Volume 2 — Introductory material (continued 7)

"Oh dear!" she said at last in a trembling voice, "suppose the signora should think that I came here with any evil intention!"

"My poor child, I think nothing at all," replied kind-hearted Checchina, opening a book and reading it with eye-glasses, although her sight was excellent; for she thought that it was good form to have weak eyes.

"The signora is so kind and received me with so much confidence," continued the girl.

"Your appearance must inspire confidence in everybody," replied the singer, "and if I am kind to you, it is because you deserve it. Come, come; I am not inquisitive, I tell you; say what you have to say to Signor Lelio, it will not vex me in the slightest degree. Come, take her away, Lelio! Poor child! she thinks she is ruined. Nonsense, my dear, actors are just as honorable as other people, be sure of that."

The girl made a low courtesy and followed me into the salon. Her heart was beating as if it would break the lacings of her green velvet waist, and her cheeks were as scarlet as her skirt. She hastily took the letter from her pocket and, after handing it to me, stepped back, she was so afraid that I would be as rude to her as I was before. I reassured her by the tranquillity of my demeanor, and asked her if she had anything more to say to me.

"I am to wait for the answer," she replied, with an air of the most profound distress.

"Very well," said I, "go and wait in the signora's apartment."

And I escorted her back to Checchina.

"This excellent girl," I explained, "wishes to enter the services of a lady in Florence whom I know very well, and she has come to me for a letter of recommendation. Will you allow her to stay with you while I go and write it?"

"Yes, yes, to be sure!" replied Checchina, motioning her to sit down, and smiling at her with an amiable and patronizing air. This sweetness and simplicity of manner toward persons of her former station in life were among the Chioggian's excellent qualities. While she mimicked the affectations of the great lady, she retained the brusque and ingenuous kindliness of the fisherman's child. Her manners, though often ridiculous, were always affable; and if she did enjoy lying in state under a satin coverlet trimmed with lace, for the benefit of that poor village girl, she found none the less, in her heart and on her lips, affectionate words to encourage her in her humility.

The signora's letter was in these words:

"Three days without coming again! Either you have little wit, or you have little desire to see me again. Is it for me to find a way of continuing our friendly relations? If you have not tried to find one, you are a fool; if you have tried and failed, you are what you accuse me of being. To prove that I am neither haughty nor stupid, I write to make an appointment with you. To-morrow, Sunday, morning I shall be at eight o'clock mass, at Santa Maria del Sasso, Florence. My aunt is ill; only Lila, my foster sister, will accompany me. If the footman or coachman notice you or question you, give them money; they are rascals. Addio, until to-morrow."

To reply, to promise, to swear, to express my thanks, and to hand to Lila the most bombastic of love-letters, was an affair of a few moments only. But when I attempted to slip a gold piece into the messenger's hand, I was checked by a glance instinct with melancholy dignity. From pure devotion to her mistress she had yielded to her caprice; but it was evident that her conscience reproached her for that weakness, and that to offer to pay her for it would have been to punish and mortify her cruelly. At that moment I reproached myself bitterly for the kiss I had ventured to steal from her, in order to pique her mistress, and I tried to atone for my fault by escorting her to the end of the garden with as much respect and courtesy as I could have shown to any great lady.

I was very nervous all the rest of the day. Checchina noticed my preoccupation.

"Come, Lelio," she said, toward the close of the supper which we ate together on a pretty little terrace shaded by grape-vines and jasmine; "I see that you are worried about something; why not open your heart to me? Did I ever betray a secret? Am I not worthy of your confidence? Have I deserved to have you withdraw it from me?"

"No, my dear Checchina," I replied, "I appreciate your discretion"—and it is certain that she would have kept Brutus's secrets as well as ever Portia did;—"but," I added, "even if all my secrets belong to you, there are others——"

"I know what you are going to say," she exclaimed. "That there are others which don't belong to you alone, and which you have no right to betray; but if I guess them in spite of you, ought you to carry your scruples so far as to deny, all to no purpose, what I know as well as you do? You know, my friend, I understand that pretty girl's call perfectly well; I saw her hand in her pocket, and before she had said good-morning to me, I knew that she had brought a letter. The timid and distressed air of that poor Iris"—Checchina had been very fond of mythological references ever since she had spelled out Tasso's Aminta and Guarini's Adone—"told me plainly enough that there was a genuine romance behind it, a great lady afraid of public opinion, or a young damsel risking her future union with some worthy citizen. One thing is certain, that you have made one of those conquests of which you men are so proud, because they are supposed to be difficult and require a lot of mystery. You see that I have guessed the secret, don't you?"

I answered with a smile.

"I won't ask you any more questions," she continued; "I know that you are not likely to confide the person's name, nor her rank, nor her place of abode to me; indeed, those things don't interest me. But I may ask you whether you are in raptures or in despair, and you must tell me if I can be of any use to you."

"If I need you, I will tell you so," I replied; "and as for telling you whether I am in raptures or in despair, I can assure you that I am in neither as yet."

"Very good! very good! beware of one no less than of the other; for, in either case, there's no occasion for such great excitement."

"What do you know about it?"

"My dear Lelio," she replied in a sententious tone, "let us suppose that you are in raptures. What is one yielding woman more or less in the life of a man of the stage: of the stage, where the women are so beautiful and so sparkling with wit? Do you propose to lose your head over a conquest in aristocratic society? Vanity! mere vanity! Society women are as inferior to us in every respect as vanity is to glory."

"That is true modesty, and I congratulate you," I replied; "but might we not give the aphorism another turn, and say that it is vanity, not love, which brings society men to the feet of actresses?"

"Oh! but what a difference there is!" cried Checchina. "A great and beautiful actress is a creature privileged by nature and exalted by the prestige of art; exposed to the eyes of men in all the splendor of her beauty, her talent and her renown, is it not natural that she should arouse admiration and kindle desire? Why, then, should you actors, who triumph over the great majority of us before the great nobles do; you, who marry us when we are inclined to settle down, and who assert your rights over us when we have passionate hearts; you, who allow others to play the rôle of magnificent lovers and who are always the preferred lovers, or at all events the friends of our hearts—why should you turn your thoughts toward these patrician women who smile at you with their lips only, and applaud you with the tips of their fingers? Ah! Lelio, Lelio! I am afraid that in this instance your good sense has gone astray in some idiotic adventure. If I were in your place, rather than be flattered by the ogling of some middle-aged marchioness, I would turn my attention to some pretty chorus-girl, La Torquata, or La Gargani. Yes! yes!" she cried, becoming more earnest as she saw me smiling; "such girls as those are apparently more forward, but I maintain that they are in reality less corrupt than your salon Cidalisas. You would not be obliged to play a long sentimental comedy with them, or engage in a wretched contest of bright sayings. But that's just like you men! The crest on a carriage, the livery of a footman, those are enough to embellish in your eyes the first titled harridan who bestows a patronizing glance on you."

"My dear friend," I replied, "all that you say is most sensible; but your argument is weak in that it is not based upon a single fact. For my honor's sake, you might, I think, have assumed that old age and ugliness are not indispensable qualities in any patrician who falls in love with me. There have been some who were young and lovely who have had eyes in their heads, and since you compel me to say absurd things in absurd language, in order to close your mouth, let me tell you that the object of my flame is fifteen years old, and that she is as beautiful as the goddess Cypris whose exploits you learn by heart in bouts-rimés."

"Lelio!" cried Checchina, laughing heartily, "you are the most insufferable coxcomb that I ever met."

"If I am a coxcomb, fair princess," I cried, "you are somewhat to blame for it, so people say."

"Very well," said she, "if you are telling the truth, if your mistress, by reason of her beauty, deserves the follies you are about to commit for her, beware of one thing, and that is that you do not find yourself in the depths of despair within a week."

"What in the deuce is the matter to-day, Signora Checchina, that you say such disagreeable things to me?"

"Let us not joke any more," she said, putting her hand on mine with a friendly gesture. "I know you better than you know yourself. You are seriously in love, and you are going to suffer—"

"Nonsense, nonsense! in your old age, Checca, you can retire to Malamocco and tell fortunes for the boatmen on the lagoons; meanwhile, my fair sorceress, allow me to go to meet my fortune without cowardly presentiments."

"No! no! I will not be quiet until I have drawn your horoscope. If it were a question of a woman who is suited to you, I should not think of vexing you; but a woman of noble birth, a society woman, a marchioness or a woman of the middle class, I don't care which it may be—I hate them all! When I see that idiot Nasi throw me aside for a creature who doesn't come up to my knees, I will stake my head, why, I say to myself that all men are vain and foolish. And so I predict that you will not be loved, because a society woman cannot love an actor; and if by any chance you are loved, you will be all the more miserable; for you will be humiliated."

