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 THE ITALIANS: 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 I 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCES ELLIOT, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 "ROMANCE OF OLD COTTET LIFE m FRANCE," "THE DIAKY OF AN IDLE 
 
 WOMAN IN ITALY," ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 549 AND 551 BROADWAY. 
 1875.
 
 TO 
 
 TIIE REAL EN RIG A, 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S LOYE.
 
 8RLF 
 URL 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 PART L 
 
 CHAP. PAGB 
 
 I. LUCCA ........ 5 
 
 II. THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA . . . .17 
 
 III. TIIE THREE WITCHES . . . . . .22 
 
 IV. TIIE MARCIIESA GUINIGI ..... 34 
 V. ENRICA . . . . . . .44 
 
 VI. MARCIIESA GUINIGI AT HOME .... 49 
 
 VII. COUNT MARESCOTTI . . . . . .58 
 
 VIII. THE CABINET COUNCIL ..... 76 
 
 IX. THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL 85 
 
 PART II. 
 
 I. CALUMNY ....... 108 
 
 II. CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO . . . . 115 
 
 III. THE GUINIGI TOWER . . . . . .131 
 
 IV. COUNT NOBILI . . . . . .146 
 
 V. NUMBER FOUR AT THE UXIVERSO HOTEL . . . 155 
 
 VI. A XEW PHILOSOPHY ..... 170 
 VII. THE MARCHESA'S PASSION ..... 182 
 VIII. EXRICA'S TRIAL . . . . . .188 
 
 IX. "\VHAT CAME OF IT . 196
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 CHAP. PAGH 
 
 I. A LONELY TOWN ...... 202 
 
 II. WHAT SILVESTRO SATS . . . . .213 
 
 III. WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCHESA'S PAPERS . 224 
 
 IV. WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE . . . . . 235 
 V. "SAY NOT TOO MUCH" ..... 238 
 
 VI. THE CONTRACT . . . . . .252 
 
 VII. THE CLUB AT LUCCA ..... 265 
 
 VIII. COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS . . . . .282 
 
 IX. NERA 288 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 I. WAITING AND LONGING ..... 304 
 
 II. A STORM AT THE VILLA . . . . .316 
 
 III. BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH . . . . 321 
 
 IV. FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCUESA .... 331 
 
 V. TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? . . . . . 338 
 
 VI. THE CHURCH AND THE LAW . . . . .345 
 
 VII. THE HOUR STRIKES ..... 356 
 
 VIII. FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME ..... 366 
 
 IX. HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE ..... 371 
 
 X. THE LAWYER BAFFLED ..... 381 
 
 XI. FACE TO FACE ...... 388 
 
 XII. On BF.I.I.O ! . . . . . 400
 
 THE ITALIANS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LUCCA. 
 
 WE are at Lucca. It is the 13th of September, 1870 
 the anniversary of the festival of the Volto Santo a 
 notable day, both in city, suburb, and province. Lucca 
 dearly loves its festivals no city more ; and of all the fes 
 tivals of the year that of the Volto Santo best. Now the 
 Volto Santo (Anglicd, Holy Countenance) is a miraculous 
 crucifix, which hangs, as may be seen, all by itself in a 
 gorgeous chapel more like a pagoda than a chapel, and 
 more like a glorified bird-cage than either built expressly 
 for it among the stout Lombard pillars in the nave of the 
 cathedral. The crucifix is of cedar-wood, very black, and 
 very ugly, and it was carved by Nicodemus ; of this fact 
 no orthodox Catholic entertains a doubt. But on what 
 authority I cannot tell, nor why, nor how, the Holy Coun 
 tenance reached the snug little city of Lucca, except by 
 flaying through the air like the Loretto house, or springing 
 out of the earth like the Madonna of Feltri. But here it 
 is, and here it has been for many a long year ; and here it 
 will remain as a miraculous relic, bringing with it blessings 
 and immunities innumerable to the grateful city. 
 
 What a glorious morning it is ! The sun rose without
 
 (j THE ITALIANS. 
 
 a cloud. Now there is a golden haze hanging over the 
 plain, and glints as of living flame on the flanks of the 
 mountains. From all sides crowds are pressing toward 
 Lucca. Before six o'clock every high-road is alive. Down 
 from the highest mountain-top of Pizzorna, overlooking 
 Florence and its vine-garlanded campagna, comes the her 
 mit, brown-draped, in hood and mantle ; staff in hand, he 
 trudges along the dusty road. And down, too, from his 
 native lair among the pigs and the poultry, comes the 
 black-eyed, black-skinned, matted-haired urchin, who makes 
 mud pies under the tufted ilex-trees at Ponte a Moriano, 
 and swears at the hermit. 
 
 They come ! they come ! From mountain-sides border 
 ing the broad road along the Serchio mountains dotted 
 with bright homesteads, each gleaming out of its own 
 cypress-grove, olive-patch, canebrake, and vine-arbor, un 
 der which the children play they come from solitary 
 hovels, hung up, as it were, in mid-air, over gloomy ra 
 vines, scored and furrowed with red earth, down which dark 
 torrents dash and spray. 
 
 They come t they come ! these Tuscan peasants, a trifle 
 too fond of holiday-keeping, like their betters but what 
 would you have? The land is fertile, and corn and wine 
 and oil and rosy flowering almonds grow almost as of 
 themselves. They come tens and tens of miles away, 
 from out the deep shadows of primeval chestnut-woods, 
 clothing the flanks of rugged Apennines with emerald 
 draperies. They come through parting rocks, bordering 
 nameless streams cool, delicious waters, over which bend 
 fig, peach, and plum, delicate ferns and unknown flowers. 
 They come from hamlets and little burghs, gathered be 
 side lush pastures, where tiny rivulets trickle over fresh 
 turf and fragrant herbs, lulling the ear Avith softest echoes. 
 
 They come dark-eyed mothers and smiling daughters, 
 decked with gold pins, flapping Leghorn hats, lace veils or
 
 LUCCA. 7 
 
 snowy handkerchiefs gathered about their heads, coral 
 beads, and golden crosses as big as shields, upon their 
 necks escorted by lover, husband, or father a flower be 
 hind his ear, a slouch hat on his head, a jacket thrown over 
 one arm, every man shouldering a red umbrella, although 
 to doubt the weather to-day is absolute sacrilege ! 
 
 Carts clatter by every moment, drawn by swift Marem- 
 ma nags, gay with brass harness, tinkling bells, and tassels 
 of crimson on reins and frontlet. 
 
 The carts are laden with peasants (nine, perhaps, ranged 
 three abreast) treason to the gallant animal that, tossing 
 its little head, bravely struggles with the cruel load. A 
 priest is stuck in bodkin among his flock a priest who 
 leers and jests between pinches of snuff, and who, save for 
 his seedy black coat, knee-breeches, worsted stockings, 
 shoe-buckles, clerical hat, and smoothly-shaven chin, is 
 rougher than a peasant himself. 
 
 Riders on Elba ponies, with heavy cloaks (for the early 
 morning, spite of its glories, is chill), spur by, adding to 
 the dust raised by the carts. 
 
 Genteel flies and hired carriages with two horses, and 
 hood and foot-board pass, repass, and out-race each other. 
 These flies and carriages are crammed with bailiffs from 
 the neighboring villas, shopkeepers, farmers, and small 
 proprietors. Donkeys, too, there are in plenty, carrying 
 men bigger than themselves (under protest, be it observed, 
 for here, as in all countries, your donkey, though marked 
 for persecution, suffers neither willingly nor in silence). 
 Begging friars, tanned like red Indians, glide by, hot and 
 grimy (thank Heaven ! not many now, for " New Italy " 
 has sacked most of the convent rookeries and dispersed the. 
 rooks), with wallets on their shoulders, to carry back such 
 plunder as can be secured, to far-off convents and lonely 
 churches, folded up tightly in forest fastnesses. 
 
 All are hurrying onward with what haste they may, to
 
 8 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 reach the city of Lucca, while broad shadows from the tall 
 mountains on either hand still fall athwart the roads, and 
 cool morning air breathes up from the rushing Serchio." 
 
 The Serchio a noble river, yet willful as a mountain- 
 torrent flows round the embattled walls of Lucca, and 
 falls into the Mediterranean below Pisa. It is calm now, 
 on this day of the great festival, sweeping serenely .by 
 rocky capes, and rounding into fragrant bays, where over 
 arching boughs droop and feather. But there is a sullen 
 look about its current, that tells how wicked it can be, this 
 Serchio, lashed into madness by winter storms, and the 
 overflowing of the water-gates above, among the high 
 Apennines at the Abbetone at San Marcello, or at windy, 
 ice-bound Pracchia. 
 
 How fair are thy banks, O mountain-bordered Serchio ! 
 How verdant with near wood and neighboring forest ! 
 How gay with cottage groups open-galleried and gar 
 landed with bunches of golden maize and vine-branches 
 all laughing in the sun ! The wine-shops, too, along the 
 road, how tempting, with snowy table-cloths spread upon 
 dressers under shady arbors of lemon - trees ; pleasant 
 odors from the fry cooking in the stove, mixing with the 
 perfume of the waxy flowers ! Dear to the nostrils of the 
 passers-by are these odors. They snuff them up onions, 
 fat, and macaroni, with delight. They can scarcely resist 
 stopping once for all here, instead of waiting for their 
 journey's end to eat at Lucca. 
 
 But the butterflies and they are many are wiser in 
 their generation. The butterflies have a festival of their 
 own to-day. They do not wait for any city. They are 
 fixed to no spot. They can hold their festival anywhere 
 under the blue sky, in the broad sunshine. 
 
 See how they dance among the flowers ! Be it spikes 
 of wild-lavender, or yellow down within the Canterbury 
 bell, or horn of purple cyclamens, or calyx of snowy myrtle.
 
