p> + <p> + This voice that spoke was North-American. Ah, what a voice! Sweet as the + mandolins of Sorento! Clear as the bells of Capri! To hear it, was like + coming upon sight of the almond-blossoms of Sicily for the first time, or + the tulip-fields of Holland. Never before was such a voice! + </p> + <p> + “Why did you stop, Rufus?” it said. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” replied the American trousers; so that I knew the pongee lady had + not observed me of herself. + </p> + <p> + Instantaneously there was an exclamation, and a pretty grey parasol, + closed, fell at my feet. It is not the pleasantest to be an object which + causes people to be startled when they behold you; but I blessed the + agitation of this lady, for what caused her parasol to fall from her hand + was a start of pity. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she cried. “The poor man!” + </p> + <p> + She had perceived that I was a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + I bent myself forward and lifted the parasol, though not my eyes I could + not have looked up into the face above me to be Caesar! Two hands came + down into the circle of my observation; one of these was that belonging to + the trousers, thin, long, and white; the other was the grey-gloved hand of + the lady, and never had I seen such a hand—the hand of an angel in a + suede glove, as the grey skirt was the mantle of a saint made by Doucet. I + speak of saints and angels; and to the large world these may sound like + cold words.—It is only in Italy where some people are found to adore + them still. + </p> + <p> + I lifted the parasol toward that glove as I would have moved to set a + candle on an altar. Then, at a thought, I placed it not in the glove, but + in the thin hand of the gentleman. At the same time the voice of the lady + spoke to me—I was to have the joy of remembering that this voice had + spoken four words to me. + </p> + <p> + “Je vous remercie, monsieur,” it said. + </p> + <p> + “Pas de quoi!” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + The American trousers in a loud tone made reference in the idiom to my + miserable head: “Did you ever see anything to beat it?” + </p> + <p> + The beautiful voice answered, and by the gentleness of her sorrow for me I + knew she had no thought that I might understand. “Come away. It is too + pitiful!” + </p> + <p> + Then the grey skirt and the little round-toed shoes beneath it passed from + my sight, quickly hidden from me by the increasing crowd; yet I heard the + voice a moment more, but fragmentarily: “Don’t you see how ashamed he is, + how he must have been starving before he did that, or that someone + dependent on him needed—” + </p> + <p> + I caught no more, but the sweetness that this beautiful lady understood + and felt for the poor absurd wretch was so great that I could have wept. I + had not seen her face; I had not looked up—even when she went. + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” cried a scoundrel voyous, just as she turned. “Madame of the + parasol? A friend of monsieur of the ornamented head?” + </p> + <p> + “No. It is the first lady in waiting to his wife, Madame la Duchesse,” + answered a second. “She has been sent with an equerry to demand of + monseigneur if he does not wish a little sculpture upon his dome as well + as the colour decorations!” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis true, my ancient?” another asked of me. + </p> + <p> + I made no repartee, continuing to sit with my chin dependent upon my + cravat, but with things not the same in my heart as formerly to the + arrival of that grey pongee, the grey glove, and the beautiful voice. + </p> + <p> + Since King Charles the Mad, in Paris no one has been completely free from + lunacy while the spring-time is happening. There is something in the sun + and the banks of the Seine. The Parisians drink sweet and fruity champagne + because the good wines are already in their veins. These Parisians are + born intoxicated and remain so; it is not fair play to require them to be + like other human people. Their deepest feeling is for the arts; and, as + everyone had declared, they are farceurs in their tragedies, tragic in + their comedies. They prepare the last epigram in the tumbril; they drown + themselves with enthusiasm about the alliance with Russia. In death they + are witty; in war they have poetic spasms; in love they are mad. + </p> + <p> + The strangest of all this is that it is not only the Parisians who are the + insane ones in Paris; the visitors are none of them in behaviour as + elsewhere. You have only to go there to become as lunatic as the rest. + Many travellers, when they have departed, remember the events they have + caused there as a person remembers in the morning what he has said and + thought in the moonlight of the night. + </p> + <p> + In Paris it is moonlight even in the morning; and in Paris one falls in + love even more strangely than by moonlight. + </p> + <p> + It is a place of glimpses: a veil fluttering from a motor-car, a little + lace handkerchief fallen from a victoria, a figure crossing a lighted + window, a black hat vanishing in the distance of the avenues of the + Tuileries. A young man writes a ballade and dreams over a bit of lace. Was + I not, then, one of the least extravagant of this mad people? Men have + fallen in love with photographs, those greatest of liars; was I so wild, + then, to adore this grey skirt, this small shoe, this divine glove, the + golden-honey voice—of all in Paris the only one to pity and to + understand? Even to love the mystery of that lady and to build my dreams + upon it?—to love all the more because of the mystery? Mystery is the + last word and the completing charm to a young man’s passion. Few sonnets + have been written to wives whose matrimony is more than five years of age—is + it not so? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Two + </h2> + <p> + When my hour was finished and I in liberty to leave that horrible corner, + I pushed out of the crowd and walked down the boulevard, my hat covering + my sin, and went quickly. To be in love with my mystery, I thought, that + was a strange happiness! It was enough. It was romance! To hear a voice + which speaks two sentences of pity and silver is to have a chime of bells + in the heart. But to have a shaven head is to be a monk! And to have a + shaven head with a sign painted upon it is to be a pariah. Alas! I was a + person whom the Parisians laughed at, not with! + </p> + <p> + Now that at last my martyrdom was concluded, I had some shuddering, as + when one places in his mouth a morsel of unexpected flavour. I wondered + where I had found the courage to bear it, and how I had resisted hurling + myself into the river, though, as is known, that is no longer safe, for + most of those who attempt it are at once rescued, arrested, fined, and + imprisoned for throwing bodies into the Seine, which is forbidden. + </p> + <p> + At the theatre the frightful badge was removed from my head-top and I was + given three hundred francs, the price of my shame, refusing an offer to + repeat the performance during the following week. To imagine such a thing + made me a choking in my throat, and I left the bureau in some sickness. + This increased so much (as I approached the Madeleine, where I wished to + mount an omnibus) that I entered a restaurant and drank a small glass of + cognac. Then I called for writing-papers and wrote to the good Mother + Superior and my dear little nieces at their convent. I enclosed two + hundred and fifty francs, which sum I had fallen behind in my payments for + their education and sustenance, and I felt a moment’s happiness that at + least for a while I need not fear that my poor brother’s orphans might + become objects of charity—a fear which, accompanied by my own + hunger, had led me to become the joke of the boulevards. + </p> + <p> + Feeling rich with my remaining fifty francs, I ordered the waiter to bring + me a goulasch and a carafe of blond beer, after the consummation of which + I spent an hour in the reading of a newspaper. Can it be credited that the + journal of my perusement was the one which may be called the + North-American paper of the aristocracies of Europe? Also, it contains + some names of the people of the United States at the hotels and elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + How eagerly I scanned those singular columns! Shall I confess to what + purpose? I read the long lists of uncontinental names over and over, but I + lingered not at all upon those like “Muriel,” “Hermione,” “Violet,” and + “Sibyl,” nor over “Balthurst,” “Skeffington-Sligo,” and “Covering-Legge”; + no, my search was for the Sadies and Mamies, the Thompsons, Van Dusens, + and Bradys. In that lies my preposterous secret. + </p> + <p> + You will see to what infatuation those words of pity, that sense of a + beautiful presence, had led me. To fall in love must one behold a face? + Yes; at thirty. At twenty, when one is something of a poet—No: it is + sufficient to see a grey pongee skirt! At fifty, when one is a philosopher—No: + it is enough to perceive a soul! I had done both; I had seen the skirt; I + had perceived the soul! Therefore, while hungry, I neglected my goulasch + to read these lists of names of the United States again and again, only + that I might have the thought that one of them—though I knew not + which—might be this lady’s, and that in so infinitesimal a degree I + had been near her again. Will it be estimated extreme imbecility in me + when I ventured the additional confession that I felt a great warmth and + tenderness toward the possessors of all these names, as being, if not + herself, at least her compatriots? + </p> + <p> + I am now brought to the admission that before to-day I had experienced + some prejudices against the inhabitants of the North-American republic, + though not on account of great experience of my own. A year previously I + had made a disastrous excursion to Monte Carlo in the company of a young + gentleman of London who had been for several weeks in New York and + Washington and Boston, and appeared to know very much of the country. He + was never anything but tired in speaking of it, and told me a great + amount. He said many times that in the hotels there was never a concierge + or portier to give you information where to discover the best vaudeville; + there was no concierge at all! In New York itself, my friend told me, a + facchino, or species of porter, or some such good-for-nothing, had said to + him, including a