"Humiliated! What do you mean by that, Checchina?"

"By what do you recognize love, Lelio? by the pleasure you give or the pleasure you receive?"

"By both, of course! What are you driving at?"

"Is it not the same with devotion as with pleasure? Must it not be mutual?"

"To be sure; what then?"

"How much devotion do you expect to find in your mistress? a few nights of pleasure? You seem at a loss to reply."

"I am, in truth; I told you that she is fifteen years old, and I am an honorable man."

"Do you hope to marry her?"

"I, marry a rich girl of a noble family? God forbid! In heaven's name, do you think that I am consumed with matrimoniomania, as you are?"

"Why, I suppose that you desire to marry her; do you think that she will consent? are you sure of it?"

"But I will tell you that I wouldn't marry anyone, on any consideration."

"If that is because your suit would be ill received, your rôle is a very pitiful one, my dear Lelio!"

"Corpo di Bacco! you bore me, Checchina!"

"That is my purpose, dear friend of my heart. Now, then, you do not think of marrying, because that would be impertinent presumption on your part, and you are a man of spirit. You do not think of seduction, because that would be a crime, and you are a man of heart. Tell me, is your romance likely to be very amusing?"

"Why, you dense, matter-of-fact creature, you know nothing whatever about sentiment. If I choose to indulge in a pastoral idyll, who will prevent me?"

"That is very pretty in music; in love it must be decidedly dull."

"But it is neither criminal nor humiliating."

"Then why are you so excited? Why are you so sad, Lelio?"

"You are dreaming, Checchina; I am as placid and light-hearted as usual. Let us have no more of these empty words; I do not ask you to be silent about the little I have told you, for I have confidence in you. To reassure you concerning my frame of mind, let me tell you this one thing: I am more proud of my profession of actor than ever nobleman was of his marquisate. Nobody on earth has the power to make me blush. Whatever you may say, I shall never be conceited enough to aspire to extraordinary devotion, and if a spark of love warms my heart at this moment, the modest joy of inspiring a little love is sufficient for me. I do not deny the numerous superiorities of actresses over society women. There is more beauty, grace, wit and fire in the wings than elsewhere, I know. There is no more modesty, unselfishness, chastity and loyalty among great ladies than elsewhere; that, too, I know. But youth and beauty are idols which make us bend the knee everywhere; and as for the prejudices of rank, it is a good deal for a woman brought up under tyrannical laws to bestow in secret one poor glance, one poor heart-throb upon a man whom her prejudices forbid her to look upon as a being of her own species. That poor glance, that poor palpitation, would be a mere trifle to the unbounded desire born of a great passion; but as I have told you, cousin, I have not got to that point."

"But how do you know that you won't come to it?"

"When I do, it will be time enough to preach to me."

"It will be too late; you will suffer!"

"Ah! Cassandra, I prithee let me love on!"

At seven o'clock the next morning I was wandering slowly about in the shadow of the pillars of Santa Maria. That assignation was the very greatest piece of imprudence that my young signora could commit, for my face was as well known to most of the people of Florence as the ground under their horses' feet. So I took the most minute precautions, entering the city by the uncertain light of dawn, keeping out of sight in the chapels, with my face buried in my cloak, gliding along noiselessly, taking care not to disturb by the slightest sound the faithful at prayer, among whom I tried to discover the lady of my thoughts. I did not wait long; pretty Lila appeared from behind a pillar, and indicated by her glance an empty confessional, whose mysterious recess would hold two people. In the girl's quick and intelligent glance there was a touch of sadness which went to my heart. I knelt in the confessional, a few moments later, a dark shadow glided in and knelt beside me. Lila bent over a chair, between us and the congregation, who, luckily, were engrossed at that moment by the beginning of the mass, and falling noiselessly on their knees to the tones of the bell of the introit.

The signora was enveloped in a long black veil, and she held it over her face with her hands for a few seconds. She did not speak to me, but bent her lovely head as if she had come to the church to pray; but, despite all her efforts to appear calm, I saw that her breast was heaving, and that, in the midst of her audacity, she was terror-stricken. I dared not encourage her with loving words, for I knew how quick she was at sarcastic repartee, and I could not be sure what tone she would take with me under those delicate circumstances. I realized simply this, that the more she exposed herself with me, the more respectful and submissive my attitude must be. With such a nature as hers, presumption would have been speedily repelled by scorn. At last I understood that I must break the silence, and I thanked her awkwardly enough for the favor of that meeting. My timidity seemed to restore her courage. She softly raised a corner of her veil, rested her arm with less constraint on the rail of the confessional, and said to me in a half-mocking, half-melting tone:

"For what do you thank me, please?"

"For relying upon my obedience, signora," I replied; "for not doubting the eagerness with which I would come to receive your orders."

"I understand then," she retorted—and her tone was altogether jocular—"that your presence here is an act of pure obedience?"

"I should not dare to take the liberty to have any thoughts concerning the present situation, except that I am your slave, and that, having a sovereign command to lay upon me, you bade me come and kneel here."

"You are a man of the most perfect breeding," she replied, slowly unfolding her fan in front of her face, and pulling up her black mitt over her beautifully moulded arm with as much ease of manner as if she were speaking to her cousin.

She continued in that strain, and in a very few moments I was bewildered and almost saddened by her strange and captious chatter.

"What is the use," I said to myself, "of so much audacity for so little love? An assignation in a church, in plain sight of a whole congregation, the danger of being discovered, cursed and disowned by her whole family and her whole caste—all for the sake of exchanging jokes with me, as she might with a friend of her own sex in her box at the theatre! Does she delight in adventures from pure love of danger? If she takes such risks without loving me, what will she do for the man she does love? And then, how do I know how many times and for whom she has already exposed herself in the same way? If she has never done it, it is only because she has never had the opportunity. She is so young! But what an endless series of gallant adventures the perilous future has in store for her, and how many men will abuse their opportunities, and how many stains will mar this lovely flower, so intensely eager to bloom in the wind of passion!"

She noticed my preoccupation, and said to me, in a sharp tone:

"You look as if you were bored?"

I was about to reply when a slight sound made us both turn our heads involuntarily. The wooden shutter which covers the grated window through which the priest receives confessions opened behind us, and a yellow, wrinkled face, with a stern and penetrating glance, appeared in the opening like a bad dream. I hastily turned away before that unwelcome intruder had time to examine my features. But I dared not go away, for fear of attracting the attention of those roundabout. Thereupon I heard these words addressed to my confederate:

"Signora, the person beside you did not come to the Lord's house to listen to the sacred service. I have seen by his entire attitude and by the distraction it has caused you, that the church is being profaned by an illicit conversation. Order this person to retire or I shall be compelled to inform the signora, your aunt, with how little fervor you listen to the blessed mass, and how willingly you open your ears to the empty words of young men who steal to a place by your side."

The shutter was instantly closed, and we remained for some seconds absolutely motionless, afraid of betraying ourselves by the slightest movement. Then Lila came nearer to us and whispered to her mistress:

"For heaven's sake, let us go, signora! Abbé Cignola, who has been prowling about the church for a quarter of an hour, just went into the confessional and came out again almost immediately, after looking at you through the window, I have no doubt. I am terribly afraid that he recognized you or heard what you said."

"I should think so, for he spoke to me," replied the signora, whose black eyebrows had contracted during the abbé's harangue, with an expression of bravado. "But it matters little to me."

"I must go, signora," I said, rising; "by remaining another moment, I shall consummate your ruin. Since you know where I live, you will let me know your wishes——"

"Stay," she said, detaining me by force. "If you go away, I lose my only means of exculpating myself. Don't be afraid, Lila. Don't say a word, I forbid you. Give me your arm, cousin," she added, raising her voice slightly, "and let us go."

"Can you think of such a thing, signora? All Florence knows me. You will never be able to pass me off as your cousin."

"But all Florence doesn't know me," she replied, putting her arm through mine and forcing me to walk with her. "Besides, I am hermetically veiled, and you have only to pull your hat over your eyes. Come! pretend you have a toothache! Put your handkerchief to your face. Quick! here are some people who know me and are looking at me. Be more self-possessed and quicken your pace."

Talking thus, and walking rapidly, she reached the church door, leaning on my arm. I was about to take leave of her and lose myself in the crowd that was coming out with us, for the mass was at an end, when Abbé Cignola appeared once more, standing on the porch and pretending to talk with one of the sacristans. His sidelong glance followed us closely.