 LUCCA. 9 
 
 the soft bosom of tall lilies or glowing petals of red cloves 
 nothing comes amiss to the butterflies. They are citi 
 zens of the world, and can feast wherever fancy leads them. 
 Meanwhile, on comes the crowd, nearer and nearer to 
 the city of their pilgrimage, laughing, singing, talking, 
 smoking. Your Italian peasant must sleep or smoke, ex 
 cepting when he plays ' at morra (one, two, three, and 
 away !). Then he puts his pipe into his pocket. The 
 women are conversing in deep voices, in the patois of the 
 various villages. The men, more silent, search out who is 
 fairest to lead her on the way, to kneel beside her at the 
 shrine, and, most prized of all, to conduct her home. Each 
 village has its belle, each belle her circle of admirers. 
 Belles and beaux all have their own particular plan of di 
 version for the day. For is it not a great day ? And is it 
 not stipulated in many of the marriage contracts among 
 the mountain tribes that the husband must, under a money 
 penalty, conduct his wife to the festival of the Holy Counte 
 nance once at least in four years ? The programme is 
 this : First, they enter the cathedral, kneel at the glisten 
 ing shrine of the black crucifix, kiss its golden slipper, and 
 hear mass. Then they will grasp such goods as the gods 
 provide them, in street, cafe, eating-house, or day theatre ; 
 make purchases in the shops and booths, and stroll upon 
 the ramparts. Later, when the sun sinks westward over 
 the mountains, and the deep canopy of twilight falls, they 
 will return by the way that they have come, until the com 
 ing year. 
 
 Within the city, from before daybreak, church-bells 
 and Lucca abounds in belfries fretted tier upon tier, with 
 galleries of delicate marble colonnettes, all ablaze in the 
 sunshine have pealed out merrily. 
 
 Every church-door, draped with gold tissue and silken 
 stuffs, more or less splendid, is thrown wide open. Every
 
 10 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 shop is closed, save cafes, hotels, and tobacco-shops (where, 
 by command of the King of New Italy, infamous cigars 
 are sold). Eating-tables are spread at the corners of the 
 streets and under the trees in the piazza, benches are 
 ranged everywhere where benches can stand. The streets 
 are filling every moment as fresh multitudes press through 
 the city gates those grand old gates, where the marble 
 lions of Lucca keep guard, looking toward the mountains. 
 For a carriage to pass anywhere in the streets would 
 be impossible, so tightly are flapping Leghorn hats, and 
 veils, snowy handkerchiefs, and red caps and brigand hats, 
 packed together. Bells ring, and there are waftings of 
 military music borne through the air. Trumpet-calls at 
 the different barracks answer to each other. Cannons are 
 fired. Each man, woman, and child shouts, screams, and 
 laughs. All down the dark, cavernous streets, in the great 
 piazza, at the sindaco's, at college, at club, public offices, 
 and hotels, at the grand old palaces, untouched since the 
 middle ages the glory of the city at every house, great 
 and small flutter gaudy draperies ; crimson, amber, vio 
 let, and gold, according to purse and condition, either of 
 richest brocade, or of Eastern stuffs wrought in gold and 
 needle-work, or the family carpet or bed-furniture hung 
 out for show. Banners wave from every house-top and 
 tower, the Itattan tricolor and the Savoy cross, white, on 
 a red ground ; flowers and garlands are wreathed on the 
 fronts of the stern old walls. If peasants, and shopkeep 
 ers, and monks, priests, beggars, and hoi pollol generally, 
 possess the pavement, overhead every balcony, gallery, 
 terrace, and casement, is filled with company, representa 
 tives of the historic families of Lucca, the Manfredi, Pos- 
 senti, Navascoes, Bernardini, dal Portico, Bocella, Manzi, 
 da Gia, Orsetti, Ruspoli feudal names dear to native ears. 
 The noble marquis, or his excellency the count, lord of 
 broad acres on the plains, or principalities in the mountains,
 
 LUCCA. 11 
 
 or of hoarded wealth at the National Bank is he not Luc- 
 ehese also to the backbone? And does he not delight in 
 the festival as keenly as that half-naked beggar, who rat 
 tles his box for alms, with a broad grin on his dirty face ? 
 
 Resplendent are the ladies in the balconies, dressed in 
 their best like bands of fluttering ribbon stretched across 
 the sombre-fronted palaces; aristocratic daughters, and 
 dainty consorts. They are not chary of their charms. 
 They laugh, fan themselves, lean over sculptured balus 
 trades, and eye the crowded streets, talking with lip and 
 fan, eye and gesture. 
 
 In the long, narrow street of San Simone, behind the 
 cathedral of San Martino, stand the two Guinigi Palaces. 
 They are face to face. One is ditto of the other. Each is 
 in the florid style of Venetian-Gothic, dating from the be 
 ginning of the fourteenth century. Both were built by 
 Paolo Guinigi, head of the illustrious house of that name, 
 for forty years general and tyrant of the Republic of Luc 
 ca. Both palaces bear his arms, graven on marble tablets 
 beside the entrance. Both are of brick, now dulled and 
 mellowed into a reddish white. Both have walls of enor 
 mous thickness. The windows of the upper stories quad 
 ruple casements divided, Venetian-like, by twisted pillar- 
 ettes richly carved are faced and mullioned with marble. 
 The lower windows (mere square apertures) are barred 
 with iron. The arched portals opening to the streets are 
 low, dark, and narrow. The inner courts gloomy, damp, 
 and prison-like. Brass ornaments, sockets, rings, and torch- 
 holders of iron, sculptured emblems, crests, and cognizances 
 in colored marble, are let into the outer walls. In all else, 
 ornamentation is made subservient to defense. These are 
 city fortresses rather than ancestral palaces. They were 
 constructed to resist either attack or siege. 
 
 Rising out of the overhanging roof (supported on wood 
 en rafters) of the largest and most stately of the twapal-
 
 12 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 aces, where twenty-three groups of clustered casements, 
 linked by slender pillars, extend in a line along a single 
 story rises a mediaeval tower of defense of many stories. 
 Each story is pierced by loop-holes for firing into the street 
 below. On the machicolated summit is a square platform, 
 where in the course of many peaceful ages a bay-tree has 
 come to grow of a goodly size. About this bay-tree tan 
 gled weeds and tufted grasses wave in the wind. Below, 
 here and there, patches of blackened moss or yellow lichen, 
 a branch of mistletoe or a bunch of fern, break the lines 
 of the mediaeval brickwork. Sprays of wild-ivy cling to 
 the empty loop-holes, through which the blue sky peeps. 
 
 The lesser of the two palaces the one on the right 
 hand as you ascend the street of San Simone coming from 
 the cathedral is more decorated to-day than any other in 
 Lucca. A heavy sea of Leghorn hats and black veils, with 
 male accompaniments, is crowded beneath. They stare 
 upward and murmur with delight. Gold and silver stuffs, 
 satin and taffeta, striped brocades, and rich embroideries, 
 flutter from the clustered casement up to the overhanging 
 roof. There are many flags (one with a coat-of-arms, am 
 ber and purple on a gold ground) blazing in the sunshine. 
 The grim brick fagade is festooned with wreaths of fresh 
 ly-plucked roses. Before the low-arched entrance on the 
 pavement there is a carpet of flower-petals fashioned into 
 a monogram, bearing the letters " M. N." Just within the 
 entrance stands a porter, leaning on a gold staff, as im 
 movable in aspect as are the mediaeval walls that close in 
 behind him. A badge or baldric is passed across his chest ; 
 he is otherwise so enveloped with gold-lace, embroidery, 
 buttons, trencher, and cocked-hat, that the whole inner 
 man is absorbed, not to say invisible. Beside him, in the 
 livery of the house, tall valets grin, lounge, and ogle the 
 passers-by (wearers of Leghorn hats, and veils, and white 
 head-gear generally). This particular Guinigi Palace be-
 
 LUCCA. 13 
 
 longs to Count Mario Nobili. He bought it cf the Mar- 
 chesa Guinigi, who lives opposite. Nobili is the richest 
 young man in Lucca. No one calls upon him for help in 
 vain ; but, let it be added, no one offends him with im 
 punity. When Nobili first came to Lucca, the old families 
 looked coldly at him, his nobility being of very recent 
 date. It was bestowed on his father, a successful banker 
 some said usurer, some said worse by the Grand-duke 
 Leopold, for substantial assistance toward his pet hobby 
 the magnificent road that zigzags up the mountain-side to 
 Fiesole from Florence. 
 
 But young Nobili soon conquered Lucchese prejudice. 
 Now he is well received by all all save the Marchesa Gui 
 nigi. She was, and is at this time, still irreconcilable. 
 Nobili stands in the central window of his palace. He 
 leans out over the street, a cigar in his mouth. A servant 
 beside him flings down from time to time some silver coin 
 among Leghorn hats and the beggars, who scramble for it 
 on the pavement. Nobili's eyes beam as the populace look 
 up and cheer him: "Long live Count Nobili! Evviva!" 
 He takes off his hat and bows; more silver coin comes 
 clattering down on the pavement; there are fresh evvivas, 
 fresh bows, and more scramblers cover the street. " No 
 one like Nobili," the people say; "so affable, so open- 
 handed yes, and so clever, too, for has he not traveled, 
 and does he not know the world ? " 
 
 Beside Count Nobili some jeunesse doree of his own 
 age (sons of the best houses in Lucca) also lean over the 
 Venetian casements. Like the liveried giants at the en 
 trance, these laugh, ogle, chaff, and criticise the wearers of 
 Leghorn hats, black veils, and white head-gear, freely. 
 They smoke, and drink liqueurs and sherbet, and crack 
 sugar-plums out of crystal cup on silver plate?, set on em 
 bossed trays placed beside them. 
 