slap on the shoulder, “Well, brother, did you receive + your delayed luggage correctly?” (In this instance my studies of the + North-American idiom lead me to believe that my friend was intentionally + truthful in regard to the principalities, but mistaken in his observation + of detail.) He declared the recent willingness of the English to take some + interest in the United-Statesians to be a mistake; for their were noisy, + without real confidence in themselves; they were restless and merely + imitative instead of inventive. He told me that he was not exceptional; + all Englishmen had thought similarly for fifty or sixty years; therefore, + naturally, his opinion carried great weight with me. And myself, to my + astonishment, I had often seen parties of these republicans become all + ears and whispers when somebody called a prince or a countess passed by. + Their reverence for age itself, in anything but a horse, had often + surprised me by its artlessness, and of all strange things in the world, I + have heard them admire old customs and old families. It was strange to me + to listen, when I had believed that their land was the only one where + happily no person need worry to remember who had been his + great-grandfather. + </p> + <p> + The greatest of my own had not saved me from the decoration of the past + week, yet he was as much mine as he was Antonio Caravacioli’s; and + Antonio, though impoverished, had his motor-car and dined well, since I + happened to see, in my perusal of the journal, that he had been to dinner + the evening before at the English Embassy with a great company. “Bravo, + Antonio! Find a rich foreign wife if you can, since you cannot do well for + yourself at home!” And I could say so honestly, without spite, for all his + hatred of me,—because, until I had paid my addition, I was still the + possessor of fifty francs! + </p> + <p> + Fifty francs will continue life in the body of a judicial person a long + time in Paris, and combining that knowledge and the good goulasch, I + sought diligently for “Mamies” and “Sadies” with a revived spirit. I found + neither of those adorable names—in fact, only two such diminutives, + which are more charming than our Italian ones: A Miss Jeanie Archibald Zip + and a Miss Fannie Sooter. None of the names was harmonious with the grey + pongee—in truth, most of them were no prettier (however less + processional) than royal names. I could not please myself that I had come + closer to the rare lady; I must be contented that the same sky covered us + both, that the noise of the same city rang in her ears as mine. + </p> + <p> + Yet that was a satisfaction, and to know that it was true gave me + mysterious breathlessness and made me hear fragments of old songs during + my walk that night. I walked very far, under the trees of the Bois, where + I stopped for a few moments to smoke a cigarette at one of the tables + outside, at Armenonville. + </p> + <p> + None of the laughing women there could be the lady I sought; and as my + refusing to command anything caused the waiter uneasiness, in spite of my + prosperous appearance, I remained but a few moments, then trudged on, all + the long way to the Cafe’ de Madrid, where also she was not. + </p> + <p> + How did I assure myself of this since I had not seen her face? I cannot + tell you. Perhaps I should not have known her; but that night I was sure + that I should. + </p> + <p> + Yes, as sure of that as I was sure that she was beautiful! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Three + </h2> + <p> + Early the whole of the next day, endeavoring to look preoccupied, I + haunted the lobbies and vicinity of the most expensive hotels, unable to + do any other thing, but ashamed of myself that I had not returned to my + former task of seeking employment, although still reassured by possession + of two louis and some silver, I dined well at a one-franc coachman’s + restaurant, where my elegance created not the slightest surprise, and I + felt that I might live in this way indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + However, dreams often conclude abruptly, and two louis always do, as I + found, several days later, when, after paying the rent for my unspeakable + lodging and lending twenty francs to a poor, bad painter, whom I knew and + whose wife was ill, I found myself with the choice of obtaining funds on + my finery or not eating, either of which I was very loath to do. It is not + essential for me to tell any person that when you seek a position it is + better that you appear not too greatly in need of it; and my former + garments had prejudiced many against me, I fear, because they had been + patched by a friendly concierge. Pantaloons suffer as terribly as do + antiques from too obvious restorations; and while I was only grateful to + the good woman’s needle (except upon one occasion when she forgot to + remove it), my costume had reached, at last, great sympathies for the + shade of Praxiteles, feeling the same melancholy over original intentions + so far misrepresented by renewals. + </p> + <p> + Therefore I determined to preserve my fineries to the uttermost; and it + was fortunate that I did so; because, after dining, for three nights upon + nothing but looking out of my window, the fourth morning brought me a + letter from my English friend. I had written to him, asking if he knew of + any people who wished to pay a salary to a young man who knew how to do + nothing. I place his reply in direct annexation: + </p> + <p> + “Henrietta Street, Cavendish Square, May 14. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Ansolini,—Why haven’t you made some of your relatives do + something? I understand that they do not like you; neither do my own, but + after our crupper at Monte Carlo what could mine do, except provide? If a + few pounds (precious few, I fear!) be of any service to you, let me know. + In the mean time, if you are serious about a position, I may, + preposterously enough, set you in the way of it. There is an old + thundering Yankee here, whom I met in the States, and who believed me a + god because I am the nephew of my awful uncle, for whose career he has + ever had, it appears, a life-long admiration, sir! Now, by chance, meeting + this person in the street, it developed that he had need of a man, + precisely such a one as you are not: a sober, tutorish, middle-aged, + dissenting parson, to trot about the Continent tied to a dancing bear. It + is the old gentleman’s cub, who is a species of Caliban in fine linen, and + who has taken a few too many liberties in the land of the free. In fact, I + believe he is much a youth of my own kind with similar admiration for + baccarat and good cellars. His father must return at once, and has decided + (the cub’s native heath and friends being too wild) to leave him in charge + of a proper guide, philosopher, courier, chaplain, and friend, if such can + be found, the same required to travel with the cub and keep him out of + mischief. I thought of your letter directly, and I have given you the most + tremendous recommendation—part of it quite true, I suspect, though I + am not a judge of learning. I explained, however, that you are a master of + languages, of elegant though subdued deportment, and I extolled at length + your saintly habits. Altogether, I fear there may have been too much of + the virtuoso in my interpretation of you; few would have recognized from + it the gentleman who closed a table at Monte Carlo and afterwards was + closed himself in the handsome and spectacular fashion I remember with + both delight and regret. Briefly, I lied like a master. He almost had me + in the matter of your age; it was important that you should be + middle-aged. I swore that you were at least thirty-eight, but, owing to + exemplary habits, looked very much younger. The cub himself is + twenty-four. + </p> + <p> + “Hence, if you are really serious and determined not to appeal to your + people, call at once upon Mr. Lambert R. Poor, of the Hotel d’Iena. He is + the father, and the cub is with him. The elder Yankee is primed with my + praises of you, and must engage someone at once, as he sails in a day or + two. Go—with my blessing, an air of piety, and as much age as you + can assume. When the father has departed, throw the cub into the Seine, + but preserve his pocket-book, and we shall have another go at those + infernal tables. Vale! J.G.S.” + </p> + <p> + I found myself smiling—I fear miserably—over this kind letter, + especially at the wonder of my friend that I had not appealed to my + relatives. The only ones who would have liked to help me, if they had + known I needed something, were my two little nieces who were in my own + care; because my father, being but a poet, had no family, and my mother + had lost hers, even her eldest son, by marrying my father. After that they + would have nothing to do with her, nor were they asked. That rascally old + Antonio was now the head of all the Caravacioli, as was I of my own + outcast branch of our house—that is, of my two little nieces and + myself. It was partly of these poor infants I had thought when I took what + was left of my small inheritance to Monte Carlo, hoping, since I seemed to + be incapable of increasing it in any other way, that number seventeen and + black would hand me over a fortune as a waiter does wine. Alas! Luck is + not always a fool’s servant, and the kind of fortune she handed me was of + that species the waiter brings you in the other bottle of champagne, the + gold of a bubbling brain, lasting an hour. After this there is always + something evil to one’s head, and mine, alas! was shaved. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour after I had read the letter, the little paper-flower makers + in the attic window across from mine may have seen me shaving it—without + pleasure—again. What else was I to do? I could not well expect to be + given the guardianship of an erring young man if I presented myself to his + parent as a gentleman who had been sitting at the Cafe’ de la Paix with + his head painted. I could not wear my hat through the interview. I could + not exhibit the thick five days’ stubble, to appear in contrast with the + heavy fringe that had been spared;—I could not trim the fringe to + the shortness of the stubble; I should have looked like Pierrot. I had + only, then, to remain bald, and, if I obtained the post, to shave in + secret—a harmless and mournful imposition. + </p> + <p> + It was well for me that I came to this determination. I believe it was the + appearance of maturity which my head and dining upon thoughts lent me, as + much as my friend’s praises, which created my success with the amiable Mr. + Lambert R. Poor. I witness that my visit to him provided one of the most + astonishing interviews of my life. He was an instance of those strange + beings of the Western republic, at whom we are perhaps too prone to pass + from one of ourselves to another the secret smile, because of some little + imperfections of manner. It is a type which has grown more and more + familiar to us, yet never less strange: the man in costly but severe + costume, big, with a necessary great waistcoat, not noticing the loudness + of his own voice; as ignorant of the thousand tiny things which we observe + and feel as he would be careless of them (except for his wife) if he knew. + We laugh at him, sometimes even to his face, and he does not perceive it. + We are a little afraid that he is too large to see it; hence too large for + us to comprehend, and in spite of our laughter we are always conscious of + a force—yes, of a presence! We jeer slyly, but we respect, fear a + little, and would trust. + </p> + <p> + Such was my patron. He met me with a kind greeting, looked at me very + earnestly, but smiling as if he understood my good intentions, as one + understands the friendliness of a capering poodle, yet in such a way that + I could not feel resentment, for I could see that he looked at almost + everyone in the same fashion. + </p> + <p> + My friend had done wonders for me; and I made the best account of myself + that I could, so that within half an hour it was arranged that I should + take charge of his son, with an honourarium which gave me great rejoicing + for my nieces and my accumulated appetite. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can pick men,” he said, “and I think that you are the man I + want. You’re old enough and you’ve seen enough, and you know enough to + keep one fool boy in order for six months.” + </p> + <p> + So frankly he spoke of his son, yet not without affection and confidence. + Before I left, he sent for the youth himself, Lambert R. Poor, Jr.,—not + at all a Caliban, but a most excellent-appearing, tall gentleman, of + astonishingly meek countenance. He gave me a sad, slow look from his blue + eyes at first; then with a brightening smile he gently shook my hand, + murmuring that he was very glad in the prospect of knowing me better; + after which the parent defined before him, with singular elaboration, my + duties. I was to correct all things in his behaviour which I considered + improper or absurd. I was to dictate the line of travel, to have a + restraining influence upon expenditures; in brief, to control the young + man as a governess does a child. + </p> + <p> + To all of his parent’s instructions Poor Jr. returned a dutiful nod and + expressed perfect acquiescence. The following day the elder sailed from + Cherbourg, and I took up my quarters with the son. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Four + </h2> + <p> + It is with the most extreme mortification that I record my ensuing + experiences, for I felt that I could not honourably accept my salary + without earning it by carrying out the parent Poor’s wishes. That first + morning I endeavoured to direct my pupil’s steps toward the Musee de + Cluny, with the purpose of inciting him to instructive study; but in the + mildest, yet most immovable manner, he proposed Longchamps and the races + as a substitute, to conclude with dinner at La Cascade and supper at + Maxim’s or the Cafe’ Blanche, in case we should meet engaging company. I + ventured the vainest efforts to reason with him, making for myself a very + uncomfortable breakfast, though without effect upon him of any visibility. + His air was uninterruptedly mild and modest; he rarely lifted his eyes, + but to my most earnest argument replied only by ordering more eggs and + saying in a chastened voice: + </p> + <p> + “Oh no; it is always best to begin school with a vacation. To Longchamps—we!” + </p> + <p> + I should say at once that through this young man I soon became an amateur + of the remarkable North-American idioms, of humour and incomparable + brevities often more interesting than those evolved by the thirteen or + more dialects of my own Naples. Even at our first breakfast I began to + catch lucid glimpses of the intention in many of his almost + incomprehensible statements. I was able, even, to penetrate his meaning + when he said that although he was “strong for aged parent,” he himself had + suffered much anguish from overwork of the “earnest youth racquette” in + his late travels, and now desired to “create considerable trouble for + Paris.” + </p> + <p> + Naturally, I did not wish to begin by antagonizing my pupil—an + estrangement at the commencement would only lead to his deceiving me, or a + continued quarrel, in which case I should be of no service to my kind + patron, so that after a strained interval I considered it best to + surrender. + </p> + <p> + We went to Longchamps. + </p> + <p> + That was my first mistake; the second was to yield to him concerning the + latter part of his programme; but opposition to Mr. Poor, Jr. had a + curious effect of inutility. He had not in the least the air of obstinacy,—nothing + could have been less like rudeness; he neither frowned not smiled; no, he + did not seem even to be insisting; on the contrary, never have I beheld a + milder countenance, nor heard a pleasanter voice; yet the young man was so + completely baffling in his mysterious way that I considered him unique to + my experience. + </p> + <p> + Thus, when I urged him not to place large wagers in the pesage, his + whispered reply was strange and simple—“Watch me!” This he + conclusively said as he deposited another thousand-franc note, which, + within a few moments, accrued to the French government. + </p> + <p> + Longchamps was but the beginning of a series of days and nights which wore + upon my constitution—not indeed with the intensity of mortification + which my former conspicuosity had engendered, yet my sorrows were + stringent. It is true that I had been, since the age of seventeen, no + stranger to the gaieties and dissipations afforded by the capitals of + Europe; I may say I had exhausted these, yet always with some degree of + quiet, including intervals of repose. I was tired of all the great + foolishnesses of youth, and had thought myself done with them. Now I found + myself plunged into more uproarious waters than I had ever known I, who + had hoped to begin a life of usefulness and peace, was forced to dwell in + the midst of a riot, pursuing my extraordinary charge. + </p> + <p> + There is no need that I should describe those days and nights. They remain + in my memory as a confusion of bad music, crowds, motor-cars and champagne + of which Poor Jr. was a distributing centre. He could never be persuaded + to the Louvre, the Carnavalet, or the Luxembourg; in truth, he seldom rose + in time to reach the museums, for they usually close at four in the + afternoon. Always with the same inscrutable meekness of countenance, each + night he methodically danced the cake-walk at Maxim’s or one of the + Montemarte restaurants, to the cheers of acquaintances of many + nationalities, to whom he offered libations with prodigal enormity. He + carried with him, about the boulevards at night, in the highly powerful + car he had hired, large parties of strange people, who would loudly sing + airs from the Folie-Rouge (to my unhappy shudderings) all the way from the + fatiguing Bal Bullier to the Cafe’ de Paris, where the waiters soon became + affluent. + </p> + <p> + And how many of those gaily dressed and smiling ladies whose bright eyes + meet yours on the veranda of the Theatre Marigny were provided with + excessive suppers and souvenir fans by the inexhaustible Poor Jr.! He left + a trail of pink hundred-franc notes behind him, like a running boy + dropping paper in the English game; and he kept showers of gold louis + dancing in the air about him, so that when we entered the various cafes or + “American bars” a cheer (not vocal but to me of perfect audibility) went + up from the hungry and thirsty and borrowing, and from the attendants. Ah, + how tired I was of it, and how I endeavoured to discover a means to draw + him to the museums, and to Notre Dame and the Pantheon! + </p> + <p> + And how many times did I unwillingly find myself in the too enlivening + company of those pretty supper-girls, and what jokings upon his head-top + did the poor bald gentleman not undergo from those same demoiselles with + the bright eyes, the wonderful hats, and the fluffy dresses! + </p> + <p> + How often among those gay people did I find myself sadly dreaming of that + grey pongee skirt and the beautiful heart that had understood! Should I + ever see that lady? Not, I knew, alas! in the whirl about Poor Jr.! As + soon look for a nun at the Cafe’ Blanche! + </p> + <p> + For some reason I came to be persuaded that she had left Paris, that she + had gone away; and I pictured her—a little despairingly—on the + borders of Lucerne, with the white Alps in the sky above her,—or + perhaps listening to the evening songs on the Grand Canal, and I would try + to feel the little rocking of her gondola, making myself dream that I sat + at her feet. Or I could see the grey flicker of the pongee skirt in the + twilight distance of cathedral aisles with a chant sounding from a chapel; + and, so dreaming, I would start spasmodically, to hear the red-coated + orchestra of a cafe’ blare out into “Bedelia,” and awake to the laughter + and rouge and blague which that dear pongee had helped me for a moment to + forget! + </p> + <p> + To all places, Poor Jr., though never unkindly, dragged me with him, even + to make the balloon ascent at the Porte Maillot on a windy evening. + Without embarrassment I confess that I was terrified, that I clung to the + ropes with a clutch which frayed my gloves, while Poor Jr. leaned back + against the side of the basket and gazed upward at the great swaying ball, + with his hands in his pockets, humming the strange ballad that was his + favourite musical composition: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The prettiest girl I ever saw + Was sipping cider through a straw-aw-haw!” + </pre> + <p> + In that horrifying basket, scrambling for a foothold while it swung + through arcs that were gulfs, I believed that my sorrows approached a + sudden conclusion, but finding myself again upon the secure earth, I + decided to come to an understanding with the young man. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, on the following morning, I entered his apartment and + addresses myself to Poor Jr. as severely as I could (for, truthfully, in + all his follies I had found no ugliness in his spirit—only a + good-natured and inscrutable desire of wild amusement) reminding him of + the authority his father had deputed to me, and having the venturesomeness + to hint that the son should show some respect to my superior age. + </p> + <p> + To my consternation he replied by inquiring if I had shaved my head as yet + that morning. I could only drop in a chair, stammering to know what he + meant. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t you suppose I knew?” he asked, elevating himself slightly on his + elbow from the pillow. “Three weeks ago I left my aged parent in London + and ran over here for a day. I saw you at the Cafe’ de la Paix, and even + then I knew that it was shaved, not naturally bald. When you came here I + recognized you like a shot, and that was why I was glad to accept you as a + guardian. I’ve enjoyed myself considerably of late, and you’ve been the + best part of it,—I think you are a wonderation! I wouldn’t have any + other governess for the world, but you surpass the orchestra when you beg + me to respect your years! I will bet you four dollars to a lead franc + piece that you are younger than I am!” + </p> + <p> + Imagine the completeness of my dismay! Although he spoke in tones the most + genial, and without unkindness, I felt myself a man of tatters before him, + ashamed to have him know my sorry secret, hopeless to see all chance of + authority over him gone at once, and with it my opportunity to earn a + salary so generous, for if I could continue to be but an amusement to him + and only part of his deception of Lambert R. Poor, my sense of honour must + be fit for the guillotine indeed. + </p> + <p> + I had a little struggle with myself, and I think I must have wiped some + amounts of the cold perspiration from my absurd head before I was able to + make an answer. It may be seen what a coward I was, and how I feared to + begin again that search for employment. At last, however, I was in + self-control, so that I might speak without being afraid that my voice + would shake. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” I said. “It seemed to me that my deception would not cause + any harm, and that I might be useful in spite of it—enough to earn + my living. It was on account of my being very poor; and there are two + little children I must take care of.—Well, at least, it is over now. + I have had great shame, but I must not have greater.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he asked me rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I will leave immediately,” I said, going to the door. “Since I am no more + than a joke, I can be of no service to your father or to you; but you must + not think that I am so unreasonable as to be angry with you. A man whom + you have beheld reduced to what I was, at the Cafe’ de la Paix, is surely + a joke to the whole world! I will write to your father before I leave the + hotel and explain that I feel myself unqualified—” + </p> + <p> + “You’re going to write to him why you give it up!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall make no report of espionage,” I answered, with, perhaps, some + bitterness, “and I will leave the letter for you to read and to send, of + yourself. It shall only tell him that as a man of honour I cannot keep a + position for which I have no qualification.” + </p> + <p> + I was going to open the door, bidding him adieu, when he called out to me. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he said, and he jumped out of bed in his pajamas and came + quickly, and held out his hand. “Look here, Ansolini, don’t take it that + way. I know you’ve had pretty hard times, and if you’ll stay, I’ll get + good. I’ll go to the Louvre with you this afternoon; we’ll dine at one of + the Duval restaurants, and go to that new religious tragedy afterwards. If + you like, we’ll leave Paris to-morrow. There’s a little too much movement + here, maybe. For God’s sake, let your hair grow, and we’ll go down to + Italy and study bones and ruins and delight the aged parent!—It’s + all right, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + I shook the hand of that kind Poor Jr. with a feeling in my heart that + kept me from saying how greatly I thanked him—and I was sure that I + could do anything for him in the world! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Five + </h2> + <p> + Three days later saw us on the pretty waters of Lake Leman, in the bright + weather when Mont Blanc heaves his great bare shoulders of ice miles into + the blue sky, with no mist-cloak about him. + </p> + <p> + Sailing that lake in the cool morning, what a contrast to the champagne + houpla nights of Paris! And how docile was my pupil! He suffered me to + lead him through the Castle of Chillon like a new-born lamb, and even + would not play the little horses in the Kursaal at Geneva, although, + perhaps, that was because the stakes were not high enough to interest him. + He was nearly always silent, and, from the moment of our departure from + Paris, had fallen into dreamfulness, such as would come over myself at the + thought of the beautiful lady. It touched my heart to find how he was + ready with acquiescence to the slightest suggestion of mine, and, if it + had been the season, I am almost credulous that I could have conducted him + to Baireuth to hear Parsifal! + </p> + <p> + There were times when his mood of gentle sorrow was so like mine that I + wondered if he, too, knew a grey pongee skirt. I wondered over this so + much, and so marvellingly, also, because of the change in him, that at + last I asked him. + </p> + <p> + We had gone to Lucerne; it was clear moonlight, and we smoked on our + little balcony at the Schweitzerhof, puffing our small clouds in the + enormous face of the strangest panorama of the world, that august + disturbation of the earth by gods in battle, left to be a land of tragic + fables since before Pilate was there, and remaining the same after William + Tell was not. I sat looking up at the mountains, and he leaned on the + rail, looking down at the lake. Somewhere a woman was singing from + Pagliacci, and I slowly arrived at a consciousness that I had sighed aloud + once or twice, not so much sadly, as of longing to see that lady, and that + my companion had permitted similar sounds to escape him, but more + mournfully. It was then that I asked him, in earnestness, yet with the + manner of making a joke, if he did not think often of some one in North + America. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that could be, and I making the disturbance I did in + Paris?” he returned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I told him, “if you are trying to forget her.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think it might look more as if I were trying to forget that I + wasn’t good enough for her and that she knew it!” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in a voice which he would have made full of ease—“off-hand,” + as they say; but he failed to do so. + </p> + <p> + “That was the case?” I pressed him, you see, but smilingly. + </p> + <p> + “Looks a good deal like it,” he replied, smoking much at once. + </p> + <p> + “So? But that is good for you, my friend!” + </p> + <p> + “Probably.” He paused, smoking still more, and then said, “It’s a benefit + I could get on just as well without.” + </p> + <p> + “She is in North America?” + </p> + <p> + “No; over here.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Then we will go where she is. That will be even better for you! Where + is she?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. She asked me not to follow her. Somebody else is doing + that.” + </p> + <p> + The young man’s voice was steady, and his face, as usual, showed no + emotion, but I should have been an Italian for nothing had I not + understood quickly. So I waited for a little while, then spoke of old + Pilatus out there in the sky, and we went to bed very late, for it was out + last night in Lucerne. + </p> + <p> + Two days later we roared our way out of the gloomy St. Gotthard and wound + down the pass, out into the sunshine of Italy, into that broad plain of + mulberries where the silkworms weave to enrich the proud Milanese. Ah, + those Milanese! They are like the people of Turin, and look down upon us + of Naples; they find us only amusing, because our minds and movements are + too quick for them to understand. I have no respect for the Milanese, + except for three things: they have a cathedral, a picture, and a dead man. + </p> + <p> + We came to our hotel in the soft twilight, with the air so balmy one + wished to rise and float in it. This was the hour for the Cathedral; + therefore, leaving Leonardo and his fresco for the to-morrow, I conducted + my uncomplaining ward forth, and through that big arcade of which the + people are so proud, to the Duomo. Poor Jr. showed few signs of life as we + stood before that immenseness; he said patiently that it resembled the + postals, and followed me inside the portals with languor. + </p> + <p> + It was all grey hollowness in the vast place. The windows showed not any + colour nor light; the splendid pillars soared up into the air and + disappeared as if they mounted to heights of invisibility in the sky at + night. Very far away, at the other end of the church it seemed, one lamp + was burning, high over the transept. One could not see the chains of + support nor the roof above it; it seemed a great star, but so much all + alone. We walked down the long aisle to stand nearer to it, the darkness + growing deeper as we advanced. When we came almost beneath, both of us + gazing upward, my companion unwittingly stumbled against a lady who was + standing silently looking up at this light, and who had failed to notice + our approach. The contact was severe enough to dislodge from her hand her + folded parasol, for which I began to grope. + </p> + <p> + There was a hurried sentence of excusation from Poor Jr., followed by + moments of silence before she replied. Then I heard her voice in startled + exclamation: + </p> + <p> + “Rufus, it is never you?” + </p> + <p> + He called out, almost loudly, + </p> + <p> + “Alice!” + </p> + <p> + Then I knew that it was the second time I had lifted a parasol from the + ground for the lady of the grey pongee and did not see her face; but this + time I placed it in her own hand; for my head bore no shame upon it now. + </p> + <p> + In the surprise of encountering Poor Jr. I do not think she noticed that + she took the parasol or was conscious of my presence, and it was but too + secure that my young friend had forgotten that I lived. I think, in truth, + I should have forgotten it myself, if it had not been for the leaping of + my heart. + </p> + <p> + Ah, that foolish dream of mine had proven true: I knew her, I knew her, + unmistaking, without doubt or hesitancy—and in the dark! How should + I know at the mere sound of her voice? I think I knew before she spoke! + </p> + <p> + Poor Jr. had taken a step toward her as she fell back; I could only see + the two figures as two shadows upon shadow, while for them I had melted + altogether and was forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “You think I have followed you,” he cried, “but you have no right to think + it. It was an accident and you’ve got to believe me!