"Isn't that so, Hector?" said the signora, as we passed him, putting her head between the abbé's face and mine. Lila was trembling in every limb; so was the signora, but her alarm redoubled her courage. A carriage with the crest and livery of the Grimanis drove up with a great clatter, and the multitude, who always gaze greedily at any display of magnificence, crowded under the wheels and the horses' feet. Moreover, the Grimani equipage always attracted a particularly large crowd of beggars; for the pious aunt was accustomed to dispense alms lavishly as she drove along. A tall footman at the carriage door was obliged to push them back in order to open it; and I walked on, still escorting the signora, still followed by Abbé Cignola's inquisitorial glance.

"Get in with me," said the signora, in a tone that admitted of no denial, and with a vigorous pressure of my arm, as she placed her foot on the step. I hesitated; it seemed to me that this last audacious stroke would inevitably be her ruin.

"Get in, I say," she repeated in a sort of passion; and as soon as I was seated by her side she herself raised the window, barely giving Lila time to take her seat opposite us, and the servant to close the door. In an instant we were driving at full speed through the streets of Florence.

"Don't be afraid, my dear Lila," said the signora, putting her arm around her foster sister's neck, and kissing her affectionately on the cheek; "everything will come out all right. Abbé Cignola has never seen my cousin, and it is impossible that he should have seen Signor Lelio distinctly enough ever to discover the fraud."

"Oh! signora, Abbé Cignola is the kind of man one can't deceive."

"Bah! what do I care for your Abbé Cignola? I tell you that I make my aunt believe whatever I choose."

"And Signor Hector will say that he didn't go to mass with you," I observed.

"Oh! as for that, I promise you that he will say whatever I want him to; if necessary I will convince him that he actually was at mass while he fancied that he was hunting."

"But the servants, signora? The footman looked at Signor Lelio with a strange expression, then suddenly started back, as if he had recognized the piano-tuner."

"Very good! you must tell him that I met that man in the church and bade him good-morning; that he told me that he had an errand to do in our neighborhood, and that, as I am very obliging, I offered to save him the trouble of going there on foot. We will set him down in front of the first country house we come to. And you can say in addition that I am very heedless, that my aunt has very good reason to scold me, but that I am an excellent young person, although a little wild, and that it grieves you to see me so constantly reprimanded. As they are all fond of me, and as I will give each one of them a little present, they will say nothing at all. Enough of this! can't either of you think of something else to say to me than lamentations over a thing that is done? Signor Lelio, how do you like this gloomy city of Florence? Don't you think that all these black old palaces, iron-bound to the very eaves, look exactly like prisons?"

I tried to carry on the conversation in an unconcerned tone; but I was very far from satisfied. I felt no inclination for adventures in which all the risk was taken by the woman, and all the wrong was on my side. It seemed to me that she treated me very inconsiderately in exposing herself thus for my sake to perils and disasters which she would not permit me to meet or avert.

I was so distressed that I remained silent in spite of myself. The signora, having attempted in vain to maintain the conversation, also held her peace. Lila's face continued to wear a terrified expression. We had left the city. Twice I observed that we had reached what seemed a favorable place to stop the carriage and set me down; twice the signora refused in an imperious tone, saying that we were too near the city and that there was still danger of meeting some acquaintance.

For a quarter of an hour we had not spoken a word, and the situation was becoming intensely disagreeable. I was displeased with the signora, because she had involved me, without my consent, in an adventure in which I could no longer proceed at my own pleasure. I was even more displeased with myself for allowing myself to be led into a series of childish exploits of which all the shame must fall upon me; for, even in the eyes of the least scrupulous of men, to seduce or compromise a girl of fifteen must always be considered an evil and cowardly performance. I was on the point of ordering the coachman to stop myself, when, on turning toward my travelling companions, I saw that the signora was weeping silently. I uttered an exclamation of surprise, and, moved by an irresistible impulse, I took her hand; but she abruptly withdrew it, and throwing her arms about Lila's neck, who was weeping also, hid her face on her faithful soubrette's bosom and sobbed as if her heart would break.

"In heaven's name, why do you weep in such heartrending fashion, my dear signora?" I cried, almost falling at her feet. "If you do not wish to send me away in utter despair, tell me if this unlucky adventure is the cause of your tears, and if I can help to turn aside the consequences which you dread."

She raised her head from Lila's shoulder, and replied, glancing at me with something like indignation:

"You must think me a great coward!"

"I think nothing except what you tell me," I said. "But you turn away from me, and you weep; how can I tell what is taking place in your mind? Ah! if I have offended or displeased you, if I am the involuntary cause of your unhappiness, how can I ever forgive myself?"

"So you think that I am afraid, do you?" she rejoined, in a tone at once tender and bitter. "You see me weeping, and you say: 'She is like a little girl who is afraid of being scolded!'"

She wept more bitterly than ever, concealing her face in her handkerchief. I strove to comfort her, I implored her to answer me, to look at me, to explain herself; and, in that moment of confusion and emotion, my feeling toward her was so paternal and friendly that chance brought to my lips, amid the sweet names by which I called her, the name of a child who had once been dear to me. That name I had been accustomed for many years to apply, unconsciously as it were, to all the lovely children whom I chanced to caress. "My dear signora," I said, "dear Alezia——" I paused, afraid that I might have offended her by giving her accidentally a name that was not her own. But she did not seem offended; she looked at me with some surprise and allowed me to take her hand, which I covered with kisses.

Meanwhile the carriage was rolling on like the wind, and before I had had time to obtain the explanation which I sought so eagerly, Lila informed us that the Grimani villa was in sight and that we absolutely must part.

"What!" I cried; "am I to leave you thus? for how long a time must I eat my heart out in this horrible uncertainty?"

"Come to the park to-night," she said; "the wall is not very high. I will be in the narrow path that runs by the wall, near a statue which you will easily find by turning to your right from the gate. At one o'clock!"

Again I kissed the signora's hands.

"Oh! signora! signora!" exclaimed Lila, in a mild, sad tone of reproach.

"Do not thwart me, Lila," said the signora, vehemently; "you know what I told you this morning."

Lila seemed utterly dismayed.

"What did the signora say?" I asked her.

"She wanted to kill herself," sobbed Lila.

"Kill yourself, signora!" I cried. "You who are so lovely, so light-hearted, so happy, so dearly loved!"

"So dearly loved, Lelio!" she replied, in a despairing tone. "By whom am I loved, pray? only by my poor mother and by this dear Lila."

"And by the poor artist who dares not tell you so," I added, "but who would give his life to make you love yours."

"You lie!" she exclaimed passionately; "you do not love me!"

I seized her arm in a convulsive grasp and gazed at her in stupefaction. At that moment the carriage suddenly stopped. Lila had pulled the cord. I jumped out, and tried, as I saluted my travelling companions, to resume the humble demeanor of the piano-tuner. But the red eyes of the two young women did not escape the footman's penetrating glance. He examined me with the greatest attention, and, when the carriage drove on, he turned several times to look after me. I had a vague idea that his features were familiar to me; but I had not dared to look him in the eye, and it did not occur to me to try to recall where I had seen that coarse, pale, heavily bearded face.

"Lelio! Lelio!" said Checchina, when we were at supper, "you are in high spirits to-day. Look out that you do not weep to-morrow, my boy."

At midnight, I had scaled the park wall; but I had taken only a step or two on the path when a hand grasped my cloak. To guard against accident, I had provided myself with what, in my village, we call a "night-knife," and I was about to produce it when I recognized the fair Lila.

"Just a word, Signor Lelio, in great haste," she said in a low voice; "do not say that you are married."

"What do you mean by that, my dear child? I am not."

"It doesn't concern me," rejoined Lila; "but I beg you not to mention that lady who lives with you."

"You are on my side then, my dear Lila?"

"Oh! no, signor, certainly not! I do all that I can to prevent the signora from doing all these imprudent things. But she won't listen to me, and if I should tell her of the circumstance that might and should part her from you forever,—I don't know what would happen!"

"What do you mean? Explain yourself."

"Alas! you saw to-day what an excitable person she is. She has such a strange nature! When she is disappointed, she is capable of anything. A month ago, when she was taken away from her mother to be shut up here, she talked of taking poison. Whenever her aunt, who is really a great scold, irritates her, she has nervous paroxysms which amount almost to insanity; and last night, when I ventured to say to her that perhaps you loved someone else, she rushed to her chamber window, crying like a madwoman: 'Ah! if I thought so!' I threw myself upon her, I unlaced her, I closed her windows, I didn't leave her during the night, and she cried all night, or else fell asleep for a moment to wake with a start and run about her room like a lunatic. Ah! Signor Lelio, she makes me very unhappy; I love her so dearly! for, in spite of her outbreaks and her eccentricities, she is so kind, so affectionate, so generous! Do not drive her to frenzy, I implore you; you are an honorable man, I am sure, I know it; everybody said so at Naples, and the signora listened with passionate eagerness to all the stories of your kind deeds. So you won't deceive her, and since you love the beautiful lady whom I saw at your house——"

"Who told you that I love her, Lila? She is my sister."