 The profession of these young men is idleness. They
 
 14 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 excel in it. Let us pause for a moment and ask what they 
 do this jeunesse doree, to whom the sacred mission is 
 committed of regenerating an heroic people ? They could 
 teach Ovid " the art of love." It comes to them in the air 
 they breathe. They do not love their neighbor as them 
 selves, but they love their neighbors' wives. Nothing is 
 holy to them. " All for love, and the world well lost," is 
 their motto. They can smile in their best friend's face, 
 weep with him, rejoice with him, eat with him, drink with 
 him, and betray him; they do this every day, and do it 
 well. They can also lie artistically, dressing up imaginary 
 details with great skill, gamble and sing, swear, and talk 
 scandal. They can lead a graceful, dissolute, far niente 
 life, loll in carriages, and be whirled round for hours, say 
 the Florence Cascine, the Roman Pincio, and the park at 
 Milan smoking the while, and raising their hats to the 
 ladies. They can trot a well-broken horse not too fresh, 
 on a hard road, and are wonderful in ruining his legs. A 
 very few can drive what they call a stage (A.nglic&, drag) 
 with grave and well-educated wheelers, on a very straight 
 road such as do this are looked upon as heroes shoot a 
 hare sitting, also torn-tits and sparrows. But they can 
 neither hunt, nor fish, nor ro\v. They are ready of tongue 
 and easy of offense. They can fight duels (with swords), 
 generally a harmless exercise. They can dance. They can 
 hold strong opinions on subjects on which they are crassly 
 ignorant, and yield neither to fact nor argument where 
 their mediaeval usages are concerned All this the golden 
 youths of Young Italy can do, and do it well. 
 
 Yet from such stuff as this are to come the future minis 
 ters, prefects, deputies, financiers, diplomatists, and sena 
 tors, who are to regenerate the world's old mistress ! Alas, 
 poor Italy ! 
 
 The Guinigi Palace opposite forms a sinking contrast 
 to Count Nobili's abode. It is as silent as the grave.
 
 LUCCA. 15 
 
 Every shutter is closed. The great wooden door to the 
 street is locked ; a heavy chain is drawn across it. The 
 Murchesa Guinigi has strictly commanded that it should be 
 so. She will have nothing to do with the festival of the 
 Holy Countenance. She will take no part in it whatever. 
 Indeed, she has come to Lucca on purpose to see that her 
 orders are obeyed to the very letter, else that rascal of a 
 secretary might have hung out something in spite of her. 
 The marchesa, who has been for many years a widow, and 
 is absolute possesssor of the palace and lands, calls herself 
 a liberal. But she is in practice the most thorough-going 
 aristocrat alive. In one respect she is a liberal. She de 
 spises priests, laughs at miracles, and detests festivals. 
 " A loss of time, and, if of time, of money," she says. If the 
 peasants and the people complain of the taxes, and won't 
 work six days in the week, " Let them starve," says the 
 marchesa " let them starve ; so much the better ! " 
 
 In her opinion, the legend of the Holy Countenance is 
 a lie, got up by priests for money ; so she comes into the 
 city from Corellia, and shuts up her palace, publicly to 
 show her opinion. As far as she is concerned, she believes 
 neither in St. Nicodemus nor in idleness. 
 
 A good deal of this, be it said, en passant, is sheer ob 
 stinacy. The marchesa is obstinate to folly, and full of 
 contradictions. Besides, there is another powerful motive 
 that influences her she hates Count Nobili. Not that he 
 has ever done any thing personally to offend her; of this 
 he is incapable indeed, he has his own reasons for desiring 
 passionately to be on good terms with her but he has, in 
 her opinion, injured her by purchasing the second Guinigi 
 Palace. That she should have been obliged to sell one of 
 her ancestral palaces at all is to her a bitter misfortune ; 
 but that any one connected with trade should possess what 
 had been inherited generation after generation by the 
 Guinigi, is intolerable.
 
 1C THE ITALIANS. 
 
 That a parvenu , the son of a banker, should live oppo 
 site to her, that he should abound in money, which he flings 
 about recklessly, while she can with difficulty eke out the 
 slender rents from the greatly-reduced patrimony of the 
 Guinigi, is more than she can bear. His popularity and 
 his liberality (and she cannot come to Lucca without hear 
 ing of both), even that comely young face of his, which she 
 sees when she passes the club on the way to her afternoon 
 drive on the ramparts, are dire offenses in her eyes. What 
 ever Count Nobili does, she (the Marchesa Guinigi) will do 
 the reverse. He has opened his house for the festival. 
 Hers shall be closed. She is thoroughly exceptional, how 
 ever, in such conduct. Every one in Lucca save herself, 
 rich and poor, noble and villain, join heart and soul in the 
 national festival. Every one lays aside on this auspicious 
 day differences of politics, family feuds, and social animosi 
 ties. Even enemies join hands and kneel side by side at 
 the same altar. It is the mediaeval " God's truce " cele 
 brated in the nineteenth century. 
 
 It is now eleven o'clock. A great deal of sausage and 
 garlic, washed down by new wine and light beer, has been 
 by this time consumed in eating-shops and on street tables ; 
 much coffee, liqueurs, cake, and bonbons, inside the palaces. 
 
 Suddenly all the church-bells, which have rung out 
 since daybreak like mad, stop ; only the deep-toned cathe 
 dral-bell booms out from its snowy campanile in half-minute 
 strokes. There is an instant lull, the din and clatter of the 
 streets cease, the crowd surges, separates, and disappears, 
 the palace windows and balconies empty themselves, the 
 street forms are vacant. The procession in honor of the 
 Holy Countenance is forming; ever}'- one has rushed off to 
 the cathedral.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA. 
 
 SAN MARTISTO, the cathedral of Lucca, stands on one 
 side of a small piazza behind. the principal square. At the 
 first glance, its venerable aspect, vast proportions, and dig 
 nity of outline, do not sufficiently seize upon the imagina 
 tion ; but, as the eye travels over the elaborate fagade, 
 formed by successive galleries supported by truncated pil 
 lars, these galleries in their turn resting on clustered col 
 umns of richest sculpture forming the triple portals the 
 fine inlaid work, statues, bass-relief, arabesques of fruit, 
 foliage, and quaint animals the dome, and, above all, the 
 campanile light and airy as a dream, springing upward 
 on open arches where the sun burns hotly the eye comes 
 to understand what a glorious Gothic monument it is. 
 
 The three portals are now open. From the lofty atri 
 um raised on broad marble steps, with painted ceiling and 
 sculptured walls at one end a bubbling fountain falling 
 into a marble basin, at the other an arched gate-way lead 
 ing into grass-grown cloisters the vast nave is visible from 
 end to end. This nave is absolutely empty. Every thing 
 tells of expectation, of anticipation. The mighty Lombard 
 pillars on either side supporting a triforium gallery of 
 circular arches and slender pillars of marble fretwork, deli 
 cate as lace are wreathed and twined with red taffetas
 
 18 TIIE ITALIANS. 
 
 bound with golden bands. The gallery of the triforium it 
 self is draped with arras and rich draperies. Each dainty 
 column is decked with flags and pennons. The aisles and 
 transepts blaze with gorgeous hangings. Overhead saints, 
 prophets, and martyrs, standing immovable in the tinted 
 glories of the stained windows, fling broad patches of pur 
 ple, emerald, and yellow, upon the intaglio pavement. 
 
 Along the nave (a hedge, as it were, on either side) are 
 hung curtains of cloth cf gold. 
 
 The high altar, inclosed by a balustrade of colored mar 
 ble raised en steps richly carpeted, glitters with gemmed 
 chalices and crosses. Behind, countless wax-lights illumi 
 nate the rich frescoes of the tribune. The Chapel of the 
 Holy Countenance (midway up the nave), inclosed by a 
 gilded net-work, is a dazzling mountain of light flung from 
 a thousand golden sconces. A black figure as large as life 
 rests upon the altar. It is stretched upon a cross. The 
 eyes are white and glassy ; the thorn-crowned head leans 
 on one side. The body is enveloped in a damascened robe 
 spangled with jewels. This robe descends to the feet, 
 which are cased in shoes of solid gold. The right foot 
 rests on a sacramental cup glittering with gems. On either 
 side are angels, with arms extended. One holds a massive 
 sceptre, the other the silver keys of the city of Lucca. 
 
 All waits. The bride, glorious in her garment of nee 
 dle-work, waits. The bridegroom waits. The sacramental 
 banquet is spread ; the guests are bidden. All waits the 
 moment when the multitude, already buzzing without at 
 the western entrance, shall spread themselves over the mo 
 saic floor, and throng each chapel, altar, gallery, and tran 
 sept when anthems of praise shall peal from the double 
 doors of the painted organ, and holy rites give a mystic 
 language to the sacred symbols around. 
 
 Meanwhile the procession flashes from street to street. 
 Banners flutter in the hot mid-day air, tall crucifixes and
 
 THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA. 19 
 
 golden crosses reach to the upper stories. In the pauses 
 the low hum of the chanted canticles is caught up here and 
 there along the line now the monks then the canons 
 with a nasal twang then the laity. 
 
 There are the judges, twelve in number, robed in black, 
 scarlet, and ermine, their broad crimson sashes sweeping 
 the pavement. The gonfaloniere that ancient title of 
 republican freedom still remaining walks behind, attired 
 in antique robes. Next appear the municipality wealthy, 
 oily-faced citizens, at this moment much overcome by the 
 heat. Following these are the Lucchese nobles, walking 
 two-and-two, in a precedence not prescribed by length of 
 pedigree, but of age. Next comes the prefect of the city; 
 at his side the general in command of the garrison of Luc 
 ca, escorted by a brilliant staff. Each bears a tall lighted 
 torch. 
 
 The law and the army are closely followed by the church. 
 All are there, t\vo-and-two from the youngest deacon to 
 the oldest canon in his robe of purple silk edged with gold 
 wearing a white mitre. The church is generally corpu 
 lent ; these dignitaries are no exception. 
 
 Amid a cloud of incense walks the archbishop a tall, 
 stately man, in the prime of life under a canopy of crim 
 son silk resting on gold staves, borne over him by four 
 canons habited in purple. He moves along, a perfect mass 
 of brocade, lace, and gold literally aflame in the sunshine. 
 His mitred head is bent downward ; his eyes are half closed ; 
 his lips move. In his hands which are raised almost level 
 with his face, and reverently covered by his vestments 
 he bears a gemmed vessel containing the Host, to be laid 
 by-and-by on the altar of the Holy Countenance. All the 
 church-bells are now ringing furiously. Cannons fire, and 
 military bands drown the low hum of the chanting. Every 
 head is uncovered many, specially women, are prostrate 
 on the stones.
 