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” she answered gently. “Why should I not?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you want me to clear out again,” he went on, “and I will; but I + don’t see why.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice answered him out of the shadow: “It is only you who make a + reason why. I’d give anything to be friends with you; you’ve always known + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why can’t we be?” he said, sharply and loudly. “I’ve changed a great + deal. I’m very sensible, and I’ll never bother you again—that other + way. Why shouldn’t I see a little of you?” + </p> + <p> + I heard her laugh then—happily, it seemed to me,—and I thought + I perceived her to extend her hand to him, and that he shook it briefly, + in his fashion, as if it had been the hand of a man and not that of the + beautiful lady. + </p> + <p> + “You know I should like nothing better in the world—since you tell + me what you do,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “And the other man?” he asked her, with the same hinting of sharpness in + his tone. “Is that all settled?” + </p> + <p> + “Almost. Would you like me to tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a little—please!” + </p> + <p> + His voice had dropped, and he spoke very quietly, which startlingly caused + me to realize what I was doing. I went out of hearing then, very softly. + Is it creible that I found myself trembling when I reached the twilit + piazza? It is true, and I knew that never, for one moment, since that + tragic, divine day of her pity, had I wholly despaired of beholding her + again; that in my most sorrowful time there had always been a little, + little morsel of certain knowledge that I should some day be near her once + more. + </p> + <p> + And now, so much was easily revealed to me: it was to see her that the + good Lambert R. Poor Jr., had come to Paris, preceding my patron; it was + he who had passed with her on the last day of my shame, and whom she had + addressed by his central name of Rufus, and it was to his hand that I had + restored her parasol. + </p> + <p> + I was to look upon her face at last—I knew it—and to speak + with her. Ah, yes, I did tremble! It was not because I feared she might + recognize her poor slave of the painted head-top, nor that Poor Jr. would + tell her. I knew him now too well to think he would do that, had I been + even that other of whom he had spoken, for he was a brave, good boy, that + Poor Jr. No, it was a trembling of another kind—something I do not + know how to explain to those who have not trembled in the same way; and I + came alone to my room in the hotel, still trembling a little and having + strange quickness of breathing in my chest. + </p> + <p> + I did not make any light; I did not wish it, for the precious darkness of + the Cathedral remained with me—magic darkness in which I beheld + floating clouds made of the dust of gold and vanishing melodies. Any + person who knows of these singular things comprehends how little of them + can be told; but to those people who do not know of them, it may appear + all great foolishness. Such people are either too young, and they must + wait, or too old—they have forgotten! + </p> + <p> + It was an hour afterward, and Poor Jr. had knocked twice at my door, when + I lighted the room and opened it to him. He came in, excitedly flushed, + and, instead of taking a chair, began to walk quickly up and down the + floor. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I forgot all about you, Ansolini,” he said, “but that girl I + ran into is a—a Miss Landry, whom I have known a long—” + </p> + <p> + I put my hand on his shoulder for a moment and said: + </p> + <p> + “I think I am not so dull, my friend!” + </p> + <p> + He made a blue flash at me with his eyes, then smiled and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are right,” he answered, re-beginning his fast pace over the + carpet. “It was she that I meant in Lucerne—I don’t see why I should + not tell you. In Paris she said she didn’t want me to see her again until + I could be—friendly—the old way instead of something + considerably different, which I’d grown to be. Well, I’ve just told her + not only that I’d behave like a friend, but that I’d changed and felt like + one. Pretty much of a lie that was!” He laighed, without any amusement. + “But it was successful, and I suppose I can keep it up. At any rate we’re + going over to Venice with her and her mother to-morrow. Afterwards, we’ll + see them in Naples just before they sail.” + </p> + <p> + “To Venice with them!” I could not repress crying out. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we join parties for two days,” he said, and stopped at a window and + looked out attentively at nothing before he went on: “It won’t be very + long, and I don’t suppose it will ever happen again. The other man is to + meet them in Rome. He’s a countryman of yours, and I believe—I + believe it’s—about—settled!” + </p> + <p> + He pronounced these last words in an even voice, but how slowly! Not more + slowly than the construction of my own response, which I heard myself + making: + </p> + <p> + “This countryman of mine—who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “One of your kind of Kentucky Colonels,” Poor Jr. laughed mournfully. At + first I did not understand; then it came to me that he had sometimes + previously spoken in that idiom of the nobles, and that it had been his + custom to address one of his Parisian followers, a vicomte, as “Colonel.” + </p> + <p> + “What is his name?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t pronounce it, and I don’t know how to spell it,” he answered. + “And that doesn’t bring me to the verge of the grave! I can bear to forget + it, at least until we get to Naples!” + </p> + <p> + He turned and went to the door, saying, cheerfully: “Well, old + horse-thief” (such had come to be his name for me sometimes, and it was + pleasant to hear), “we must be dressing. They’re at this hotel, and we + dine with them to-night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Six + </h2> + <p> + How can I tell of the lady of the pongee—now that I beheld her? Do + you think that, when she came that night to the salon where we were + awaiting her, I hesitated to lift my eyes to her face because of a fear + that it would not be so beautiful as the misty sweet face I had dreamed + would be hers? Ah, no! It was the beauty which was in her heart that had + made me hers; yet I knew that she was beautiful. She was fair, that is all + I can tell. I cannot tell of her eyes, her height, her mouth; I saw her + through those clouds of the dust of gold—she was all glamour and + light. It was to be seen that everyone fell in love with her at once; that + the chef d’orchestre came and played to her; and the waiters—you + should have observed them!—made silly, tender faces through the + great groves of flowers with which Poor Jr. had covered the table. It was + most difficult for me to address her, to call her “Miss Landry.” It seemed + impossible that she should have a name, or that I should speak to her + except as “you.” + </p> + <p> + Even, I cannot tell very much of her mother, except that she was adorable + because of her adorable relationship. She was florid, perhaps, and her + conversation was of commonplaces and echoes, like my own, for I could not + talk. It was Poor Jr. who made the talking, and in spite of the spell that + was on me, I found myself full of admiration and sorrow for that brave + fellow. He was all gaieties and little stories in a way I had never heard + before; he kept us in quiet laughter; in a word, he was charming. The + beautiful lady seemed content to listen with the greatest pleasure. She + talked very little, except to encourage the young man to continue. I do + not think she was brilliant, as they call it, or witty. She was much more + than that in her comprehension, in her kindness—her beautiful + kindness! + </p> + <p> + She spoke only once directly to me, except for the little things one must + say. “I am almost sure I have met you, Signor Ansolini.” + </p> + <p> + I felt myself burning up and knew that the conflagration was visible. So + frightful a blush cannot be prevented by will-power, and I felt it + continuing in hot waves long after Poor Jr. had effected salvation for me + by a small joke upon my cosmopolitanism. + </p> + <p> + Little sleep visited me that night. The darkness of my room was luminous + and my closed eyes became painters, painting so radiantly with divine + colours—painters of wonderful portraits of this lady. Gallery after + gallery swam before me, and the morning brought only more! + </p> + <p> + What a ride it was to Venice that day! What magical airs we rode through, + and what a thieving old trickster was time, as he always becomes when one + wishes hours to be long! I think Poor Jr. had made himself forget + everything except that he was with her and that he must be a friend. He + committed a thousand ridiculousnesses at the stations; he filled one side + of the compartment with the pretty chianti-bottles, with terrible cakes, + and with fruits and flowers; he never ceased his joking, which had no + tiresomeness in it, and he made the little journey one of continuing, + happy laughter. + </p> + <p> + And that evening another of my foolish dreams came true! I sat in a + gondola with the lady of the grey pongee to hear the singing on the Grand + Canal;—not, it is true, at her feet, but upon a little chair beside + her mother. It was my place—to be, as I had been all