"Oh! Signor Lelio! you are deceiving me! for I asked that lady if you were her brother, and she said no. You will think that I am very inquisitive, and that it is none of my business. No, I am not inquisitive, Signor Lelio; but I entreat you to be a friend to my poor mistress, to be like a brother to his sister or a father to his daughter. Just think a moment! she is a child fresh from the convent and hasn't any idea of the evil things that may be said about her. She says that she doesn't care for them, but I know how she takes such things when they come. Talk to her very gently, make her understand that you cannot see her in secret; but promise that you will call on her at her mother's when we return to Naples; for her mother is so good and loves her daughter so dearly that I am sure she would invite you to her house to give her pleasure. And then, too, perhaps the signora's madness will subside little by little. One can often change the current of her thoughts with amusements and distractions. I told her about the beautiful Angora cat I saw in your salon, which rubbed against you so while you were reading her letter that you had to kick her to drive her away. My mistress doesn't care at all for dogs, but she loves cats. She was taken with such a longing for yours, that you ought to give it to her; I am sure that it would keep her busy and cheer her up for several days."

"If my cat is all that is necessary to console your mistress for my absence," I replied, "there is no great harm done, and the remedy is simple enough. Be very sure, Lila, that I will act toward your mistress as a father and a friend. Have confidence in me. But let me go to her, for perhaps she is waiting for me."

"One word more, Signor Lelio. If you want the signora to listen to you, don't tell her that the common people are as good as the people of quality. She is tainted with her nobility. Don't form a bad opinion of her on that account, for it's a family disease; all the Grimanis are like that. But that does not prevent my young mistress from being kind and charitable. It is simply an idea she has got in her head, which makes her fly into a great passion when any one thwarts her. Would you believe that she has already refused I don't know how many handsome young men, and very rich too, because they were not well-born enough for her. However, Signor Lelio, agree with her at first on every subject, and you will soon persuade her of whatever you choose. Oh! if you could only persuade her to marry a young count who proposed for her not long ago!"

"Her cousin, Count Hector?"

"Oh, no! he is a fool, and he bores everybody to death; even his dogs begin to yawn as soon as they see him."

As I listened to Lila's prattle, my fatherly manner having put her completely at her ease, I led her toward the rendezvous. Not that I did not listen to her with profound interest; all these details, trivial as they were in appearance, were very important in my eyes; for they led me by induction to a better knowledge of the enigmatical personage with whom I had to deal. I must confess also, that they cooled my ardor to a considerable extent, and that I began to look upon it as a most absurd thing to be the hero of a romance in competition with the first plaything that might come to hand; with my cat, Soliman, or—who could say?—perhaps with Cousin Hector himself at the very outset. Thus Lila's advice was identical with the advice which I gave myself and which I was most desirous to follow.

We found the signora sitting at the foot of the statue, dressed all in white—a costume by no means adapted to a mysterious meeting in the open air, but for that very reason perfectly in harmony with her character. As I approached, she sat so absolutely still that she might easily have been taken for another statue sitting at the feet of the white marble nymph.

She made no reply to my first words. With her elbow resting on her knee and her chin on her hand, she was so pensive, so lovely, and her attitude so graceful and stately, draped in her white veil in the moonlight, that I should have believed her to be wrapt in sublime contemplation, had not her love of cats and armorial bearings recurred to my memory.

As she seemed determined to take no notice of me, I tried to take one of her hands; but she drew it away with superb disdain, saying in a tone more majestic than Louis XIV. ever had at his command:

"I have been obliged to wait!"

I could not refrain from laughing at that solemn quotation; but my merriment served only to increase her gravity.

"Do not stand on ceremony!" she said. "Laugh on; the hour and the place are admirably suited to that!"

She uttered these words in a tone of bitter indignation, and I saw that she was really angry. Thereupon, suddenly assuming a serious expression, I asked her forgiveness for my unintentional offence, and told her that I would not for anything in the world cause her one moment's unhappiness. She looked at me with an uncertain expression, as if she dared not believe me. But I began to speak to her with such evident sincerity and warmth of my devotion and affection, that she soon allowed herself to be convinced.

"So much the better!" she exclaimed, "so much the better! for, if you did not love me, you would be very ungrateful, and I should be very unhappy."—And as I gazed at her, utterly confounded by her words, she continued: "O Lelio! Lelio! I have loved you ever since the evening that I first saw you at Naples, playing Romeo, when I looked at you with that cold and contemptuous expression which disturbed you so. Ah! you were very eloquent and very impassioned in your singing that evening! The moon shone upon you as it does now, but less lovely than it does now, and Juliet was dressed in white as I am. And yet you say nothing to me, Lelio!"

That extraordinary girl exerted a constant fascination over me which led me on, always and everywhere, at the pleasure of her caprice. When we were apart, my mind threw off her domination, and I could analyze freely her words and her acts; but when I was once with her, I speedily and unconsciously ceased to have any other will than hers. That outburst of affection reawoke my slumbering passion. All my fine resolutions to be prudent vanished in smoke, and I found naught but words of love on my lips. At every instant, it is true, I felt a sharp pang of remorse; but it made no difference—all my fatherly counsels ended in loving phrases. A strange fatality—or rather that cowardice of the human heart which makes us always yield to the allurement of present joys—impelled me to say just the opposite of what my conscience directed. I gave myself the most convincing reasons you can imagine to prove that I was not doing wrong: it would have been useless cruelty to talk to that child in language which would have torn her heart asunder; there was still time enough to tell her the truth—and a thousand other things of the same sort. One circumstance which seemed to lessen the danger actually contributed to increase it: I mean Lila's presence. If she had not been there, my natural uprightness would have led me to watch myself all the more carefully, for the reason that anything would be possible in a moment of excitement, and I probably should not have gone forward a single step for fear of going too far. But, being sure that I had nothing to fear from my senses, I was much less careful of my words. So that it was not long before I reached the pitch of the most intense, albeit the purest passion; and, spurred on by an irresistible impulse, I seized a lock of the girl's floating hair and kissed it twice.

I felt then that it was quite time for me to go, and I walked rapidly away, saying:

"Until to-morrow."

Throughout this scene I had forgotten the past, little by little, and had not once thought of the future. The voice of Lila, who went with me to the gate, roused me from my trance.

"O Signor Lelio!" she said to me, "you didn't keep your promise. You were not my mistress's father nor her friend to-night."

"It is true," I replied gloomily; "it is true, I have done wrong. But never mind, my child, to-morrow I will make up for it all."

The next day it was the same story, and so with the next and the next. But I felt that I was more deeply in love every day; and the sentiment which, on the first day, was simply an inclination to fall in love, had become a genuine passion on the third. Lila's heart-broken air would have told me so plainly enough, had I not discovered it first myself. All along the road I reflected upon the future of that love-affair, and I returned home pale and distressed. Checchina soon found out what was the matter.

"Poor boy!" she said, "I told you that you would weep before long."

And as I opened my mouth to remonstrate, she added: "If you have not wept yet, you soon will; and there is reason enough. Your position is a pitiful one, and, what is worse, absurd. You love a mere girl whom your pride forbids you to try to marry, and whom your delicate sense of honor deters you from seducing. You do not wish to ask for her hand, in the first place because you know that if she bestowed it on you she would make a tremendous sacrifice, and would expose herself for your sake to innumerable discomforts, and you are too generous to accept a happiness which would cost her so dear; secondly, because you dread being refused, and are too proud to run the risk of being treated with disdain. Nor do you want to take what you have determined not to ask for, and I am very sure that you would much prefer to go off and be a monk than to take advantage of the ignorance of a girl who trusts you. But you must decide on something, my poor fellow, if you don't want the end of the world to come and find you sighing for the stars and throwing kisses to the clouds. Let dogs bay at the moon; we artists must live at any price and every moment. So make up your mind."

"You are right," I replied gravely. And I went to bed.

The next night I went again to the rendezvous. I found the signora excited and in high spirits, as on the preceding night; but I was taciturn and gloomy for some time. She joked me at first on my carbonaro-like manner, and asked me laughingly if I was thinking of dethroning the pope or reconstructing the Roman empire. Then, as I did not reply, she gazed earnestly at me, and said, taking my hand:

"You are sad, Lelio. What is the matter?"

Thereupon I opened my heart to her, and said that my passion for her was a misfortune to me.

"A misfortune? how so?"

