The Dodge Club Part 58

The Countess di Nottinero was not exactly a Recamier, but she was a remarkably brilliant woman, and the acknowledged leader of the liberal part of Florentine society. Of course, the haughty aristocratic party held themselves grandly aloof, and knew nothing either of her or the society to which she belonged.

She was generally known as _La Cica_, a nickname given by her enemies, though what "Cica" meant no one could tell exactly. It was a sort of contraction made up from her Christian name, Cecilia, as some thought; others thought it was the Italian word _cica_ given on account of some unknown incident. At any rate, as soon as she made her appearance driving down the Lungh' Arno, with the ma.s.sive form of the Senator by her side, his fame rose up to its zenith. He became more remarked than ever, and known among all cla.s.ses as the ill.u.s.trious American to whom belonged the certainty of being next President of the United States.

Rumor strengthened as it grew. Reports were circulated which would certainly have amazed the worthy Senator if he had heard them all.

It was said that he was the special Plenipotentiary Extraordinary sent by the American Government as a mark of their deep sympathy with the Italian movement, and that he was empowered, at the first appearance of a new Government in Italy, to recognize it officially as a first-cla.s.s Power, and thus give it the mighty sanction of the United States. What wonder that all eyes were turned admiringly toward him wherever he went. But he was too modest to notice it. He little knew that he was the chief object of interest to every house, hotel, and cafe in the city. Yet it was a fact.

His companions lost sight of him for some time. They heard the conversation going on about the sayings of the great American. They did not know at first who it was; but at length concluded that it referred to the Minister from Turin.

_La Cica_ did her part marvellously well. All the dilettanti, the artists, authors, political philosophers, and _beaux esprits_ of every grade followed the example of _La Cica_. And it is a fact that by the mere force of character, apart from any advent.i.tious aids of refinement, the Senator held his own remarkably. Yet it must be confessed that he was at times extremely puzzled.

_La Cica_ did not speak the best English in the world; yet that could not account for all the singular remarks which she made.

Still less could it account for the tender interest of her manner.

She had remarkably bright eyes. Why wandered those eyes so often to his, and why did they beam with such devotion--beaming for a moment only to fall in sweet innocent confusion? _La Cica_ had the most fascinating manners, yet they were often perplexing to the Senator's soul. The little offices which she required of him did not appear in his matter-of-fact eyes as strictly prudent. The innate gallantry which he possessed carried him bravely along through much that was bewildering to his nerves. Yet he was often in danger of running away in terror.

"The Countess," he thought, "is a most remarkable fine woman; but she does use her eyes uncommon, and I do wish she wouldn't be quite so demonstrative."

The good Senator had never before encountered a thorough woman of the world, and was as ignorant as a child of the innumerable little harmless arts by which the power of such a one is extended and secured. At last the Senator came to this conclusion. _La Cica_ was desperately in love with him.

She appeared to be a widow. At least she had no husband that he had ever seen; and therefore to the Senator's mind she must be a spinster or a widow. From the general style in which she was addressed he concluded that she was the latter. Now if the poor _Cica_ was hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. For he was a married man, and his good lady still lived, with a very large family, most of the members of which had grown up.

_La Cica_ ought to know this. She ought indeed. But let the knowledge be given delicately, not abruptly. He confided his little difficulty to his friend the Minister. The Minister only laughed heartily.

"But give me your opinion."

The Minister held his sides, and laughed more immoderately than ever.

"It's no laughing matter," said the Senator. "It's serious. I think you might give an opinion."

But the Minister declined. A broad grin wreathed his face during all the remainder of his stay at Florence. In fact, it is said that it has remained there ever since.

The Senator felt indignant, but his course was taken. On the following evening they walked on the balcony of _La Cica_'s n.o.ble residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming.

The conversation of a fascinating woman does not look so well when reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her expression or the deep tenderness of her well-modulated voice? Who indeed?

"Does ze scene please you, my Senator?"

"Very much indeed."

"Youar countrymen haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway."

"It is a beautiful place."

"Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked full in his face.

"Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he blushed.

He had been betrayed into a compliment.

The Countess sighed.

"Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to moartals to sociate as zey would laike."

"'Your Senator,'" thought the gentleman thus addressed; "how fond, how tender--poor thing! poor thing!"

"I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he.

"How I adamiar youar style of mind, so differente from ze Italiana. You are so strong--so n.o.bile. Yet would Maike to see moar of ze poetic in you."

"I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desperately.

"Ah--good--nais--eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried the Countess, with much animation. "You would loafe it moar eef you knew Italiano.

Your langua ees not sufficiente musicale for poatry."

"It is not so soft a language as the _I_-talian."

"Ah--no--not so soft. Very well. And what theenka you of ze Italiano?"

"The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days."

"Ah, now--you hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my Senator."

"I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naively.

"Ah, you compliment! I sot you was aboove flattera."

And the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little fan.

"What Ingelis poet do you loafe best?"

"Poet? English poet?" said the Senator, with some surprise.

"Oh--why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of the lot!"

"Watt? Was he a poet? I did not know zat. He who invented ze stim-injaine? And yet if he was a poet it is natnrale zat you loafe him best."

"Steam-engine? Oh no! This one was a minister."

"A meeneestaire? Ah! an abbe? I know him not. Yet I haf read mos of all youar poets."

"He made up hymns, marm, and psalms--for instance: 'Watts's Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs.'"

"Songs? Spiritnelle? Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze works of Watt, which was favorit poet of my Senator."

"A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet Watts," said the Senator, firmly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: La Cica.]

"He is the best known by far of all our poets."