 20 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Arrived at the basilica of San Frediano, the procession 
 halts under the Byzantine mosaic on a gold ground, over 
 the entrance. The entire chapter is assembled before the 
 open doors. They kneel before the archbishop carrying 
 the Host. Again there is a halt before the snowy fa9ade 
 of the church of San Michele, pillared to the summit with 
 slender columns of Carrara marble on the topmost pin 
 nacle a colossal statue of the archangel, in golden bronze, 
 the outstretched wings glistening against the turquoise 
 sky. Here the same ceremonies are repeated as at the 
 church of San Frediano. The archbishop halts, the chant 
 ing ceases j the Host is elevated, the assembled priests 
 adore it, kneeling without the portal. 
 
 It is one o'clock before the archbishop is enthroned 
 within the cathedral. The chapter, robed in red and pur 
 ple, are ranged behind him in the tribune at the back of 
 the high altar, the grand old frescoes hovering over them. 
 The secular dignitaries are seated on benches below the 
 altar-steps. Palchi (boxes), on either side of the nave, 
 are filled with Lucchese ladies, dark-haired, dark-eyed, 
 olive-skinned, backed by the crimson draperies with which 
 the nave is dressed. 
 
 A soft fluttering of fans agitates feathers, lace, and rib 
 bons. Fumes of incense mix -with the scent of strong 
 perfumes. Not the smallest attention is paid by the 
 ladies to the mass which is celebrating at the high altar 
 and the altar of the Holy Countenance. Their jeweled 
 hands hold no missal, their knees are unbent, their lips 
 utter no prayer. Instead, there are bright glances from 
 lustrous eyes, and whispered words to favored golden 
 youths (without religion, of course what has a golden 
 youth to do with religion ?) who have insinuated themselves 
 within the ladies' seats, or lean over, gazing at them with 
 upturned faces. 
 
 Peal after peal of musical thunder rolls from the double
 
 THE CATHEDRAL OF LUCCA. 21 
 
 organs. It is caught up by the two orchestras placed in 
 gilt galleries on either side of the nave. A vocal chorus 
 on this side responds to exquisite voices on that. Now a 
 flute warbles a luscious solo, then a flageolet. A grand 
 barytone bursts forth, followed by a tenor soft as the notes 
 of a nightingale, accompanied by a boy on the violin. 
 Then there is the crash of many hundred voices, with the 
 muffled roar of two organs. It is the Gloria in Excelsis. 
 As the music rolls down the pillared nave out into the 
 crowded piazza, where it dies away in harmonious mur 
 murs, an iron cresset, suspended from the vaulted ceiling 
 of the nave, filled with a bundle of flax, is fired. The flax 
 blazes for a moment, then passes away in a shower of glit 
 tering sparks that glitter upon the inlaid floor. Sic tran 
 sit gloria mundi is the motto. (Now the lighting of this 
 flax is a special privilege accorded to the Archbishop of 
 Lucca by the pope, and jealously guarded by him.)
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE THREE WITCHES. 
 
 MAISTY carriages wait outside the cathedral, in the shade 
 near the fountain. The fountain gushing upward joyous 
 ly in the beaming sunshine out of a red-marble basin is 
 just beyond the atrium, and visible through the arches on 
 that side. Beyond the fountain, terminating the piazza, 
 there is a high wall. This wall supports a broad marble 
 terrace, with heavy balustrades, extending from the back 
 of a mediaeval palace. Over the wall green vine-branches 
 trail, sweeping the pavement, like ringlets that have fallen 
 out of curl. This wall and terrace communicate with the 
 church of San Giovanni, an ancient Lombard basilica on 
 that side. Under the shadow of the heavy roof some girls 
 are trying to waltz to the sacred music from the cathedral. 
 After a few turns they find it difficult, and leave off. The 
 men in livery, waiting along with the carriages, laugh at 
 them lazily. The girls retreat, and group themselves on 
 the steps of a deeply-arched doorway with a bass-relief of 
 the Virgin and angels, leading into the church, and talk in 
 low voices. 
 
 A ragged boy from the Garfagnana, with a tray of 
 plaster heads of Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi, has put 
 down his wares, and is turning wheels upon the pavement, 
 before the servants, for a penny. An old man pulls out
 
 THE THREE WITCHES. 23 
 
 from under his cloak a dancing dog, with crimson collar 
 and bells, and collects a little crowd under the atrium of 
 the cathedral. A soldier, touched with compassion, takes 
 a crust from his pocket to reward the dancing dog, which, 
 overcome by the temptation, drops on his four legs, runs 
 to him, and devours it, for which delinquency the old man 
 beats him severely. His yells echo loudly among the pil 
 lars, and drown the rich tide of harmony that ebbs and 
 flows through the open portals. The beggars have be 
 taken themselves to their accustomed seats on the marble 
 steps of the cathedral, San Martin of Tours, parting his 
 cloak carved in alt-relief, over the central entrance look 
 ing down upon them encouragingly. These beggars clink 
 their metal boxes languidly, or sleep, lying flat on the 
 stones. A group of women have jammed themselves into 
 a corner between the cathedral and the hospital adjoining 
 it on that side. They are waiting to see the company pass 
 out. Two of them standing close together are talking 
 eagerly. 
 
 " My gracious ! who would have thought that old witch, 
 the Guinigi," whispers Carlotta Carlotta owned a little 
 mercery-shop in a side-street running by the palace, right 
 under the tower to her gossip Brigitta, an occasional cus 
 tomer for cotton and buttons, " who would have thought 
 that she gracious ! who would have thought she dared to 
 shut up her palace the day of the festival? Did you 
 see ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did," answers Brigitta. 
 
 " Curses on her ! " hisses out Carlotta, showing her black 
 teeth. " Listen to me, she will have a great misfortune 
 mark my words a great misfortune soon the stingy old 
 devil!" 
 
 Hearing the organ at that instant, Brigitta kneels on 
 the stones, and crosses herself; then rises and looks at Car 
 lotta.
 
 24: THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " St. Nicodemus will have his revenge, never fear." 
 
 Carlotta is still speaking. Brigitta shakes her head 
 prophetically, again looking at Carlotta, whose deep-sunk 
 eyes are fixed upon her. 
 
 " Checco says Checco is a shoemaker, and he knows 
 the daughter of the man who helps the butler in Casa 
 Guinigi Checco says she laughs at the Holy Counte 
 nance. Domine Dio ! what an infamy ! " cries Carlotta, 
 in a cracked voice, raising her skinny hands and shaking 
 them in the air. " I hate the Guinigi ! I hate her ! I spit 
 on her, I curse her ! " 
 
 There is such venom in Carlotta's looks and in Carlot 
 ta's words that Brigitta suddenly takes her eyes off a man 
 with a red waistcoat whom she is ogling, but who by no 
 means reciprocates her attention, and asks Carlotta sharply, 
 " Why she hates the marchesa ? " 
 
 "Listen," answers Carlotta, holding up her finger. 
 " One day, as I came out of my little shop, s/te" and Car 
 lotta points with her thumb over her shoulder toward the 
 street of San Simone and the Guinigi Palace "she was 
 driving along the street in her old Noah's Ark of a car 
 riage. Alas ! I am old and feeble, and the horses came 
 along quickly. I had no time to get into the little square 
 of San Barnabo, out of the way ; the wheel struck me on 
 the shoulder, I fell down. Yes, I fell down on the hard 
 pavement, Brigitta." And Carlotta sways her grizzly head 
 from side to side, and grasps the other's arm so tightly 
 that Brigitta screams. " Brigitta, the marchesa saw me. 
 She saw me lying there, but she never stopped nor turned 
 her head. I lay on the stones, sick and very sore, till a 
 neighbor, Antonio the carpenter, who works in the little 
 square, a good lad, picked me up and carried me home." 
 
 As she speaks, Carlotta's eyes glitter like a serpent's. 
 She shakes all over. 
 
 " Lord have mercy ! " exclaims Brigitta, looking hard at
 
 THE THREE WITCHES. 25 
 
 her; "that was bad!" Carlotta was over eighty; her 
 face was like tanned leather, her skin loose and shriveled ; 
 a handful of gray hair grew on the top of her head, and 
 was twisted up with a silver pin. Brigitta was also of a 
 goodly age, but younger than Carlotta, fat and portly, and 
 round as a barrel. She was pitted by the small-pox, and 
 had but one eye ; but, being a widow, and well-to-do in the 
 world, is not without certain pretensions. She wears a 
 yellow petticoat and a jacket trimmed with black lace. In 
 her hair, black and frizzly as a negro's, a rose is stuck on 
 one side. The hair had been dressed that morning by a 
 barber, to whom she paid five francs a month for this adorn 
 ment. Some rows of dirty seed-pearl are fastened round 
 her fat throat ; long gold ear-rings bob in her ears, and in 
 her hand is a bright paper fan, with which she never ceases 
 fanning herself. 
 
 " She's never spent so much as a penny at my shop," 
 Carlotta goes on to say. " Not a penny. She'd not spare 
 a flask of wine to a beggar dying at her door. Stuck-up 
 old devil ! But she's ruined, ruined with lawsuits. Ruined, 
 I say. Ha ! ha ! Her time will come." 
 
 Finding Carlotta wearisome, Brigitta's one eye has 
 again wandered off to the man with the red waistcoat. 
 Carlotta sees this, watching her out of her deep-set, glassy 
 eyes. Speak Carlotta will, and Brigitta shall listen, she 
 was determined. 
 
 " I could tell you things " she lowers her voice and 
 speaks into the other's ear " things horrors about Casa 
 Guinigi ! " 
 
 Brigitta starts. " Gracious ! You frighten me ! What 
 things?" 
 
 " Ah, things that would make your hair stand on end. 
 It is I who say it," and Carlotta snaps her fingers and 
 nods. 
 
 " You know things, Carlotta ? You pretend to know 
 2
 
 26 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 what happens in Casa Guinigi? Nonsense! You are 
 mad ! " 
 
 "Am I?" retorts the other. "We shall see. Who 
 wins boasts. I'm not so mad, anyhow, as the marchesa, 
 who shuts up her palace on the festival, and offends St. 
 Nicodemus and all the saints and martyrs," and Carlotta's 
 eyes flash, and her white eyebrows twitch. 
 