"I will tell you, signora. You are the heiress of a noble and illustrious family. You have been brought up to respect your ancestors and to believe that antiquity and splendor of race are all that there is in life. I am a poor devil without a past, a nobody, who have made myself what I am. And yet I believe that one man is as good as another, and I do not consider myself any man's inferior. Now, it is clear that you would not marry me. Everything would forbid it, your principles, your habits, your position in life. You, who have refused patricians because their families were not noble enough, would be less able and less likely than any other woman to stoop to a paltry actor like myself. From princess to player is a long way, signora. So I cannot be your husband. What is left for me? The prospect of a mutual passion, wretchedly unhappy if it were never gratified, or the hope of being your lover for a time. I cannot accept either, signora. To live together, overflowing with a passion always intense and never allayed, to love each other in fear and trembling, and to distrust ourselves as well as each other, is to subject ourselves voluntarily to suffering that would be intolerable because it would be senseless, hopeless, and aimless. Nor would I, even if I could, possess you as a lover. My happiness would be assailed by anxiety from too many sources to be at all complete. On the one hand, I should always be afraid of compromising your good name; I could not sleep with the dread of being the cause of great misery to you, or of your utter ruin; during the day I should pass long hours looking out for accidents which might bring misery upon you and consequently upon me, and at night I should waste the time that we were together in trembling at the fall of a leaf or at the cry of a bird. Everything would be a source of alarm to me. And why should I thus toss my life to a multitude of empty phantoms, to be consumed? for a love-affair of which I could never foresee the duration and which would afford no compensation for the uncertainties of to-day in a sense of security for the morrow; for sooner or later, signora,—I must say it frankly—you would marry. And you would marry a man of noble birth and of great wealth like yourself. It would cost you a bitter pang, I know; I know that you have a generous and sincere heart; you would desire most earnestly to remain faithful to me, and your heart would rebel at the thought of uttering a word which would put an end to all my happiness surely, if not to my life. But the constant assaults of your family, the very necessity of preserving your reputation, would drive you to take that course in spite of yourself. You would struggle a long while, no doubt, and vigorously. Your love for me would still be gentle and tender, but less effusive; and I, witnessing your grief, as I am not the man to accept long and painful sacrifices without returning them in kind, should myself force you, by going away from you, to resign yourself to that necessary marriage, preferring to consecrate my whole future to sorrow rather than to change your destiny by a dastardly act. That is what I wanted to say to you, signora, and you must understand now why I am afraid that this love would prove to be a misfortune to me."

She had listened to me with perfect tranquillity and in absolute silence. When I ceased speaking, she did not change her attitude in any way. But, watching her closely, I fancied that I detected an expression of profound perplexity on her face. Thereupon I said to myself that I had made no mistake, that she was weak and vain like all the rest of her sex; that the only difference was that she was honest enough to recognize the fact as soon as it was pointed out to her, and that she would probably be honest enough to admit it. So I allowed her to retain my esteem, but I felt that my enthusiasm vanished in an instant. I was congratulating myself on my perspicacity and my firmness, when the signora rose abruptly and walked away without a word. I was not prepared for that stroke, and I was painfully surprised.

"What! without a single word?" I cried. "You leave me, perhaps forever, without a single word of regret or consolation?"

"Farewell!" she said, turning toward me. "Regret I cannot feel; and I am the one who need consolation. You have failed to understand me, you do not love me."

"I do not love you?"

"But who will understand me," she added, stopping, "if you do not? Who will love me, if you do not?"

She shook her head sadly, then folded her arms across her breast and fixed her eyes on the ground. She was at once so lovely and so despairing that I had a frantic longing to throw myself at her feet, and only a vague fear of angering her prevented me from doing it on the instant. I stood still, saying not a word, with my eyes fastened upon her, waiting anxiously to see what she would say or do. After a few seconds she walked slowly toward me, and, leaning against the pedestal of the statue, said with a meditative air:

"So you thought me cowardly and vain; you thought me capable of giving my love to a man and accepting his, without giving him at the same time my whole life. You thought that I would stay with you so long as the wind held fair, and that I would go away as soon as it became adverse. How can you have thought so? For you are a steadfast, loyal man, and I am sure that you would not start upon any serious course of action until you had determined to go on with it to the end. Why, then, do you insist that I cannot do what you do, and why have you not the same good opinion of me that I have of you? Either you must have great contempt for women, or you have allowed yourself to be sadly misled by my levity. I am often foolish; I know that; but perhaps that may be to some extent the fault of my age, and it does not prevent my being steadfast and loyal. On the day that I realized that I loved you, Lelio, I determined to marry you. That surprises you. You remember not only the thoughts that I must have had in my position, but also my past words and acts. You think of all the patricians I have refused to marry because they were not noble enough. Alas! my dear friend, I am the slave of my public, just as you sometimes complain of being of yours, and I am obliged to play my rôle before it until I find an opportunity to escape from the stage. But I have kept my heart free under my mask, and, since I have been able to reason, I have determined that I would not marry except in accordance with the dictates of my heart. But I had to have some excuse for dismissing all those insipid and impertinent patricians to whom you refer. I found it in the prejudices common to my suitors and my family, and, wounding the pride of the former and flattering the pride of the latter at the same time, I took advantage of the antiquity of my blood to refuse the hand of men who, noble as they were, were still, I said, not noble enough for me. In this way I succeeded in getting rid of all my troublesome suitors without displeasing my family; for although they called my refusals childish whims, and offered my rejected followers apologies for my exaggerated pride of birth, they were none the less enchanted with it in the depths of their hearts. For some little time I enjoyed greater freedom by virtue of this conduct. But at last my stepfather, Prince Grimani, told me that it was time to make up my mind, and presented his nephew, Count Ettore, as the husband he had in mind for me. This new pretender was as unattractive to me as his predecessor—even more so perhaps; for his excessive imbecility soon led me to despise him altogether. The prince, seeing this, and thinking that my mother, who is a dear soul and loves me with all her heart, might aid and abet me in my resistance to his will, determined to part me from her in order to force me more easily to obey him. He sent me here to live with no one but his sister and nephew. He hopes that, being compelled to choose between ennui and my cousin Ettore, I shall end by choosing the latter; but he is sadly mistaken. Count Ettore is unworthy of me in every respect, and I should rather die than marry him. I have never said so as yet, because I loved nobody, and, taking one scourge with another, I had no more objection to that one than to others. But now I love you, Lelio; I will tell Ettore that I will not have him; we will go away together—to my mother; we will tell her that we love each other, and that we wish to be married. She will give her consent, and you will marry me. Do you agree?"

I had listened to the signora, from her very first word, with profound amazement, which did not cease when she had finished. Such nobleness of heart, such fearlessness of thought, such masculine audacity blended with such delicacy of feeling—all these united in so young a girl, brought up amid the most arrogant of the old aristocrats—aroused the warmest admiration in my own mind, and my surprise gave place to enthusiasm. I was on the point of giving way to my transports and of throwing myself at her feet to tell her that I was happy and proud to be loved by a woman like her, that I was burning with the most ardent passion for her, and that I was ready to do whatever she choose. But reflection checked me in time, and I thought of all the drawbacks, all the dangers of the step she proposed to risk. It was very probable that she would be refused and severely rebuked, and then what would be her plight, after running away from her aunt's house and openly taking a journey of eight leagues with me? And so, instead of yielding to the tumultuous impulses of my heart, I forced myself to be calm, and, after a few seconds of silence, I tranquilly inquired:

"But your family?"

"There is but one person in the world whose authority over me I acknowledge, and whose anger I fear to incur: that is my mother; and, as I have told you, my mother is as kind as an angel, and loves me beyond everything. Her heart will consent."

"O dear child!" I cried, taking her hands and pressing them against my heart; "God knows that what you propose to do is the goal of all my desires! I am fighting against myself when I try to hold you back. Every objection that I urge means the loss of one more hope of happiness for myself, and my heart suffers cruelly from all the doubts suggested by my reason. But to my mind, you, my beloved angel, and your future, your reputation, your happiness, are to be considered first of all. I should much rather renounce all hope than have you suffer because of me. So do not be alarmed at all my scruples; do not see in them an indication of calmness or indifference, but the proof of an unbounded affection. You say that you know your mother will consent because you know that she is kind. But you are very young, my child; with all your strength of mind, you do not know what abnormal alliances are often found between the most contrary sentiments. I believe all that you tell me of your mother, but can you be sure that her pride will not resist her love for you? It may be that she will think that she is performing a sacred duty by preventing your union with an actor."