day, escort to + the mother, and guide and courier for that small party. Contented enough + was I to accept it! How could I have hoped that the Most Blessed Mother + would grant me so much nearness as that? It was not happiness that I felt, + but something so much more precious, as though my heart-strings were the + strings of a harp, and sad, beautiful arpeggios ran over them. + </p> + <p> + I could not speak much that evening, nor could Poor Jr. We were very + silent and listened to the singing, our gondola just touching the others + on each side, those in turn touching others, so that a musician from the + barge could cross from one to another, presenting the hat for + contributions. In spite of this extreme propinquity, I feared the + collector would fall into the water when he received the offering of Poor + Jr. It was “Gra-a-az’, Mi-lor! Graz’!” a hundred times, with bows and + grateful smiles indeed! + </p> + <p> + It is the one place in the world where you listen to a bad voice with + pleasure, and none of the voices are good—they are harsh and worn + with the night-singing—yet all are beautiful because they are + enchanted. + </p> + <p> + They sang some of our own Neapolitan songs that night, and last of all the + loveliest of all, “La Luna Nova.” It was to the cadence of it that our + gondoliers moved us out of the throng, and it still drifted on the water + as we swung, far down, into sight of the lights of the Ledo: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Luna d’ar-gen-to fal-lo so-gnar— + Ba-cia-lo in fron-te non lo de-star....” + </pre> + <p> + Not so sweetly came those measures as the low voice of the beautiful lady + speaking them. + </p> + <p> + “One could never forget it, never!” she said. “I might hear it a thousand + other times and forget them, but never this first time.” + </p> + <p> + I perceived that Poor Jr. turned his face abruptly toward hers at this, + but he said nothing, by which I understood not only his wisdom but his + forbearance. + </p> + <p> + “Strangely enough,” she went on, slowly, “that song reminded me of + something in Paris. Do you remember”—she turned to Poor Jr.—“that + poor man we saw in front of the Cafe’ de la Paix with the sign painted + upon his head?” + </p> + <p> + Ah, the good-night, with its friendly cloak! The good, kind night! + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” he answered, with some shortness. “A little faster, + boatman!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what made it,” she said, “I can’t account for it, but I’ve + been thinking of him all through that last song.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps not so strange, since one may know how wildly that poor devil had + been thinking of her! + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought of him so often,” the gentle voice went on. “I felt so sorry + for him. I never felt sorrier for any one in my life. I was sorry for the + poor, thin cab-horses in Paris, but I was sorrier for him. I think it was + the saddest sight I ever saw. Do you suppose he still has to do that, + Rufus?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he answered, in haste. “He’d stopped before I left. He’s all + right, I imagine. Here’s the Danieli.” + </p> + <p> + She fastened a shawl more closely about her mother, whom I, with a ringing + in my ears, was trying to help up the stone steps. “Rufus, I hope,” the + sweet voice continued, so gently,—“I hope he’s found something to do + that’s very grand! Don’t you? Something to make up to him for doing that!” + </p> + <p> + She had not the faintest dream that it was I. It was just her beautiful + heart. + </p> + <p> + The next afternoon Venice was a bleak and empty setting, the jewel gone. + How vacant it looked, how vacant it was! We made not any effort to + penetrate the galleries; I had no heart to urge my friend. For us the + whole of Venice had become one bridge of sighs, and we sat in the shade of + the piazza, not watching the pigeons, and listening very little to the + music. There are times when St. Mark’s seems to glare at you with + Byzantine cruelty, and Venice is too hot and too cold. So it was then. + Evening found us staring out at the Adriatic from the terrace of a cafe’ + on the Ledo, our coffee cold before us. Never was a greater difference + than that in my companion from the previous day. Yet he was not silent. He + talked of her continually, having found that he could talk of her to me—though + certainly he did not know why it was or how. He told me, as we sat by the + grey-growing sea, that she had spoken of me. + </p> + <p> + “She liked you, she liked you very much,” he said. “She told me she liked + you because you were quiet and melancholy. Oh Lord, though, she likes + everyone, I suppose! I believe I’d have a better chance with her if I + hadn’t always known her. I’m afraid that this damn Italian—I beg + your pardon, Ansolini!—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no,” I answered. “It is sometimes well said.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid his picturesqueness as a Kentucky Colonel appeals to her too + much. And then he is new to her—a new type. She only met him in + Paris, and he had done some things in the Abyssinian war—” + </p> + <p> + “What is his rank?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a prince. Cheap down this way; aren’t they? I only hope”—and + Poor Jr. made a groan—“it isn’t going to be the old story—and + that he’ll be good to her if he gets her.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is not yet a betrothal?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. Mrs. Landry told me that Alice had liked him well enough to + promise she’d give him her answer before she sailed, and that it was going + to be yes. She herself said it was almost settled. That was just her way + of breaking it to me, I fear.” + </p> + <p> + “You have given up, my friend?” + </p> + <p> + “What else can I do? I can’t go on following her, keeping up this play at + second cousin, and she won’t have anything else. Ever since I grew up + she’s been rather sorrowful over me because I didn’t do anything but try + to amuse myself—that was one of the reasons she couldn’t care for + me, she said, when I asked her. Now this fellow wins, who hasn’t done + anything either, except his one campaign. It’s not that I ought to have + her, but while I suppose it’s a real fascination, I’m afraid there’s a + little glitter about being a princess. Even the best of our girls haven’t + got over that yet. Ah, well, about me she’s right. I’ve been a pretty + worthless sort. She’s right. I’ve thought it all over. Three days before + they sail we’ll go down to Naples and hear the last word, and whatever it + is we’ll see them off on the ‘Princess Irene.’ Then you and I’ll come + north and sail by the first boat from Cherbourg. + </p> + <p> + “I—I?” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “I’m going to make the aged parent shout with unmanly + glee. I’m going to ask him to take me on as a hand. He’ll take you, too. + He uses something like a thousand Italians, and a man to manage them who + can talk to them like a Dutch uncle is what he has always needed. He liked + you, and he’ll be glad to get you.” + </p> + <p> + He was a good friend, that Poor Jr., you see, and I shook the hand that he + offered me very hard, knowing how great would have been his embarrassment + had I embraced him in our own fashion. + </p> + <p> + “And perhaps you will sail on the ‘Princess Irene,’ after all,” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he shook his head sadly, “it will not happen. I have not been worth + it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Seven + </h2> + <p> + That Naples of mine is like a soiled coronet of white gems, sparkling only + from far away. But I love it altogether, near or far, and my heart would + have leaped to return to it for its own sake, but to come to it as we did, + knowing that the only lady in the world was there.... Again, this is one + of those things I possess no knowledge how to tell, and that those who + know do know. How I had longed for the time to come, how I had feared it, + how I had made pictures of it! + </p> + <p> + Yet I feared not so much as my friend, for he had a dim, small hope, and I + had none. How could I have? I—a man whose head had been painted? I—for + whom her great heart had sorrowed as for the thin, beaten cab-horses of + Paris! Hope? All I could hope was that she might never know, and I be left + with some little shred of dignity in her eyes! + </p> + <p> + Who cannot see that it was for my friend to fear? At times, with him, it + was despair, but of that brave kind one loves to see—never a quiver + of the lip, no winking of the eyes to keep tears back. And I, although of + a people who express everything in every way, I understood what passed + within him and found time to sorrow for him. + </p> + <p> + Most of all, I sorrowed for him as we waited for her on the terrace of the + Bertolini, that perch on the cliff so high that even the noises of the + town are dulled and mingle with the sound of the thick surf far below. + </p> + <p> + Across the city, and beyond, we saw, from the terrace, the old mountain of + the warm heart, smoking amiably, and the lights of Torre del Greco at its + feet, and there, across the bay, I beheld, as I had nightly so long ago, + the lamps of Castellamare, of Sorrento; then, after a stretch of water, a + twinkling which was Capri. How good it was to know that all these had not + taken advantage of my long absence to run away and vanish, as I had half + feared they would. Those who have lived here love them well; and it was a + happy thought that the beautiful lady knew them now, and shared them. I + had never known quite all their loveliness until I felt that she knew it + too. This was something that I must never tell her—yet what + happiness there was in it! + </p> + <p> + I stood close to the railing, with a rambling gaze over this enchanted + earth and sea and sky, while my friend walked nervously up and down behind + me. We had come to Naples in the late afternoon, and had found a note from + Mrs. Landry at our hotel, asking us for dinner. Poor Jr. had not spoken + more than twice since he had read me this kind invitation, but now I heard + a low exclamation from him, which let me know who was approaching; and + that foolish trembling got hold of me again as I turned. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Landry came first, with outstretched hand, making some talk excusing + delay; and, after a few paces, followed the loveliest of all the world. + Beside her, in silhouette against the white window lights of the hotel, I + saw the very long, thin figure of a man, which, even before I recognized + it, carried a certain ominousness to my mind. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Landry, in spite of her florid contentedness, had sometimes a + fluttering appearance of trivial agitations. + </p> + <p> + “The Prince came down from Rome this morning,” she said nervously, and I + saw my friend throw back his head like a man who declines the eye-bandage + when they are going to shoot him. “He is dining with us. I know you will + be glad to meet him.” + </p> + <p> + The beautiful lady took Poor Jr.‘s hand, more than he hers, for he seemed + dazed, in spite of the straight way he stood, and it was easy to behold + how white his face was. She made the presentation of us both at the same + time, and as the other man came into the light, my mouth dropped open with + wonder at the singular chances which the littleness of our world brings + about. + </p> + <p> + “Prince Caravacioli, Mr. Poor. And this is Signor Ansolini.” + </p> + <p> + It was my half-brother, that old Antonio! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Eight + </h2> + <p> + Never lived any person with more possession of himself than Antonio; he + bowed to each of us with the utmost amiability; and for expression—all + one saw of it was a little streak of light in his eye-glass. + </p> + <p> + “It is yourself, Raffaele?” he said to me, in the politest manner, in our + own tongue, the others thinking it some commonplace, and I knew by his + voice that the meeting was as surprising and as exasperating to him as to + me. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes dazzling flashes of light explode across the eyes of blind + people. Such a thing happened to my own, now, in the darkness. I found + myself hot all over with a certain rashness that came to me. I felt that + anything was possible if I would but dare enough. + </p> + <p> + “I am able to see that it is the same yourself!” I answered, and made the + faintest eye-turn toward Miss Landry. Simultaneously bowing, I let my hand + fall upon my pocket—a language which he understood, and for which + (the Blessed Mother be thanked!) he perceived that I meant to offer battle + immediately, though at that moment he offered me an open smile of + benevolence. He knew nothing of my new cause for war; there was enough of + the old! + </p> + <p> + The others were observing us. + </p> + <p> + “You have met?” asked the gentle voice of Miss Landry. “You know each + other?” + </p> + <p> + “Exceedingly!” I answered, bowing low to her. + </p> + <p> + “The dinner is waiting in our own salon,” said Mrs. Landry, interrupting. + She led the way with Antonio to an open door on the terrace where servants + were attending, and such a forest of flowers on the table and about the + room as almost to cause her escort to stagger; for I knew, when I caught + sight of them, that he had never been wise enough to send them. Neither + had Poor Jr. done it out of wisdom, but because of his large way of + performing everything, and his wish that loveliest things should be a + background for that lady. + </p> + <p> + Alas for him! Those great jars of perfume, orchids and hyacinths and + roses, almost shut her away from his vision. We were at a small round + table, and she directly in opposition to him. Upon her right was Antonio, + and my heart grew cold to see how she listened to him. + </p> + <p> + For Antonio could talk. At that time he spoke English even better than I, + though without some knowledge of the North-American idiom which my travels + with Poor Jr. had given me. He was one of those splendid egoists who seem + to talk in modesty, to keep themselves behind scenes, yet who, when the + curtain falls, are discovered to be the heroes, after all, though shown in + so delicate a fashion that the audience flatters itself in the discovery. + </p> + <p> + And how practical was this fellow, how many years he had been developing + his fascinations! I was the only person of that small company who could + have a suspicion that his moustache was dyed, that his hair was toupee, or + that hints of his real age were scorpions and adders to him. I should not + have thought it, if I had not known it. Here was my advantage: I had known + his monstrous vanity all my life. + </p> + <p> + So he talked of himself in his various surreptitious ways until coffee + came, Miss Landry listening eagerly, and my poor friend making no effort; + for what were his quiet United States absurdities compared to the + whole-world gaieties and Abyssinian adventures of this Othello, + particularly for a young girl to whom Antonio’s type was unfamiliar? For + the first time I saw my young man’s brave front desert him. His mouth + drooped, and his eyes had an appearance of having gazed long at a bright + light. I saw that he, unhappy one, was at last too sure what her answer + would be. + </p> + <p> + For myself, I said very little—I waited. I hoped and believed + Antonio would attack me in his clever, disguised way, for he had always + hated me and my dead brother, and he had never failed to prove himself too + skilful for us. In my expectancy of his assault there was no mistake. I + comprehended Antonio very well, and I knew that he feared I might seek to + do him an injury, particularly after my inspired speech and gesture upon + the terrace. Also, I felt that he would, if possible, anticipate my + attempt and strike first. I was willing; for I thought myself in + possession of his vulnerable point—never dreaming that he might know + my own! + </p> + <p> + At last when he, with the coffee and cigarettes, took the knife in his + hand, he placed a veil over the point. He began, laughingly, with the + picture of a pickpocket he had helped to catch in London. London was + greatly inhabited by pickpockets, according to Antonio’s declaration. Yet, + he continued, it was nothing in comparison to Paris. Paris was the + rendezvous, the world’s home, for the criminals, adventurers, and rascals + if the world, English, Spanish, South-Americans, North-Americans,—and + even Italians! One must beware of people one had met in Paris! + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he concluded, with a most amiable smile, “there are many good + people there also. That is not to be forgotten. If I should dare to make a + risk on such a trifle, for instance, I would lay wager that you”—he + nodded toward Poor Jr.—“made the acquaintance of Ansolini in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + This was of the greatest ugliness in its underneath significance, though + the manner was disarming. Antonio’s smile was so cheerful, his eye-glass + so twinkling, that none of them could have been sure he truly meant + anything harmful of me, though Poor Jr. looked up, puzzled and frowning. + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer I pulled myself altogether, as they say, and leaned + forward, resting my elbows upon the table. “It is true,” and I tried to + smile as amiably as Antonio. “These coincidences occur. You meet all the + great frauds of the world in Paris. Was it not there”—I turned to + Mrs. Landry—“that you met the young Prince here?” + </p> + <p> + At this there was no mistaking that the others perceived. The secret + battle had begun and was not secret. I saw a wild gleam in Poor Jr.‘s + eyes, as if he comprehended that strange things were to come; but, ah, the + face of distress and wonder upon Mrs. Landry, who beheld the peace of both + a Prince and a dinner assailed; and, alas! the strange and hurt surprise + that came from the lady of the pongee! Let me not be a boastful fellow, + but I had borne her pity and had adored it—I could face her wonder, + even her scorn. + </p> + <p> + It was in the flash of her look that I saw my great chance and what I must + try to do. Knowing Antonio, it was as if I saw her falling into the deep + water and caught just one contemptuous glance from her before the waves + hid her. But how much juster should that contempt have been if I had not + tried to save her! + </p> + <p> + As for that old Antonio, he might have known enough to beware. I had been + timid with him always, and he counted on it now, but a man who has shown a + painted head-top to the people of Paris will dare a great deal. + </p> + <p> + “As the Prince says,” replied Mrs. Landry, with many flutters, “one meets + only the most agreeable people in Paris!” + </p> + <p> + “Paris!” I exclaimed. “Ah, that home of ingenuity! How they paint there! + How they live, and how they dye—their beards!” + </p> + <p> + You see how the poor Ansolini played the buffoon. I knew they feared it + was wine, I had been so silent until now; but I did not care, I was beyond + care. + </p> + <p> + “Our young Prince speaks truly,” I cried, raising my voice. “He is wise + beyond his years, this youth! He will be great when he reaches middle age, + for he knows Paris and understands North America! Like myself, he is + grateful that the people of your continent enrich our own! We need all + that you can give us! Where should we be—any of us” (I raised my + voice still louder and waved my hand to Antonio),—“where should we + be, either of us” (and I bowed to the others) “without you?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Landry rose with precipitousness, and the beautiful lady, very red, + followed. Antonio, unmistakably stung with the scorpions I had set upon + him, sprang to the door, the palest yellow man I have ever beheld, and let + the ladies pass before him. + </p> + <p> + The next moment I was left alone with Poor Jr. and his hyacinth trees. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Nine + </h2> + <p> + For several minutes neither of us spoke. Then I looked up to meet my + friend’s gaze of perturbation. + </p> + <p> + A waiter was proffering cigars. I took one, and waved Poor Jr.