 " However" and again she lays her bony hand heavily 
 on Brigitta's fat arm " if you don't want to hear what I 
 know about Casa Guinigi, I will not tell you." Carlotta 
 shuts up her mouth and nodds defiantly. 
 
 This was not at all what Brigitta desired. If there was 
 any thing to be told, she would like to hear it. 
 
 " Come, come, Carlotta, don't be angry. You may know 
 mucli more than I do ; you are always in your shop, except 
 on festivals. The door is open, and you can see into the 
 street of San Simone, up and down. But speak low ; for 
 there are Lisa and Cassandra close behind, and they will 
 hear. Tell me, Carlotta, what is it? " 
 
 Brigitta speaks very coaxingly. 
 
 " Yes," replies the old woman, " I can see both the 
 Guinigi palaces from my door both the palaces. If the 
 marchesa knew " 
 
 " Go on, go on ! " says Brigitta, nudging her. She 
 leans forward to listen. " Go on. People are coming out 
 of the cathedral." 
 
 Carlotta raises her head and grins, showing the few 
 black teeth left in her mouth. " Are they ? Well, answer 
 me. Who lives in the street there the street of San Si 
 mone as well as the marchesa ? Who has a fine palace 
 that the marchesa sold him, a palace on which he has 
 spent ah ! so much, so much ? Who keeps open house, 
 and has a French cook, and fine furniture, and new clothes, 
 and horses in his stable, and six carriages ? Who ? 
 who?"
 
 THE THREE WITCHES. 27 
 
 As old Carlotta puts these questions she sways her body 
 to and fro, and raises her finger to her nose. 
 
 " Who is strong, and square, and fair, and smooth ? 
 Who goes in and out with a smile on his face ? Who ? 
 who?" 
 
 " Why, Nobili, of course Count Nobili. We all know 
 that," answered Brigitta, impatiently. " That's no news. 
 But what has Nobili to do with the marchesa ? " 
 
 " What has he to do with the marchesa ? Listen, 
 Madama Brigitta. I will tell you. Do you know that, of 
 all gentlemen in Lucca, the marchesa hates Nobili ? " 
 
 " Well, and what then ? " 
 
 " She hates him because he is rich and spends his money 
 freely, and because she the Guinigi lives in the same 
 street and sees it. It turns sour upon her stomach, like 
 milk in a thunder-storm. She hates him." 
 
 " Well, is that all ? " interrupts Brigitta. 
 
 Carlotta puts up her chin close to Brigitta's face, and 
 clasps her tightly by the shoulder with both her skinny 
 hands. " That is not all. The marchesa has her own niece, 
 who lives with her a doll of a girl, with a white face 
 puff! not worth a feather to look at ; only a cousin of the 
 marchesa's husband; but, she's the only one left, all the 
 same. They are so thin-blooded, the Guinigi, they have 
 come to an end. The old woman never had a child ; she 
 would have starved it." 
 
 Carlotta lowers her voice, and speaks into Brigitta's ear. 
 " Nobili loves the niece. The marchesa would have the 
 carbineers out if she knew it." 
 
 " Oh ! " breaks from Brigitta, under her breath. " This 
 is fine ! splendid ! Are you sure of this, Carlotta ? quite 
 sure ? " 
 
 " As sure as that I like meat, and only get it on Sun 
 days. Sure ? I have seen it with my own eyes. Checco 
 knows the granddaughter of the man who helps the cook
 
 28 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Nobili pays like a lord, as he is ! He spends his money, 
 he does ! Nobili writes to the niece, and she answers. 
 Listen. To-day, the marchesa shut up her palace and put 
 a chain on the door. But chains can be unloosed, locks 
 broken. Enrica (that's the niece) at daybreak comes out 
 to the arched gate-way that opens from the street into the 
 Moorish garden at the farther side of the palace she comes 
 out and talks to Nobili for half an hour, under cover of the 
 ivy that hangs over the wall on that side. Teresa, the 
 maid, was there too, but she stood behind. Nobili wore a 
 long cloak that covered him all over ; Enrica had a thick 
 veil fastened round her head and face. They didn't see me, 
 but I watched them from behind Pietro's house, at the cor 
 ner of the street opposite. First of all, Enrica puts her 
 head out of the gate-way. Teresa puts hers out next. 
 Then Enrica waves her hand toward the palace opposite, a 
 side-door opens piano piano, Nobili appears, and watches 
 all round to see that no one is near ha ! ha ! his young 
 eyes didn't spy out my old ones though, for all that No 
 bili appears, I say, then he puts his hand to his heart, and 
 gives such a look across the street ! Ahi 1 it makes my 
 old blood boil to see it. I was pretty once, and liked such 
 looks. You may think my eyes are dim, but I can see as 
 far as another." 
 
 And the old hag chuckles spitefully, and winks at Bri- 
 gitta, enjoying her surprise. 
 
 " Madre di Dio ! " exclaims this one. " There will be 
 fine work." 
 
 " Yes, truly, very fine work. The marchesa shall know 
 it ; all Lucca shall know it too mark my words, all Lucca ! 
 Curses on the Guinigi root and branch ! I will humble 
 them ! Curses on them ! " imimbles Carlotta. 
 
 " And what did Nobili do ? " asks Brigitta. 
 
 " Do ? Why, seeing no one, he came across and kissed 
 Enrica's hand ; I saw it. He made as if he would have
 
 THE THREE WITCHES. 29 
 
 knelt upon the stones, only she would not let him. Then 
 they whispered for, as near as I can guess, half an hour 
 Teresa standing apart. There was the sound of a cart then 
 coming along the street, and presto ! Enrica was within 
 the garden in an instant, the gate was closed, and Nobili 
 disappeared." 
 
 Any further talk is now cut short by the approach of 
 Cassandra, a friend of Brigitta's. Cassandra is a servant 
 in a neighboring eating-house, a tall, large-boned woman, 
 a colored handkerchief tied over her head, and much taw 
 dry jewelry about her hands and neck. 
 
 " What are you two chattering about ? " asks Cassan 
 dra sharply. " It seems entertaining. What's the news ? 
 I get paid for news at my shop. Tell me directly." 
 
 " Lotta here was only relating to me all about her grand 
 child," answers Biigitta, with a w r hine. Brigitta was rather 
 in dread of Cassandra, whose temper was fierce, and who, 
 being strong, knocked people down occasionally if they 
 offended her. 
 
 " Lotta was telling me, too, that she wants fresh stores 
 for her shop, but all her money is gone to the grandchild 
 in the hospital, who is ill, very ill ! " and Brigitta sighs and 
 turns up the whites of her eyes. 
 
 " Yes, yes," joins in Carlotta, a dismal look upon her 
 shriveled old face. " Yes it is just that. All the money 
 gone to the grandchild, the son of my Beppo that's the 
 soldier who is with the king's army. Alas ! all gone ; my 
 money, my son, and all." 
 
 Here Carlotta affects to groan and wring her hands de 
 spairingly. 
 
 The mass was now nearly over; many people were al 
 ready leaving the cathedral ; but the swell of the organs 
 and the sweet tones of voices still burst forth from time to 
 time. Festive masses are always long. It might not seem 
 so to the pretty ladies in the boxes, still perseveringly fan-
 
 30 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 ning themselves, nor to the golden youths who were divert 
 ing them ; but the prospect of dinner and a siesta was a 
 temptation stronger than the older portion of the congre 
 gation could resist. By twos and threes they slipped out. 
 
 This is the moment for the three women to use their 
 eyes and their tongues very softly indeed for they were 
 now elbowed by some of the best people in Lucca but to 
 use them. 
 
 " There's Baldassare, the chemist's son," whispers Bi i- 
 gitta, who was using her one eye diligently. 
 
 " Mercy ! That new coat was never cut in Lucca. They 
 need sell many drugs at papa-chemists' to pay for Baldas- 
 sare's clothes. Why, he's combed and scented like a spice- 
 tree. He's a good-looking fellow ; the great ladies like 
 him." This was said with a knock-me-down air by Cassan 
 dra. " He dines at our place every day. It's a pleasure to 
 see his black curls and smell his scented handkerchief." 
 
 A cluster of listeners had now gathered round Cassan 
 dra, who, conscious of an audience, thought it worth her 
 while to hold forth. Shaking out the folds of her gown, 
 she leaned her back against the wall, and pointed with a 
 finger on which were some trumpery rings. Cassandra 
 knew everybody, and was determined to make those about 
 her aware of it. " That's young Count Orsetti and his mam 
 ma ; they give a grand ball to-night." (Cassandra is stand 
 ing on tiptoe now, the better to observe those who pass.) 
 " There she goes to her carriage. Ahi ! how grand ! The 
 coachman and the valet with gold-lace and silk stockings. 
 I would fast for a week to ride once in such a carriage. 
 Oh ! I would give any thing to splash the mud in people's 
 faces. She's a fine woman the Orsetti. Observe her 
 light hair. Madonna mia ! What a train of silk ! Twelve 
 shillings a yard not a penny less. She's got a cavalierc 
 still. He ! he ! a cavaliere ! " 
 
 Carlotta grins, and winks her wicked old eyes.
 
 THE THREE WITCHES. 31 
 
 " She wants to marry her son to Teresa Ottolini. He's 
 a poor silly little fellow ; but rich very rich." 
 
 "Who's that fat man in a brown coat ? " asks Brigitta. 
 " He's like a maggot in a fresh nut ! " 
 
 " That's my master a fine-made man," answers Cassan 
 dra, frowning and pinching in her lips, with an affronted 
 air, " Take care what you say about my master, Brigitta ; 
 I shall allow no observations." 
 
 Brigitta turns aside, puts her tongue in her cheek, and 
 glances maliciously at Carlotta, who nods. 
 
 "How do you know how your master is made, Cas 
 sandra mia ? " asks Brigitta, looking round, with a short 
 laugh. 
 