"You may be half right," she replied. "Not that I am afraid of my mother's pride. Although she has married two princes, she belongs to the middle class by birth, and has never forgotten her own origin so far that she would consider it a crime for me to love a plebeian. But Prince Grimani's influence, a certain weakness which makes her always coincide with the opinions of those about her, and perhaps, to represent things in the worst possible light, the longing to obtain forgiveness for her own humble birth in the social circle in which she now lives, would prevent her from giving a ready consent to our marriage. So that there is but one thing to do; that is to be married first and then tell her of it. When our union is sanctified by the Church, my mother will never have the heart to turn against me. It may be that she will suffer a little, less on account of my disobedience, although her new family will hold her entirely responsible for it, than on account of what she will consider a lack of confidence on my part; but she will very soon be appeased, you may be sure, and, from love for me, will open her arms to you as to a son."

"Thanks for your generous offers, my dear signora; but I have my honor to preserve, no less than the proudest patrician. If I should marry you without your parent's consent, after abducting you, people would not fail to accuse me of the basest and most dastardly projects. And your mother! suppose that after we were married she should refuse to forgive us, all her indignation would fall upon me."

"I understand then that, before marrying, you desire to have my mother's consent at least?"

"Yes, signora."

"And if you were sure of obtaining it, you would hesitate no longer?"

"Alas! why tempt me? What answer can I make, being sure of the contrary?"

"Then——"

She paused abruptly, in evident uncertainty, and dropped her head on her breast. When she raised it, she was slightly pale and tears were glistening in her eyes. I was about to ask her the cause of them, but she did not give me time.

"Lila," she said in an imperative tone, "go!"

The girl obeyed regretfully, and stopped far enough away to be out of hearing, but not so far that she could not see us. Her mistress waited until she had gone, before breaking the silence. Then she took my hand with a most serious air, and began:

"I am going to tell you something which I have never told before to a living soul, and which I had fully determined never to tell. It relates to my mother, the object of all my veneration and all my love. Judge what it must cost me to stir a memory which might tarnish her purity and her fair fame in the sight of other eyes than mine. But I know that you are kind-hearted, and that I can speak to you as I would speak to God, without any fear that you will imagine evil."

She paused a moment to collect her ideas, then continued:

"I remember that I was very proud of my noble blood in my childhood. It was, I fancy, the obsequious fawning of our servants that planted that sentiment in my mind so early in life, and led me to despise everybody who was not noble like myself. Among my mother's servants there was one who did not resemble the others, and who had been able to retain, in his humble station, the dignity that befits a man. So that he seemed to me an insolent wretch, and my feeling for him was little short of hatred. Still I was afraid of him, especially after a certain day when I saw him watching me with a very grave expression, as I was running my loveliest dolls through the heart with a long black pin.

"One night, I was awakened in my mother's bedroom, where my little bed always stood, by the sound of a man's voice. That voice was speaking to my mother with a gravity that was almost harsh, and she replied in a grief-stricken, timid, almost imploring tone. In my astonishment I thought at first that it was mamma's confessor; and as he seemed to be scolding her according to his custom, I listened with all my ears, without making a sound or letting them suspect that I wasn't asleep. They had no suspicion of me. They talked without restraint. But such an extraordinary conversation! My mother said: 'If you loved me, you would marry me,' and the man refused to marry her! Then mamma wept and so did the man; and I heard—ah! Lelio, I must be very fond of you to tell you this—I heard the sound of kisses. It seemed to me as if I knew the man's voice; but I could not believe the testimony of my ears. I longed to look; but I didn't dare to move, because I felt that I was doing a shameful thing in listening, and as I had even then some elevated sentiments, I tried not to hear. But I heard in spite of my efforts. At last the man said to my mother: 'Addio, I leave you forever; do not refuse me a lock of your lovely hair.'—And my mother replied: 'Cut it yourself.'

"The care which my mother took of my curls had accustomed me to look upon a woman's hair as something very valuable; and when I heard her give him part of hers, I had a thrill of jealousy and grief, as if she had parted with property which she ought not to sacrifice to anybody but myself. I began to weep silently; but, as I had heard steps approaching my bed, I hastily wiped my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Then some one put aside my curtains, and I saw a man all dressed in red, whom I did not recognize at first because I had never seen him in that costume. I was afraid of him; but he spoke to me, and I recognized him at once; it was—Lelio, you will forget this story, won't you?"

"It was—signora?" I cried, convulsively pressing her hand.

"It was Nello, our gondolier—Why, Lelio, what's the matter with you? You are shivering, your hand trembles. O heaven! you blame my mother!"

"No, signora, no!" I replied in an inaudible voice; "I am listening attentively to you. This took place at Venice, did it?"

"Did I tell you so?"

"I think you did; and it was in the Aldini palace, of course?"

"Of course, for I told you it was in my mother's bedroom. But why this agitation, Lelio?"

"O my God! my God! and your name is Alezia Aldini!"

"Well, what are you thinking about?" said she, testily. "One would say that you had just learned my name for the first time."

"Pardon me, signora, your family name—I always heard you called Grimani, at Naples."

"By people who were but slightly acquainted with us, doubtless. I am the last of the Aldinis, one of the most ancient families of the Republic, proud beyond words, and now ruined. But my mother is rich, and Prince Grimani, who considers my birth and fortune worthy his nephew, sometimes treats me sternly, sometimes wheedles me to prevail on me to marry him. When he has a kind day he calls me his dear daughter, and when strangers ask him if I am really his daughter, he answers, alluding to his favorite project: 'To be sure, for she will be Countess Grimani.' That is why I was always called by a name that is not mine at Naples, where I passed a month, and where I knew almost nobody, and why I am called by the same name in this region, where I have been living six weeks, and where I neither see nor know anybody."

"Signora," said I, making a mighty effort to break the painful silence into which I had relapsed, "will you please explain to me what relation this story can possibly bear to our love, and how, by the aid of the secret you possess, you can extort from your mother a consent which she would be otherwise disinclined to grant?"

"What do you say, Lelio? Do you believe me capable of such detestable scheming? If you would listen to me instead of passing your hands over your forehead with that bewildered air,—my friend, my dear Lelio, what new sorrow, what fresh scruple has assailed you in the last few seconds?"

"Dear signora, I beg you to go on."

"Very well! Understand that I have never forgotten that incident: that it has caused all the sorrows and all the joys of my life. I realized that I must never question my mother on the subject nor mention it to anyone. You are the first person to whom I have ever told it, not excepting my dear nurse Salomé, or my foster sister Lila, to whom I tell everything. My pride suffered from my mother's error, which seemed to rebound upon me. However, I adored her just the same. Perhaps, indeed, I loved her all the more, the more I felt that she was weak and exposed to the secret maledictions of my relatives on my father's side. But my hatred for the common people increased in the same proportion as my love for her.

"My sentiments remained unchanged until I was fourteen years old, and my mother had apparently ceased to pay any heed to them. In the bottom of her heart she was pained by my contempt for the lower classes, and one day she made up her mind to reproach me timidly on that subject. I made no reply, which must have surprised her, for I was in the habit of arguing obstinately with everybody and on every subject. But I felt that there was a mountain between my mother and myself, and that we could not argue impartially on either side. Seeing that I listened to her reproaches with extraordinary resignation, she took me on her knees, and, fondling me with unutterable affection, talked to me about my father in the most unexceptionable terms; but she told me many things that I did not know. I had always retained a sort of enthusiastic respect, entirely without foundation, for that father of mine, whom I had hardly known. When I learned that he had married my poor mother solely for her fortune, and that, after marrying her, he had looked down on her because of her obscure birth and inferior education, there was a great reaction in my heart, and I soon hated him as intensely as I had loved him. My mother said many other things which seemed very strange to me and impressed me deeply, concerning the misfortune of marrying purely for convenience; and I fancied that I could see that she was not much happier with her new husband than she had been with him of whom she was speaking to me.