‘s hand away + from the box of which the waiter made offering. + </p> + <p> + “Do not remain!” I whispered, and I saw his sad perplexity. “I know her + answer has not been given. Will you present him his chance to receive it—just + when her sympathy must be stronger for him, since she will think he has + had to bear rudeness?” + </p> + <p> + He went out of the door quickly. + </p> + <p> + I dod not smoke. I pretended to, while the waiters made the arrangements + of the table and took themselves off. I sat there a long, long time + waiting for Antonio to do what I hoped I had betrayed him to do. + </p> + <p> + It befell at last. + </p> + <p> + Poor Jr. came to the door and spoke in his steady voice. “Ansolini, will + you come out here a moment?” + </p> + <p> + Then I knew that I had succeeded, had made Antonio afraid that I would do + the thing he himself, in a panic, had already done—speak evil of + another privately. + </p> + <p> + As I reached the door I heard him call out foolishly, “But Mr. Poor, I beg + you—” + </p> + <p> + Poor Jr. put his hand on my shoulder, and we walked out into the dark of + the terrace. Antonio was leaning against the railing, the beautiful lady + standing near. Mrs. Landry had sunk into a chair beside her daughter. No + other people were upon the terrace. + </p> + <p> + “Prince Caravacioli has been speaking of you,” said Poor Jr., very + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I listened to what he said; then I told him that you were my friend, and + that I considered it fair that you should hear what he had to say. I will + repeat what he said, Ansolini. If I mistake anything, he can interrupt + me.” + </p> + <p> + Antonio laughed, and in such a way, so sincerely, so gaily, that I was + frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Very good!” he cried. “I am content. Repeat all.” + </p> + <p> + “He began,” Poor Jr. went on, quietly, though his hand gripped my shoulder + to almost painfulness,—“he began by saying to these ladies, in my + presence, that we should be careful not to pick up chance strangers to + dine, in Italy, and—and he went on to give me a repetition of his + friendly warning about Paris. He hinted things for a while, until I asked + him to say what he knew of you. Then he said he knew all about you; that + you were an outcast, a left-handed member of his own family, an adventurer—” + </p> + <p> + “It is finished, my friend,” I said, interrupting him, and gazed with all + my soul upon the beautiful lady. Her face was as white as Antonio’s or + that of my friend, or as my own must have been. She strained her eyes at + me fixedly; I saw the tears standing still in them, and I knew the moment + had come. + </p> + <p> + “This Caravacioli is my half-brother,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Antonio laughed again. “Of what kind!” + </p> + <p> + Oh, he went on so easily to his betrayal, not knowing the + United-Statesians and their sentiment, as I did. + </p> + <p> + “We had the same mother,” I continued, as quietly as I could. “Twenty + years after this young—this somewhat young—Prince was born she + divorced his father, Caravacioli, and married a poor poet, whose bust you + can see on the Pincian in Rome, though he died in the cheapest hotel in + Sienna when my true brother and I were children. This young Prince would + have nothing to do with my mother after her second marriage and—” + </p> + <p> + “Marriage!” Antonio laughed pleasantly again. He was admirable. “This is + an old tale which the hastiness of our American friend has forced us to + rehearse. The marriage was never recognized by the Vatican, and there was + not twenty years—” + </p> + <p> + “Antonio, it is the age which troubles you, after all!” I said, and + laughed heartily, loudly, and a long time, in the most good-natured way, + not to be undone as an actor. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty years,” I repeated. “But what of it? Some of the best men in the + world use dyes and false—” + </p> + <p> + At this his temper went away from him suddenly and completely. I had + struck the right point indeed! + </p> + <p> + “You cammorrista!” he cried, and became only himself, his hands gesturing + and flying, all his pleasant manner gone. “Why should we listen one second + more to such a fisherman! The very seiners of the bay who sell dried + sea-horses to the tourists are better gentlemen than you. You can shrug + your shoulders! I saw you in Paris, though you thought I did not! Oh, I + saw you well! Ah! At the Cafe de la Paiz!” + </p> + <p> + At this I cried out suddenly. The sting and surprise of it were more than + I could bear. In my shame I would even have tried to drown his voice with + babblings but after this one cry I could not speak for a while. He went on + triumphantly: + </p> + <p> + “This rascal, my dear ladies, who has persuaded you to ask him to dinner, + this camel who claims to be my excellent brother, he, for a few francs, in + Paris, shaved his head and showed it for a week to the people with an + advertisement painted upon it of the worst ballet in Paris. This is the + gentleman with whom you ask Caravacioli to dine!” + </p> + <p> + It was beyond my expectation, so astonishing and so cruel that I could + only look at him for a moment or two. I felt as one who dreams himself + falling forever. Then I stepped forward and spoke, in thickness of voice, + being unable to lift my head: + </p> + <p> + “Again it is true what he says. I was that man of the painted head. I had + my true brother’s little daughters to care for. They were at the convent, + and I owed for them. It was also partly for myself, because I was hungry. + I could find not any other way, and so—but that is all.” + </p> + <p> + I turned and went stumblingly away from them. + </p> + <p> + In my agony that she should know, I could do nothing but seek greater + darkness. I felt myself beaten, dizzy with beatings. That thing which I + had done in Paris discredited me. A man whose head-top had borne an + advertisement of the Folie-Rouge to think he could be making a combat with + the Prince Caravacioli! + </p> + <p> + Leaning over the railing in the darkest corner of the terrace, I felt my + hand grasped secondarily by that good friend of mine. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you!” whispered Poor Jr. + </p> + <p> + “On my soul, I believe he’s done himself. Listen!” + </p> + <p> + I turned. That beautiful lady had stepped out into the light from the + salon door. I could see her face shining, and her eyes—ah me, how + glorious they were! Antonio followed her. + </p> + <p> + “But wait,” he cried pitifully. + </p> + <p> + “Not for you!” she answered, and that voice of hers, always before so + gentle, rang out as the Roman trumpets once rang from this same cliff. + “Not for you! I saw him there with his painted head and I understood! You + saw him there, and you did nothing to help him! And the two little + children—your nieces, too,—and he your brother!” + </p> + <p> + Then my heart melted and I found myself choking, for the beautiful lady + was weeping. + </p> + <p> + “Not for you, Prince Caravacioli,” she cried, through her tears,—“Not + for you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Ten + </h2> + <p> + All of the beggars in Naples, I think, all of the flower-girls and boys, I + am sure, and all the wandering serenaders, I will swear, were under our + windows at the Vesuve, from six o’clock on the morning the “Princess + Irene” sailed; and there need be no wonder when it is known that Poor Jr. + had thrown handfuls of silver and five-lire notes from our balcony to + strolling orchestras and singers for two nights before. + </p> + <p> + They wakened us with “Addio, la bella Napoli, addio, addio!” sung to the + departing benefactor. When he had completed his toilet and his coffee, he + showed himself on the balcony to them for a moment. Ah! What a resounding + cheer for the signore, the great North-American nobleman! And how it + swelled to a magnificent thundering when another largess of his came + flying down among them! + </p> + <p> + Who could have reproved him? Not Raffaele Ansolini, who was on his knees + over the bags and rugs! I think I even made some prolongation of that + position, for I was far from assured of my countenance, that bright + morning. + </p> + <p> + I was not to sail in the “Princess Irene” with those dear friends. Ah no! + I had told them that I must go back to Paris to say good-bye to my little + nieces and sail from Boulogne—and I am sure they believed that was + my reason. I had even arranged to go away upon a train which would make it + not possible for me to drive to the dock with them. I did not wish to see + the boat carry them away from me. + </p> + <p> + And so the farewells were said in the street in all that crowd. Poor Jr. + and I were waiting at the door when the carriage galloped up. How the + crowd rushed to see that lady whom it bore to us, blushing and laughing! + Clouds of gold-dust came before my eyes again; she wore once more that + ineffable grey pongee! + </p> + <p> + Servants ran forward with the effects of Poor Jr. and we both sprang + toward the carriage. + </p> + <p> + A flower-girl was offering a great basket of loose violets. Poor Jr. + seized it and threw them like a blue rain over the two ladies. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! Bravo!” + </p> + <p> + A hundred bouquets showered into the carriage, and my friend’s silver went + out in another shower to meet them. + </p> + <p> + “Addio, la bella Napoli!” came from the singers and the violins, but I + cried to them for “La Luna Nova.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye—for a little while—good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + I knew how well my friend liked me, because he shook my hand with his head + turned away. Then the grey glove of the beautiful lady touched my shoulder—the + lightest touch in all the world—as I stood close to the carriage + while Poor Jr. climbed in. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye. Thank you—and God bless you!” she said, in a low voice. + And I knew for what she thanked me. + </p> + <p> + The driver cracked his whip like an honest Neapolitan. The horses sprang + forward. “Addio, addio!” + </p> + <p> + I sang with the musicians, waving and waving and waving my handkerchief to + the departing carriage. + </p> + <p> + Now I saw my friend lean over and take the beautiful lady by the hand, and + together they stood up in the carriage and waved their handkerchiefs to + me. Then, but not because they had passed out of sight, I could see them + not any longer. + </p> + <p> + They were so good—that kind Poor Jr. and the beautiful lady; they + seemed like dear children—as if they had been my own dear children. + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Beautiful Lady, by Booth Tarkington + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEAUTIFUL LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 5798-h.htm or 5798-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/9/5798/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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