 "Because I have eyes in my head," replies Cassandra, 
 defiantly. " My master, the padrone of the Pelican Hotel, 
 is not a man one sees every day in the week ! " 
 
 A tall priest now appears from within the church, coming 
 down the nave, in company with a rosy-faced old gentleman, 
 who, although using a stick, walks briskly and firmly. He 
 has a calm and pleasant face, and his hair, which lies in 
 neat little curls upon his forehead, is as white as snow. 
 One moment the rosy old gentleman talks eagerly with the 
 priest; the next he sinks upon his knees on the pavement, 
 and murmurs prayers at a side altar. He does this so ab 
 ruptly that the tall priest stumbles over him. There are 
 many apologies, and many bows. Then the old gentleman 
 rises, dusts his clothes carefully with a white handkerchief, 
 and walks on, talking eagerly as before. Both he and the 
 priest bend low to the high altar, dip their fingers in the 
 holy-water, cross themselves, bend again to the altar, turn 
 ing right and left before leaving the cathedral. 
 
 " That's Fra Pacifico," cries Carlotta, greatly excited 
 " Fra Pacifico, the Marchesa Guinigi's chaplain. He's come 
 down from Corellia for the festival." Carlotta is proud to 
 show that she knows somebody, as well as Cassandra.
 
 3.3 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " When lie is in Lucca, Fra Pacifico passes my shop every 
 morning' to say mass in the marchesa's private chapel. He 
 knows all her sins." 
 
 " And the old gentleman with him," puts in Cassandra, 
 twitching her hook nose, " is old Trenta Cesare Trenta, 
 the cavaliere. Bless his dear old face ! The duke loved 
 him well. He was chamberlain at the palace. He's a gen 
 tleman all over, is Cavaliere Trenta. There there. Look ! " 
 and she points eagerly " that's the Red count, Count 
 Marescotti, the republican." 
 
 Cassandra lowers her voice, afraid to be overheard, and 
 fixes her eyes on a man whose every feature and gesture 
 proclaimed him an aristocrat. 
 
 Excited by the grandeur of the service, Marescotti's 
 usually pale face is suffused with color; his large black 
 eyes shine with inner lights. Looking neither to the right 
 nor to the left, he walks through the atrium, straight down 
 the marble steps, into the piazza. As he passes the three 
 women they draw back against the Avail. There is a dig 
 nity about Marescotti that involuntarily awes them. 
 
 " That's the man for the people ! " Cassandra still 
 speaks under her breath. "He'll give us a republic yet." 
 
 Following close on Count Marescotti comes Count No- 
 bili. There are ease and conscious strength and freedom in 
 his every movement. He pauses for a moment on the up 
 permost step under the central arch of the atrium and gazes 
 round. The sun strikes upon his fresh-complexioned face 
 and lights up his fair hair and restless eyes. It is clear to 
 see no care has yet troubled that curly head of his. No- 
 bili is closely followed by a lady of mature age, dark, thin, 
 and sharp-featured. She has a glass in her eye, with which 
 she peers at every thing and everybody. This is the Mar- 
 chesa Boccarini. She is followed by her three daughters ; 
 two of them of no special attraction, but the youngest, 
 Nera, dark and strikingly handsome. These three young
 
 THE THREE WITCHES. 33 
 
 ladies, all matrimonially inclined, but Nera specially, had 
 carefully watched the instant when Nobili left his seat. 
 Then they had followed him closely. It was intended that 
 he should escort them home. Nera has already decided 
 what she will say to him touching the Orsetti ball that even 
 ing and the cotillon, which she means to dance with him 
 if she can. But Nobili, with whom they come up under 
 the portico, merely responds to their salutation with a low 
 bow, raises his hat, and stands aside to make way for them. 
 He docs not even offer to hand them to their carriage. 
 They pass, and are gone. 
 
 As Count Nobili descends the three steps into the 
 piazza, he is conscious that all eyes are fixed upon him ; that 
 every head is uncovered. He pauses, casts his eyes round 
 at the upturned faces, raises his hat. and smiles, then puts 
 his hand into his pocket, and takes out a gold-piece, which 
 he gives to the nearest beggar. The beggar, seizing the 
 gold-piece, blesses him, and hopes that " Heaven will ren 
 der to him according to his merits." Other beggars, from 
 every corner, are about to rush upon him ; but Nobili deft 
 ly escapes from these as he had escaped from the Marchesa 
 Boccarini and her daughters, and is gone. 
 
 "A lucky face," mumbles old Cavlotta, working her 
 under lip, as she fixes her bleared eyes on him " a lucky 
 face ! He will choose the winning number in the lottery, 
 and the evil eye will never harm him." 
 
 The music had now ceased. The mass was over. The 
 vast congregation poured through the triple doors into the 
 piazza, and mingled with the outer crowd. For a while 
 both waved to and fro, like billows on a rolling sea, then 
 settled down into one compact current, which, flowing on 
 ward, divided and dispersed itself through the openings 
 into the various streets abutting on the piazza. 
 
 Last of all, Carlotta, Brigitta, and Cassandra, leave their 
 corner. They are speedily engulfed in the shadows of a 
 neighboring alley, and are seen no more.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MAKCHESA GUINIGI. 
 
 THE stern and repulsive aspect of the exterior of the 
 Marchesa Guinigi's palace belied the antique magnificence 
 within. 
 
 Turning to the right under an archway from the damp, 
 moss-grown court over which the tower throws a perpetual 
 shadow, a broad staircase, closed by a door of open iron 
 work, leads to the first story (the piano noMle). Here an 
 anteroom, with Etruscan urns and fragments of mediaeval 
 sculpture let into the walls, gives access to a great sala, or 
 hall, where Paolo Guinigi entertained the citizens and 
 magnates of Lucca with sumptuous hospitality. 
 
 The vaulted ceiling, divided into compartments by 
 heavy panels, is profusely gilt, and painted in fresco by 
 Venetian masters ; but the gold is dulled by age, and the 
 frescoes are but dingy patches of what once was color. 
 The walls, ornamented with Flemish tapestry, represent 
 the Seven Labors of Hercules the bright colors all faded 
 out and blurred like the frescoes. Above, on the surface 
 of polished walnut-wood, between the tapestry and the 
 ceiling, are hung suits of mail, helmets, shields, swords, 
 lances, and tattered banners. 
 
 Every separate piece has its history. Each lance, in 
 the hand of some mediaeval hero of the name, has trans-
 
 THE MARCIIESA GUINIGI. ?j 
 
 fixed a foe, every sword has been dyed in the life-blood of 
 a Ghibelline. 
 
 At the four corners of the hall are four doorways cor 
 responding to each other. Before each doorway hang 
 curtains of Genoa velvet, embroidered in gold with the 
 Guinigi arms surmounted by a princely coronet. Time 
 has mellowed these once crimson curtains to dingy red. 
 From the hall, entered by these four doors, open out end 
 less suites of rooms, enriched with the spoils of war and 
 the splendor of feudal times. Not a chair, not a table, has 
 been renewed, or even shifted from its place, since the four 
 teenth century, when Paolo Guinigi reigned absolute in 
 Lucca. 
 
 On first entering, it is difficult to distinguish any thing 
 in the half-light. The narrow Gothic casements of the 
 whole floor are closed, both those toward the street and 
 those facing inward upon the inner court. . The outer wood 
 en shutters are also closely fastened. The marchesa would 
 consider it a sacrilege to allow light OP even outer air to 
 penetrate in these rooms, sacred to the memory of her 
 great ancestors. 
 
 First in order after the great hall is a long gallery 
 paneled with dark marble. It has a painted ceiling, and a 
 mosaic floor. Statues and antique busts, presented by the 
 emperor to Paolo Guinigi, are ranged on either side. This 
 gallery leads through various antechambers to the retiring- 
 room, where, in feudal times, the consort of the reigning 
 lord presided when the noble dames of Lucca visited her 
 on state occasions a victory gained over the Pisans or 
 Florentines the conquest of a rebellious city, Pistoia per 
 haps the birth of a son ; or the anniversary of national 
 festivals. Pale-blue satin stuffs and delicate brocades, 
 crossed with what was once glittering threads of gold, 
 cover the walls. Rows of Venetian-glass chandeliers, 
 tinted in every shade of loveliest color, fashioned into col-
 
 36 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 ored knots, pendants, and flowers, hang from the painted 
 rafters. Mirrors, set in ponderous frames of old Florentine 
 gilding, dimly reflect every object; narrow, high-backed 
 chairs and carved wooden benches, sculptured mosaic tables 
 and ponderous sideboards covered with choice pottery from 
 Gubbio and Savona, and Lucca della Robbia ware. Sunk 
 in recesses there are dark cupboards filled with mediaeval 
 salvers, goblets, and flagons, gold dishes, and plates, and ves 
 sels of filigree and silver. Ivory carvings hang on the walls 
 beside dingy pictures, or are ranged on tables of Sicilian 
 agate and Oriental jasper. Against the walls are also placed 
 cabinets and caskets of carved walnut-wood and ebony 
 inlaid with lapis-lazuli, jasper, and precious stones ; also 
 long, narrow coffers, richly carved, within which the corredo, 
 or trousseau, of rich brides who had matched with a Guinigi, 
 was laid. 
 
 Beyond the retiring-rocm is the presence-chamber. On 
 a dais, raised on three broad steps, stands a chair of state, 
 surmounted by a dark-velvet canopy. Above appear the 
 Guinigi arms, worked in gold and black, tarnished now, as 
 is the glory of the illustrious house they represent. Over 
 head are suspended two cardinals' hats, dropping to pieces 
 with moth and mildew. On the wall opposite the dais, be 
 tween two ranges of narrow Venetian windows, looking 
 into the court-yard, hangs the historic portrait of Castruccio 
 Castracani degli Antimelli, the Napoleon of the midttle 
 ages, whose rapid conquests raised Lucca to a sovereign 
 state. 
 
 The name of the great Castruccio (whose mother was a 
 Guinigi) is the glory of the house, his portrait more pre 
 cious than any other possession. 
 
 A gleam of ruddy light strikes through a crevice in a 
 red curtain opposite ; it falls full upon the chair of state. 
 That chair is not empty ; a tall, dark figure is seated there. 
 It is the Marchesa Guinigi. She is so thin and pale and
 
 THE MARCIIESA GUINIGI. 37 
 
 motionless, she might pass for a ghost herself, haunting 
 the ghosts of her ancestors ! 
 
