The Italians Part 32

The marchesa drew back, and contemplated him with a haughty stare.

His manner and his request were both alike offensive to her. She would have Count n.o.bili to understand that she would admit no shadow of familiarity; that her will had been forced, but that in all else she regarded him with the same animosity as before.

n.o.bili had understood her action and her meaning. "Devil!" he muttered between his clinched teeth. He hated himself for having been betrayed into the smallest warmth. With a flashing eye he turned from the marchesa to Enrica, and whispered in her ear, "My only love, this is more than I can bear!"

Enrica had heard nothing. She had been lost in happy thoughts. In her mind a vision was pa.s.sing. She was in the close street of San Simone, within its deep shadows that fell so early in the afternoon. Before her stood the two grim palaces, the cavernous doorways and the sculptured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both: one, her old home; the other, that was to be her home. She saw herself go in here, cross the pillared court and mount upward. It was neither day nor night, but all shone with crystal brightness. Then n.o.bili's voice came to her, and she roused herself.

"My love," he repeated, "I must go--I must go! I cannot trust myself a moment longer with--"

What he had on his lips need not be written. "That lady," he added, hastily correcting himself, and he pointed to the marchesa, who, led by the cavaliere, had reseated herself upon the sofa, looking defiance at everybody.

"I have borne it all for your sake, Enrica." As n.o.bili spoke, he led her aside to one of the windows. "Now, good-by," and his eyes gathered upon her with pa.s.sionate fondness; "think of me day and night."

Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first entered, except to n.o.bili. When he spoke of parting, her head dropped on her breast. A dread--a horror came suddenly upon her. "O n.o.bili, why must we part?"

"Scarcely to part," he answered, pressing her hand--"only for a few days; then always to be together."

Enrica tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it firmly.

Then she turned away her head, and big tears rolled down her cheeks.

When at last n.o.bili tore himself from her, Enrica followed him to the door, and, regardless of her aunt's furious glances, she kissed her hand, and waved it after him. There was a world of love in the action.

Spite of his indignation, Count n.o.bili did not fail duly to make his salutation to the marchesa.

The cavaliere and Fra Pacifico followed him out. Twilight now darkened the garden. The fragrance of the flowers was oppressive in the still air. A star or two had come out, and twinkled faintly on the broad expanse of deep-blue sky. The fountain murmured hollow in the silence of coming night.

"Good-by," said Cavaliere Trenta to n.o.bili, in his thin voice.

"I deeply regret the marchesa's rudeness. She is unhinged--quite unhinged; but her heart is excellent, believe me, most excellent."

"Do not talk of the marchesa," exclaimed n.o.bili, as he rapidly ascended flight after flight of the terraces. "Let me forget her, or I shall never return to Corellia. Dio Sagrato!" and n.o.bili clinched his fist. "The marchesa is the most cursed thing G.o.d ever created!"

CHAPTER VII.

THE CLUB AT LUCCA.

The piazza at Lucca is surrounded by four avenues of plane-trees. In the centre stands the colossal statue of a Bourbon with disheveled hair, a cornucopia at her feet. Facing the west is the ducal palace, a s.p.a.cious modern building, in which the sovereigns of Lucca kept a splendid court. Here Cesare Trenta had flourished. Opposite the palace is the Hotel of the Universo, where, as we know, Count Marescotti lodged at No. 4, on the second story. Midway in the piazza a deep and narrow street dives into the body of the city--a street of many colors, with houses red, gray, brown, and tawny, mellowed and tempered by the hand of Time into rich tints that melt into warm shadows. In the background rise domes, and towers, and mediaeval church-fronts, galleried and fretted with arches, pillars, and statues. Here a golden mosaic blazes in the sun, yonder a brazen San Michele with outstretched arms rises against the sky; and, scattered up and down, many a grand old palace-roof uprears its venerable front, with open pillared belvedere, adorned with ancient frescoes. A dull, sleepy old city, Lucca, but full of beauty!

On the opposite side of the piazza, behind the plane-trees, stand two separate buildings, of no particular pretension, other than that both are of marble. One is the theatre, the other is the club. About the club there is some attempt at ornamentation. A wide portico, raised on broad steps, runs along the entire front, supported by Corinthian columns. Under this portico there are orange-trees in green stands, rows of chairs, and tables laid with white table-cloths, plates, and napkins, ready for an _al-fresco_ meal.

It is five o'clock in the afternoon of a splendid day early in October--the next day, in fact, after the contract was signed at Corellia. The hour for the drive upon the ramparts at Lucca is not till six. This, therefore, is the favorite moment for a lounge at the club. The portico is dotted with black coats and hats. Balda.s.sare lay asleep between two chairs. He had arranged himself so as not to crease a pair of new trousers--all'Inglese--not that any Englishman would have worn such garments--they were too conspicuous; but his tailor tells him they are English, and Balda.s.sare willingly believes him.