"This conversation made a profound impression on me, and I began to reflect upon the necessity of making marriage a matter of business, and upon the humiliation of being courted because of a name or a dowry. I resolved not to marry, and some time afterward, as I was talking with my mother again, I made known my determination to her, thinking that she would approve of it. She smiled and said that the time was not far away when my heart would feel the need of a different love from hers. I assured her of the contrary; but by slow degrees I came to realize that I had spoken rashly; for I was assailed by the most intolerable ennui when we laid aside our pleasant and secluded life at Venice, to travel about and mingle in the brilliant society of other cities. Then, as I was very tall and very far advanced for my years, it seemed as if I had hardly ceased to be a child before they were already talking to me about choosing a husband and about an establishment; and every day I overheard discussions as to the merits and drawbacks of some new suitor. I had not as yet felt the repugnance and terror which men without heart or mind inspire in well-born women. I was hard to suit. Having lived always with such a dear mother and been idolized by her, what a paragon of a man I must have met in order not to regret most bitterly her gentle yoke and her loving protection! My pride, already so irritable in itself, became more and more sensitive every day at the appearance of the vain, stilted, empty-headed creatures who presumed to pay court to me. I clung to the virtues of noble birth, because I had imagined up to that time that illustrious families were superior to others in courage, merit, courtesy and liberality. I had not seen the nobility except in the portrait gallery of the Aldini Palace. There my ancestors appeared before me in all their glory, with all their great feats of arms or pious deeds recorded on oaken bas-reliefs. This one had ransomed three hundred slaves from barbarian pirates and bestowed true religion and freedom upon them; that one had sacrificed all his property in war for the salvation of his country; a third had shed all his blood for her on some glorious field. So that my admiration for them was justifiable, and I felt that the blood in my veins was no less warm and generous than theirs. But how shockingly the descendants of other patricians seemed to me to have degenerated! They retained none of the qualities of their race except insufferable incompetency and sickening presumption. I asked myself what had become of the nobility; I found it only on armorial bearings and on the doorways of palaces. I determined to become a nun, and I urged my mother so persistently to allow me to enter a convent, that she consented. She wept bitterly when she left me there. Prince Grimani approved of my whim; for since he had unearthed, in some corner of Lombardy, a sort of nephew who might become rich at my expense, and bear magnificently, thanks to my dowry, the imperishable name of Grimani, his only thought was to make me obedient to his wishes, and he flattered himself that religion would make my character more pliable. What fervent piety, what a thirst for martyrdom one must have in order to accept Hector! They took me away from the convent three months ago; the fact is that I was dying with ennui there, and the rigid discipline to which I had to submit was beyond my strength. And then I was so happy to return to my mother and she to have me with her! But six weeks of convent life had wrought a great change in my ideas. I had come to understand Jesus, to whom I had always prayed with my lips alone. In my hours of solitude, in church, in the earnest outpouring of my heart in prayer, I had learned that the son of Mary was the friend of the hard-working poor, and that he had justly scorned the grandeurs of this world. And how shall I tell you? at the same time that I opened my heart to new sympathies, the thing that in my childhood I used mentally to call my mother's shame presented itself to me under very different colors, and I thought of it only with deep emotion. What took place within me? I cannot say; but I said to myself: 'If I should do as mamma did, if I should fall in love with a man of a different station in life from my own, the whole world would throw stones at me, all except mamma.' She would take me in her arms, and hiding my blushes in her bosom she would say: 'Obey your heart, so that you may be happier than I was after breaking mine.'—You are touched, Lelio! O heaven! it was a tear that just fell on my hand. You are beaten, my dear! You see that I am neither mad, nor wicked; now you will say yes, and you will come and take me to-morrow. Swear it!"

I tried to speak, but I could not find a word; I was shuddering from head to foot. I felt as if I were about to faint. With her eyes fixed upon me she anxiously awaited my reply. For my own part, I was completely crushed. At the very first words of her story, I had been struck by its strange resemblance to my own; but when she came to those incidents which it was impossible for me not to recognize, I was completely bewildered and dazzled, as if the lightning had struck close beside me. A thousand conflicting and sinister thoughts took possession of my brain. I saw images of crime and despair fluttering about before me like ghosts. Deeply moved by the memory of what had been, appalled at the thought of what might be, I imagined myself the mother's lover and the daughter's husband at the same time. Alezia, that child whom I had seen in her cradle, stood before me, talking in the same breath of her love and her mother's.

A world of recollections crowded into my mind, and little Alezia appeared there as the object, even then, of a timid and unjoyful affection. I recalled her pride, her hatred of me, and the words she had said to me one day when she saw her father's ring on my finger. "Who can say," I thought, "that she has renounced her prejudices forever? It may be that if she should learn at this moment that I am Nello, her former servant, she would blush for loving me."

"Signora," I said to her, "you used, you say, to be fond of piercing the hearts of your dolls with a long pin. Why did you do that?"

"What do you care? why does that detail impress you particularly?"

"Because my heart aches, and your pins naturally came to my mind."

"I will tell you why it was, to show you that it was not a mere barbarous whim," she replied. "I used to hear it said, when a man did a cowardly thing, 'that's what it is to have no blood in the heart;' and I took that metaphorical expression literally. So when I scolded my dolls, I would say to them: 'you are cowards, and I am going to look and see if you have any blood in your hearts.'"

"You despise cowards bitterly, don't you, signora?" I asked, wondering what her opinion of me would be some day if I should give way at that moment to her romantic passion. Once more I fell into a melancholy reverie.

"What is the matter, in heaven's name?" said Alezia.

Her voice recalled me to myself. I looked at her with streaming eyes. She was weeping too, but on account of my hesitation. I understood it at once, and I said, taking her hands with a paternal gesture:

"O my child! do not accuse me! Do not doubt my poor heart! If you only knew how I am suffering!"

And I walked rapidly away, as if by leaving her I could escape my unhappiness. On reaching home I became calmer. I went over in my mind the whole extraordinary succession of events; I worked out all their details, and thus banished from my own mind the flavor of mystery which had paralyzed me at first with superstitious terror. It was all strange, but natural, even to the Christian name, that name Alezia, which I had always longed to know and had never dared to ask.

I do not know whether another man in my place could have continued to love the young Signora Aldini. Strictly speaking, I might have done it without criminality; for you will remember that I had not ceased to be a chaste and obedient lover of her mother. But my conscience rebelled at the thought of that incest of the mind. I loved La Grimani with her unknown baptismal name, I loved her with all my heart and all my senses; but in truth I did not love in that way little Alezia, Signorina Aldini, Bianca's daughter, for it seemed to me that I was her father. The memory of Bianca's charms and fascinating qualities had remained pure and undimmed throughout my life; it had followed me everywhere like a providence. It had made me generous to women and brave against myself. Although I had since fallen in with many false and selfish beauties, I always had the certainty that there are those who are sincere and generous. Bianca had made no sacrifice to me, because I had refused to accept any; but if I had accepted it, if I had yielded to her enthusiasm, she would have sacrificed everything to me, friends, family, fortune, honor, religion, and perhaps her daughter too! What a sacred debt I owed to her! Had I paid it in full by my refusal, by my departure? No; for she was a woman, that is to say, weak and submissive, exposed to the implacable decrees and the bitter insults of irony. And she would have braved it all, she who was so timid, so gentle, so like a child in a thousand ways. She would have done a sublime thing; and I, had I accepted, should have done a dastardly thing. So that I had done nothing more than fulfil a duty to myself, whereas she had exposed herself to the risk of martyrdom for my sake. Poor Bianca, my first, perhaps my only love! how lovely she had always remained in my memory! "Why, in heaven's name," I said to myself, "am I afraid that she has grown old and withered? Ought I not to be indifferent to that? Should I still love her? no, probably not; but, whether ugly or lovely, could I see her to-day without danger?" And at that thought my heart beat so violently that I realized how impossible it was for me to be her daughter's husband or lover.

And then too, to take advantage of the past—if it were only by a silent assent to Alezia's wishes,—in order to obtain the hand of Bianca's daughter, would have been a dishonorable act. Weak as I knew Bianca to be, I knew that she would consider herself bound to give us her consent; but I knew also that her old husband, her family, and, above all, her confessor, would overwhelm her with their reproaches. She had been able to make up her mind to marry a second time, a marriage of convenience. Therefore, she was at heart a woman of the world, a slave of social prejudices, and her love for me was simply a sublime episode, the memory of which was to her a cause of shame and despair, whereas it was my glory and my joy. "No, poor Bianca!" I thought, "no, I have not paid my debt to you. You must have suffered terribly, perhaps trembled with apprehension, at the idea that a servant might be peddling the secret of your weakness from house to house. It is time that you should sleep in peace, that you should cease to blush for the only happy days of your youth, and that you should be able to say, poor woman, on learning of Nello's everlasting silence, everlasting devotion, everlasting love, that there was a time in your fettered, disappointed life, when you knew love and inspired it."

I paced my room excitedly; day was beginning to break. In the lives of men who sleep but little, that is the decisive hour which puts an end to the hesitations conceived and nourished in the darkness, and which changes plans into resolutions. I felt a thrill of enthusiastic joy and legitimate pride at the thought that Lelio the actor had not fallen below Nello the gondolier. Sometimes, in my romantic democratic ideas, I had flushed with shame because I had left the thatched roof where I might have perpetuated a hardy, laborious, and frugal race; I had reproached myself, as for a crime, for having disdained the humble trade of my fathers to seek the bitter joys of luxurious living, the vain incense of glory, the false advantages and trivial labors of art. But by performing, in the tinsel of the actor, the same acts of unselfishness and true pride that I had performed in the rough jacket of the gondolier, I ennobled my life twice over, and raised myself above all false social grandeurs. My conscience, my dignity, seemed to me the conscience and dignity of the common people; by debasing myself I should have debased the common people. "Carbonari! carbonari!" I exclaimed, "I will be worthy to be one of you." The cult of deliverance is a new cult; liberalism is a religion which should ennoble its followers, and, like Christianity in its early days, make the slave a free man, the free man a saint or a martyr.