 It is her custom twice a year, on the anniversary of the 
 birth and death of Castruccio Castracani to-day is the an 
 niversary of his death to unlock the door leading from the 
 hall into these state-apartments, and to remain here alone 
 for many hours. The key is always about her person, at 
 tached to her girdle. No other foot but her own is ever 
 permitted to tread these floors. 
 
 She sits in the half-light, lost in thought as in a dream. 
 Her head is raised, her arms are extended over the sides of 
 the antique chair ; her long, white hands hang down list 
 lessly. Her eyes wander vaguely along the floor ; gradu 
 ally they raise themselves to the portrait of her great 
 ancestor opposite. How well she knows every line and 
 feature of that stern but heroic countenance, every dark curl 
 upon that classic head, wreathed with ivy-leaves ; that full, 
 expressive eye, aquiline nose, open nostril, and chiseled lip ; 
 every fold in that ermine-bordered mantle a present from 
 the emperor, after the victory of Altopasso, and the triumph 
 of the Ghibellines ! Looking into the calmness of that im 
 pressive face, in the mystery of the darkened presence-cham 
 ber, she can forget that the greatness of her house is fallen, 
 the broad lands sold or mortgaged, the treasures granted by 
 the state lavished, one even of the ancestral palaces sold ; 
 nay, worse, not only sold, but desecrated by commerce in 
 the person of Count Nobili. 
 
 Seated there, on the seigneurial chair, under the regal 
 canopy, she can forget all this. For a few short hours she 
 can live again in the splendor of the past the past, when 
 a Guinigi was the equal of kings, his word more absolute 
 than law, his frown more terrible than death ! 
 
 Before the marchesa is a square table of dark marble, 
 on which in old time was laid the sword of state (a special 
 insignia of office), borne before the Lord of Lucca in public
 
 38 TIIE ITALIANS. 
 
 processions, embassies, and tournaments. This table is 
 now covered with small piled-up heaps of gold and silver 
 coin (the gold much less in quantity than the silver). There 
 are a few jewels, and some diamond pendants in antique 
 settings, a diamond necklace, crosses, medals, and orders, 
 and a few uncut gems and antique intaglios. 
 
 The marchesa takes up each object and examines it. 
 She counts the gold-pieces, putting them back again one 
 by one in rows, by tens and twenties. She handles the 
 crisp bank-notes. She does this over and over again so 
 slowly and so carefully, it would seem, as if she expected 
 the money to grow under her fingers. She has placed all 
 in order before her the jewels on one side, the money and 
 the notes on the other. As she moves them to and fro on 
 the smooth marble with the points of her long fingers, she 
 shakes her head and sighs. Then she touches a secret 
 spring, and a drawer opens from under the table. Into 
 this drawer she deposits all that lies before her, her fingers 
 still clinging to the gold. 
 
 After a while she rises, and casting a parting glance at 
 the portrait of Castruccio among all her ancestors Cas- 
 truccio was the object of her special reverence she moves 
 leisurely onward through the various apartments lying 
 beyond the presence-chamber. 
 
 The doors, draped with heavy tapestry curtains, are all 
 open. It is a long, gloomy suite of rooms, where the sun 
 never shines, looking into the inner court. 
 
 The marchesa's steps are noiseless, her countenance 
 grave and pale. Here and there she pauses to gaze into 
 the face of a picture, or to brush off the dust from some 
 object specially dear to her. She pauses, minutely observ 
 ing every thing around her. 
 
 There is a dark closet, with a carved wooden cornice 
 and open raftered roof, the walls covered with stamped 
 leather. Here the familv councils assembled. Next comes
 
 THE MARCHESA GUINIGI, 39 
 
 a long 1 , narrow, low-roofed gallery, where row after row of 
 portraits and pictures illustrate the defunct Guinigi. In 
 that centre panel hangs Francesco dei Guinigi, who, for 
 courtesy and riches, surpassed all others in Lucca. (Fran 
 cesco was the first to note the valor of his young cousin 
 Castruccio, to whom he taught the art of war.) Near him 
 hangs the portrait of Ridolfo, who triumphantly defeated 
 Uguccione della Faggiola, the tyrant of Pisa, under the 
 very walls of that city. Farther on, at the top of the room, 
 is the likeness of the great Paolo himself a dark, olive- 
 skinned man, with a hard-lipped mouth, and resolute eyes, 
 clad in a complete suit of gold-embossed armor. By 
 Paolo's side appears Battista, who followed the Crusades, 
 and entered Jerusalem with Godfrey de Bouillon; also 
 Gianni, grand-master of the Knights Hospitallers of St. 
 John the golden rose presented to him by the pope in 
 the corner of the picture. 
 
 After the gallery come the armory and the chapel. 
 Beyond at the end of the vaulted passage, lighted from 
 above, there is a closed door of dark walnut- wood. 
 
 When the marchesa enters this vaulted passage, her 
 firm, quick step falters. As she approaches the door, she 
 is visibly agitated. Her hand trembles as she places it on 
 the heavy outside lock. The lock yields ; the door opens 
 with a creak. She draws aside a heavy curtain, then stands 
 motionless. 
 
 There is such a mist of dust, such a blackness of shadow, 
 that at first nothing is visible. Gradually, as the daylight 
 faintly penetrates by the open door, the shadows form 
 themselves into definite shapes. 
 
 Within a deep alcove, inclosed by a balustrade, stands 
 a bed its gilt cornice reaching to the ceiling, heavily cur 
 tained. This is the nuptial - chamber of the Guinigi. 
 Within that alcove, and in that bed, generation after gener 
 ation have seen the light. Not to be born in the nuptial-
 
 40 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 chamber, and in that bed within the ancestral palace, is 
 not to be a true Guinigi. 
 
 The marchesa has taken a step or two forward into 
 the room. There, wrapped in the shadows, she stands still 
 and trembles. A terrible look has come into her face sor 
 row, and longing-, and remorse. The history of her whole 
 life rises up before her. 
 
 " Is the end, then, come ? " she asks herself " and with 
 me?" 
 
 From pale she had turned ashy. The long shadows 
 from the dark curtains stretch out and engulf her. She feels 
 their dark touch, like a visible presence of evil, she shivers 
 all over. The cold damp air of the chill room comes to 
 her like wafts of deadly poison. She cannot breathe ; a 
 convulsive tremor passes over her. 
 
 She totters to the door, and leans for support against 
 the side. Yet she will not go ; she forces herself to re 
 main. To stand here, in this room, before that bed, is her 
 penance. To stand here like a criminal ! Ah, God ! is she 
 not childless? Why has she (and her hands are clinched, 
 and her breath, comes thick), why has she been stricken 
 with barrenness ? 
 
 "Why, why?" she asks herself now, as she has asked 
 herself year after year, each year with a fresh agony. Un 
 til she came, a son had never failed under that roof. Why 
 was she condemned to be alone ? She had done nothing 
 to deserve it. Had she not been a blameless wife? Why, 
 why was she so punished? Her haughty spirit stirs 
 within her. 
 
 " God is unjust," she mutters, half aloud. " God is my 
 enemy." 
 
 As the impious words fall from her lips they ring round 
 the dark bed, and die away among the black draperies. 
 The echo of her own voice fills her with dread. She rushes 
 out. The door closes heavily after her.
 
 THE MARCIIESA GUINIGI. 41 
 
 Onco removed from that fatal chamber, with its death 
 like shadows, she gradually collects herself. She has so 
 long fortified herself against all sign of outward emotion, 
 she has so hardened herself in an inner life of secret re 
 morse, this is easy at least to outward appearance. The 
 calm, frigid look natural to her face returns. Her eyes have 
 again their dark sparkle. Not a trace remains to tell what 
 her self-imposed penance has cost her. 
 
 A^ain she is the proud marchesa, the mistress of the 
 feudal palace and all its glorious memories. Yes ; and she 
 casts her eyes round where she stands, back again in the 
 retiring-room. Yes all is yet her own. True, she is im 
 poverished worse, she is laden with debt, harassed by 
 creditors. The lands that are left are heavily mortgaged ; 
 the money received from Count Nobili, as the price of the 
 palace, already spent in law. The hoard she has just 
 counted her savings destined to dower her niece Enrica, 
 in whose marriage lies the sole remaining hope of the 
 preservation of the name (and that depending on the will 
 of a husband, who may, or may not, add the name of Guinigi 
 to his own) is most slender. She has been able to add 
 nothing to it during these last years not a farthing. But 
 there is one consolation. While she lives, all is safe from 
 spoliation. While she lives, no creditor lives bold enough 
 to pass that threshold. While she lives and then ? 
 
 Further she forbids her thoughts to wander. She will 
 not admit, even to herself, that there is danger that even, 
 during her own life, she may be forced to sell what is 
 dearer to her than life the palace and the heirlooms ! 
 
 Meanwhile the consciousness of wealth is pleasant to 
 her. She opens the cupboards in the wall, and handles the 
 precious vessels of Venetian glass, the silver plates and 
 golden flagons, the jeweled cups ; she examines the ancient 
 bronzes and ivory carvings ; unlocks the caskets and the 
 inlaid cabinets, and turns over the gold guipure lace, the
 
 42 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 rich mediaeval embroideries, the christening-robes these 
 she flings quickly by and the silver ornaments. She un 
 closes the carved coffers, and passes through her long 
 fingers the wedding garments of brides turned to dust cen 
 turies ago the silver veils, bridal crowns, and quaintly - 
 cut robes of taffetas and brocade, once white, now turned 
 to dingy yellow. She assures herself that all is in its 
 place. 
 
 As she moves to and fro she catches sight of herself 
 reflected in one of the many mirrors encased in what were 
 once gorgeous frames hanging on the wall. She stops and 
 fixes her keen black e3 r es upon her own worn face. " I 
 am not old," she says aloud, " only fifty -five this year. I 
 may live many years yet. Much may happen before I die ! 
 Cesare Trenta says I am ruined " as she speaks, she turns 
 her face toward the streaks of light that penetrate the 
 shutters. " Not yet, not ruined yet. "Who knows ? I may 
 live to redeem all. Cesare said I was ruined after that 
 last suit with the chapter. He is a fool ! The money was 
 well spent. I would do it again. While I live the name 
 of Guinigi shall be honored." She pauses, as if listening 
 to the sound of her own voice. Then her thoughts glance 
 off to the future. " Who knows ? Enrica shall marry ; 
 that may set all right. She shall have all all ! " And 
 she turns and gazes earnestly through the open doors of 
 the stately rooms on either hand. " Enrica shall marry ; 
 marry as I please. She must have no will in the matter." 
 