Balda.s.sare is not a member, but he was admitted to the club by the influence of his patron, the old chamberlain; not without protest, however, with the paternal shop close by. Being there, Balda.s.sare stands his ground in a sullen, silent way. He has much jewelry about him, and wears many showy rings. Trenta says publicly that these rings are false; but Trenta is not at the club to-day.

Lolling back in a chair near Balda.s.sare, with his short legs crossed, and his thumbs stuck into the arm-holes of his coat, is Count Orsetti, smiling, fat, and innocuous. His mother has not yet decided when he is to speak the irrevocable words to Teresa Ottolini. Orsetti is far too dutiful a son to do so before she gives him permission. His mother might change her mind at the last moment; then Orsetti would change his mind, too, and burn incense on other altars. Orsetti has a meerschaum between his teeth, from which he is puffing out columns of smoke. With his head thrown back, he is watching it as it curls upward into the vaulted portico. The languid young man, Orazio Franchi, supported by a stick, is at this moment ascending the steps. To see him drag one leg after the other, one would think his days were numbered. Not at all. Franchi is strong and healthy, but he cultivates languor as an accomplishment. Everybody at Lucca is idle, but n.o.body is languid, so Franchi has thought fit to adopt that line of distinction. His thin, lanky arms, stooping figure, and a head set on a long neck that droops upon his chest, as well as a certain indolent grace, suit the _role_. When Franchi had mounted the steps he stood still, heaved an audible sigh of infinite relief, then he sank into a chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. Count Malatesta, who was near, leaning against the wall behind, took his cigar from his mouth and laughed.

"Su!--Via!--A little courage to bear the burden of a weary life. What has tired you, Orazio?"

"I have walked from the gate here," answered Orazio, without unclosing his eyes.

"Go on, go on," is Malatesta's reply, "nothing like perseverance. You will lose the use of your limbs in time. It is this cursed air. Per Bacco! it will infect me. Why, oh! why, my penates, was I born at Lucca? It is the dullest place. No one ever draws a knife, or fights a duel, or runs away with his neighbor's wife. Why don't they? It would be excitement. Cospetto! we marry, and are given in marriage, and breed like pigeons in our own holes.--Come, Franchi, have you no news?

Wake up, man! You are full of wickedness, spite of your laziness."

Franchi opened his eyes, stretched himself, then yawned, and leaned his head upon his arm that rested on one of the small tables near.

"News?--oh!--ah! There is plenty of news, but I am too tired to tell it."

"News! and I not know it!" cried Count Malatesta.

Several others spoke, then all gathered round Franchi. Count Malatesta slapped Franchi on the back.

"Come, my Trojan, speak. I insist upon it," said Orsetti, rising.

Franchi looked up at him. There was a French cook at Palazzo Orsetti.

No one had such Chateau Lafitte. Orazio is far from insensible to these blessings.

"Well, listen. Old Sansovino has returned to his villa at Riparata.

His wife is with him."

"His wife?" shouted Orsetti. "Che, che! Any woman but his wife, and I'll believe you. Why, she has lived for the last fifteen years with Duke Bartolo at Venice. Sansovino did not mind the duke, but he charged her with forgery. You remember? About her dower. There was a lawsuit, I think. No, no--not his wife."

"Yes, his wife," answered Franchi, crossing his arms with great deliberation. "The Countess Sansovino was received by her attached husband with bouquets, and a band of music. She drove up to the front-door in gala--in a four-in-hand, _a la Daumont_. All the tenantry were in waiting--her children too (each by a different father)--to receive her. It was most touching. Old Sansovino did it very well, they tell me. He clasped her to his heart, and melted into tears like a _pere n.o.ble_"

"O Bello!" exclaimed Orsetti, "if old Sansovino cried, it must have been with shame. After this, I will believe any thing."

"The Countess Sansovino is very rich," a voice remarked from the background.

"Well, if she forges, I suppose so," another answered.

"O Marriage! large are the folds of thy ample mantle!" cried Count Malatesta. "Who shall say we are not free in Italy? Now, why do they not do this kind of thing in Lucca? Will any one tell me?--I want to know."

There was a general laugh. "Well, they may possibly do worse," said Franchi, languidly.

"What do you mean?" asked Malatesta, sharply. "Is there more scandal?"

Franchi nodded. A crowd collected round him.

"How the devil, Franchi, do you know so much? Out with it! You must tell us."

"Give me time!--give me time!" was Franchi's answer. He raised his head, and eyed them all with a look of feigned surprise. "Is it possible no one has heard it?"

He was answered by a general protest that nothing had been heard.

"n.o.body knows what has happened at the Universo?" Franchi asked with unusual energy.

"No, no!" burst forth from Malatesta and Orsetti. "No, no!" sounded from behind.

"That is quite possible," continued Orazio, with a cynical smile. "To tell you the truth, I did not think you had heard it. It only happened half an hour ago."