I wrote the following letter to Princess Grimani:

"SIGNORA:

"The signorina has been exposed to great danger. Why did you, a loving and fearless mother, consent to send her away from you? Is she not at an age when any accident may decide a woman's future—a glance or a breath? Is not this the time when you should watch over her every instant, night and day alike, fathom her troubles, however slight, and count the pulsations of her heart? For you, signora, who are so gentle and so condescending in small things, but in great crises can always find in your heart so much vigor and resolution, the moment has come when you should display the courage of the lioness, who will not allow her little ones to be taken from her. Come, signora, come; take your daughter back, and do not let her quit you again. Why do you leave her in strange hands, subjected to injudicious guidance, which irritates her and would drive her into serious errors, if she were not your daughter—if it were possible for the seeds of virtue and of dignity planted in her breast by you to become the plaything of the first breeze that blows! Open your eyes; see how your child's legitimate and sacred inclinations are being thwarted, until you are in danger of seeing her resist wise counsels, and contract a habit of independence which it will be impossible to overcome. Do not permit a husband whom she detests to be forced upon her, and look to it that her aversion for him does not spur her on to make a rash and even more deplorable choice. Assure her liberty. Let her only chains be her anxiety concerning your enlightened love, lest, distrusting your energy in her behalf, she seek dangerous succor in her imagination. In heaven's name, come!

"And if you wish to know, signora, by what right I address this appeal to you, I will tell you that I have seen your daughter without knowing her name; that I have been on the verge of falling in love with her; that I have followed her, watched her, sought her acquaintance; and that she is not so well guarded that I could not have spoken to her and exerted—in vain, I doubt not—all the wiles by which an ordinary woman is seduced. Thank God! your daughter has not even been exposed to my rash advances. I learned in time that she was the daughter of the woman whom I venerate and respect above all the world, and from that moment her place of abode became a sacred spot to me. If I do not leave the neighborhood instantly, it is that I may be ready to reply to your most searching questions, if, distrusting my honor, you bid me appear before you and render an account of my conduct.

"Accept, signora, the humble respects of your devoted slave,

"NELLO."

I sealed this letter, wondering how I could forward it to its address with the greatest possible speed, and with no danger of its falling into strange hands. I dared not carry it myself, fearing that Alezia, in her irritation at learning of my departure, would do something foolish or desperate. Moreover, it was quite true that I wished to be able to open my heart completely to her mother when the time should come for me to confide everything to her; for I foresaw that Alezia would conceal from her no detail of our little romance, of which I had no right to tell the whole story except by her order. I feared, too, that the girl's enthusiasm would so prevail over her mother's weakness with the moving description of her passion, that the mother would eventually give a consent which I did not propose to accept. Both needed the help of my calm and immovable determination, and it might well be that when they were face to face I should stand in need of the strength they both would lack.

I had reached this point in my reflections when there came a knock at my door, and a man entered and approached me respectfully. As he had taken pains to take off his livery, I did not at first recognize him as the servant who had looked at me so closely on the day of the church episode; but as we now had plenty of time to scrutinize each other, we both involuntarily uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"It is really you!" he said. "I was not mistaken; you are really Nello?"

"Mandola, my old friend!" I cried, and I opened my arms. He hesitated an instant, then embraced me most heartily, weeping for joy.

"I recognized you, but I wanted to make sure; and so, at the first moment I have had at my disposal, here I am. How does it happen that you are called Signor Lelio hereabouts, unless you are the famous singer who is so much talked about at Naples, and whom I have never been to see? for I always go to sleep at the theatre, you know, and as for music, I have never been able to understand it. So the signora never makes me go up to her box till the end of the play."

"The signora! oh! tell me about the signora, my old comrade."

"I was talking about Signora Alezia, for Signora Bianca never goes to the theatre now. She has taken a Piedmontese confessor, and she has been entirely wrapped up in religion since her second marriage. Poor, dear signora, I am afraid that this husband hardly makes up to her for the other. Ah! Nello, Nello, why didn't you——"

"Hush, Mandola; not a word about that. There are some memories which ought not to come to our lips any more than the dead should return to life. Only tell me where your mistress is at this moment, and how I can send her a letter secretly and without delay."

"Is it something of importance to you?"

"It is much more important to her."

"In that case, give it to me; I will travel by post at full speed, and deliver it to her at Bologna, where she is now. Didn't you know it?"

"No, indeed. So much the better. You can be with her this evening, can't you?"

"Yes, by Bacchus! Poor mistress! how surprised she will be to hear from you! for you see, Nello, you see, Signor"——

"Call me Nello when we are alone, and Lelio before other people, until the old Chioggia affair is forgotten altogether."

"Oh! I know. Poor Massatone! But that is beginning to die out."

"What were you saying about Signora Bianca? That is what I am anxious to know."

"I was saying that she will turn very red and then very pale when I hand her your letter and whisper: 'This is from Nello! The signora remembers Nello, who used to sing so well!'—Then she will say to me in a serious tone, for she is no longer bright and cheerful as she used to be, poor signora: 'Very well, Mandola, go to the pantry.' And then she will call me back and say in a sweet tone, for she is just as kind-hearted as ever: 'Poor Mandola, you must be very tired!—Give him some of the best wine, Salomé!'"

"Salomé!" I cried; "is she married too?"

"Oh! she'll never marry. She is just the same, no older nor younger; never smiling, never shedding a tear, adoring the signora as always, and forever resisting her; very fond of the signora and always scolding her; kind-hearted at bottom, but not amiable. Has Signora Alezia recognized you?"

"No, indeed."

"I can believe it; I had much difficulty in recognizing you myself. People change so much! You used to be so small and so slender!"

"Oh! not too slender, if I remember aright."

"And I," continued Mandola with comical distress, "I was so active and graceful and quick and merry! Ah! how fast one grows old!"

I began to laugh when I saw how men delude themselves concerning their youthful graces as they advance in years. Mandola was very much the same Lombard giant that I remembered; he still walked sideways like a vessel beating to windward, and the constant balancing of the gondola as he rowed at the stern had caused him to contract the habit of standing on one leg at a time. You would have said that he was always suspicious of the level ground and was waiting for a wave to come to change his position. I had much difficulty in shortening our interview; he took great delight in it, and I derived a sort of sorrowful pleasure from hearing of that home where my heart had been thrown open to poesy, art, love and honor. I could not restrain a secret thrill of joy, overflowing with emotion and gratitude, when the honest Lombard told me of Bianca's long continued melancholy after my departure, her impaired health, her secret tears, her languor, her distaste for life. Then she had recovered her animation. A new love had touched her heart. A very charming man, of decidedly ill-repute, a sort of aristocratic adventurer, had sought her hand in marriage; she had been within an ace of believing in him. Being warned in time, she had shuddered at the dangers to which her peace of mind and dignity were exposed by her isolation; above all she had shuddered for her daughter, and she had fallen back upon religion.

"But her marriage to Prince Grimani?" I said inquiringly.

"Oh! that was the confessor's work."

"Well, there is such a thing as fatality, no one can escape it. Off with you, Mandola; here is some money, and here is the letter. Don't lose an instant, and don't return to the Grimani villa until you have spoken to me; for I have some important suggestions to make to you."

He left me. I threw myself on my bed and was just falling asleep when I heard the rapid footsteps of a horse in the garden upon which my window looked. I wondered whether it was Mandola returning because he had forgotten a part of his instructions. I overcame my fatigue and went to the window. But, instead of Mandola, I saw a woman in a riding habit, with her head covered with a thick black crêpe mantle which fell over her shoulders and concealed her whole figure as well as her face. She was riding a superb horse, steaming with sweat; and, leaping to the ground before her groom had found time to assist her, she talked in a very low tone to old Cattina, who had hurried to meet her, impelled by curiosity much more than by zeal. I trembled as I thought who it might be, who it must be; and, cursing the imprudence of such a proceeding, I hastily dressed. When I was ready, as Cattina did not come to notify me, I rushed out into the hall, fearing that the reckless visitor might remain on the stoop exposed to some inquisitive eye. But I found Cattina at the foot of the steps, returning to her work after showing the stranger into the house.