 She stops suddenly, remembering certain indications of 
 quiet -self-well which she thinks she has already detected in 
 her niece. 
 
 " If not " (the mere supposition that her plans should 
 be thwarted thwarted by her niece, Enrica a child, a 
 tool brought up almost upon her charity rouses in her a 
 tempest of passion ; her face darkens, her eyes flash ; she 
 clinches her fist with sudden vehemence, she shakes it in
 
 THE MARCHESA GTJINIGI. 43 
 
 ilie air) " if not let her die ! " Her shrill voice wakes 
 the echoes. "Let her die!" resounds faintly through the 
 gilded rooms. 
 
 At this moment the cathedral-clock strikes four. This 
 is the first sound that has reached the marchesa from the 
 outer world since she has entered these rooms. It rouses 
 her from the thralldom of her thoughts. It recalls her to 
 the outer world. Four o'clock ! Then she has been shut 
 up for five hours ! She must go at once, or she may be 
 missed by her household. If she is missed, she may be fol 
 lowed watched. Casting a searching look round, to as 
 sure herself that all is in its place, she takes from her girdle 
 the key she always wears, and lets herself out into the 
 great hall. She relocks the door, drawing the velvet cur 
 tains carefully over it. With greater caution she unfastens 
 the other door (the entrance) on the staircase. Peeping 
 through the curtains, she assures herself that no one is on 
 the stairs. Then she softly recloses it, and rapidly ascends 
 the stairs to the second story. 
 
 That day six months, on the anniversary of Castruccio's 
 birth, which falls in the month of March, she will return 
 again to the state-rooms. No one has ever accompanied 
 her on these strange vigils. Only her friend, the Cavaliere 
 Trenta, knows that she goes there. Even to him she rare 
 ly alludes to it. It is her own secret. Her inner life is 
 with the past. Her thoughts rest with the dead. It is the 
 living 1 who are but shadows.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 EXKICA. 
 
 TIIE marchesa was in a very bad humor. Not only did 
 she stay at Lome all the day of the festival of the Holy 
 Countenance by reason of the solemn anniversary which 
 occurred at that time, but she shut herself up the following 
 day also. When the old servant (old inside and out) in 
 his shabby livery, who acted as butler, crept into her room, 
 and asked at what time " the eccellenza would take her 
 airing on the ramparts " the usual drive of the Lucchcse 
 ladies when they not only drive, but draw up under the 
 plane-trees, gossip, and eat sweetmeats and ices she had 
 answered, in a tone she would have used to a decrepit dog 
 who troubled her, " Shut the door and begone ! " 
 
 She had been snappish to Enrica. She had twitted her 
 with wanting to go to the Orsetti ball, although Enrica 
 had never been to any ball or any assembly whatever in 
 her life, and no word had been spoken about it. Enrica 
 never did speak ; she had been disciplined into silence. 
 
 Enrica, as has been said, was the marchesa's niece, and 
 lived with her. She was the only child of her sister, who 
 died when she was born. This sister (herself, as well as 
 the marchesa, born Guinigi Ruscellai) had also married a 
 Guinigi, a distant cousin of the marchesa's husband, be 
 longing to a third branch of the family, settled at Mantua.
 
 ENRICA. 45 
 
 Of this collateral branch, all had died out. Antonio Guinigi, 
 of Mantua, Enrica's father, in the prime of life, was killed 
 in a duel, resulting from one of those small social affronts 
 that so frequently do provoke duels in Italy. (I knew a cer 
 tain T who called out a certain G because G 
 
 had said T 's rooms were not properly carpeted.) Gen 
 erally these encounters with swords are as trifling in their 
 results as in their origin. But the duel in question, fought 
 by Antonio Guinigi, was unfortunately not so. He died 
 on the spot. Enrica, when two years old, was an orphan. 
 Thus it came that she had known no home but the home 
 of her aunt. The marchesa had never shown her any par 
 ticular kindness. She had ordered her servants to take 
 care of her. That was all. Scarcely ever had she kissed 
 her ; never passed her hand among the sunny curls that 
 fell upon the quiet child's face and neck. The marchesa, in 
 fact, had not so much as noticed her childish beauty and 
 enticing ways. 
 
 Enrica had grown up accustomed to bear with her 
 aunt's haughty, ungracious manners and capricious tem 
 per. She scarcely knew that there was any thing to bear. 
 She had been left to herself as long as she could remember 
 any thing. A peasant Teresa, her foster-mother had 
 come with her from Mantua, and from Teresa alone she re 
 ceived such affection as she had ever known. A mere ani 
 mal affection, however, which lost its value as she grew 
 into womanhood. 
 
 Thus it was that Eurica came to accept the marchesa's 
 rough tongue, her arrogance, and her caprices, as a normal 
 state of existence. She never complained. If she suffered, 
 it was in silence. To reason with the marchesa, much 
 more dispute with her, was worse than useless. She was 
 not accustomed to be talked to, certainly not by her niece. 
 It only exasperated her and fixed her more doggedly in 
 whatever purpose she might have in hand. But there was
 
 46 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 a certain stern sense of justice about her when left to her 
 self if only the demon of her family pride were not aroused, 
 then she was inexorable that would sometimes come to 
 the rescue. Yet, under all the tyranny of this neutral life 
 which circumstances had imposed on her, Enrica, unknown 
 to herself for how .should she, who knew so little, know 
 herself? grew up to have a strong will. She might be 
 bent, but she would never break. In this she resembled 
 the marchesa. Gentle, loving, and outwardly submissive, 
 she was yet passively determined. Even the marchesa 
 came to be dimly conscious of this, although she considered 
 it as utterly umimportant, otherwise than to punish and to 
 repress. 
 
 Shut up within the dreary palace at Lucca, or in the 
 mountain solitude of Corellia, Enrica yearned for freedom. 
 She was like a young bird, full-fledged and strong, that 
 longs to leave the parent-nest to stretch its stout wings 
 on the warm air to soar upward into the light ! 
 
 Now the light had come to Enrica. It came when she 
 first saw Count Nobili. It shone in her eyes, it dazzled 
 her, it intoxicated her. On that day a new world opened 
 before her a fair and pleasant world, light with the dawn 
 of love a world as different as golden summer to the win 
 ter of her home. How she gloried in Nobili ! How she 
 loved him ! his comely looks, his kindling smile (like sun 
 shine everywhere), his lordly ways, his triumphant pros 
 perity ! He had come to her, she knew not how. She had 
 never sought him. He had come come like fate. She 
 never asked herself if it was wrong or right to love him. 
 How could she help it? Was he not born to be loved? 
 Was he not her own a thousand times her own as he 
 told her " forever ? " She believed in him as she believed 
 in God. She neither knew nor cared whither she was drift 
 ing, so that it was with him ! She was as one sailing with 
 a fair wind on an endless sea a sea full of sunlight sail-
 
 ENRICA. 47 
 
 ing she knew not where ! Think no evil of her, I pray you. 
 She was not wicked nor deceitful only ignorant, with such 
 ignorance as made the angels fall. 
 
 As yet Nobili and Enrica had only met in such manner 
 as has been told by old Carlotta to her gossip Brigitta. 
 Letters, glances, sighs, had passed across the street, from 
 palace to palace at the Venetian casements under the 
 darkly-ivied archway of the Moorish garden at the cathe 
 dral in the gray evening light, or in the earliest glow of 
 summer mornings and this, so seldom ! Every time they 
 had met Nobili implored Enrica, passionately, to escape 
 from the thralldom of her life, implored her to become his 
 wife. With his pleading eyes fixed upon her, he asked her 
 " why she should sacrifice him to the senseless pride of 
 her aunt ? He whose whole life was hers ? " 
 
 But Enrica shrank from compliance, with a secret sense 
 that she had no right to do what he asked ; no right to 
 marry without her aunt's consent. Her love was her own 
 to give. She had thought it all out for herself, pacing up 
 and down under the cool marble arcades of the Moorish 
 garden, the splash of the fountain in her ears Teresa 
 had told her the same her love was her own to give. 
 What had her aunt done for her, her sister's child, but 
 feed and clothe her ? Indeed, as Teresa said, the marchesa 
 had done but little else. Enrica was as unconscious as 
 Teresa of those marriage schemes of her aunt which cen 
 tred in herself. Had she known what was reserved for 
 her, she would better have understood the marchesa's na 
 ture ; then she might have acted differently. But hereto 
 fore there had been no question of her marriage. Although 
 she was seventeen, she had always been treated as a mere 
 child. She scarcely dared to speak in her aunt's presence, 
 or to address a question to her. Her love, then, she 
 thought, was her own to bestow ; but more ? No, no 
 even to Nobili. He urged, he entreated, he reproached her,
 
 48 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 but in vain. He implored her to inform the marchesa of 
 their engagement. (Nobili could not offer to do this him 
 self ; the marchesa would have refused to admit him within 
 her door.) But Enrica would not consent to do even this. 
 She knew her aunt too well to trust her with her secret. 
 She knew that she was both subtle, and, where her own 
 plans were concerned, or her will thwarted, treacherous 
 also. 
 
 Enrica had been taught not only to obey the marchesa 
 implicitly, but never to dispute her will. Hitherto she had 
 had no will but hers. How, their, could she all at once 
 shake off the feeling of awe, almost terror, with which her 
 aunt inspired her ? Besides, was not the very sound of 
 Nobili's name abhorrent to her ? Why the marchesa should 
 abhor him or his name, Enrica could not tell. It was a 
 mystery to her altogether beyond her small experience of 
 life. But it was so. No, she would say nothing ; that was 
 safest. The marchesa, if displeased, was quite capable of 
 carrying her away from Lucca to Corellia perhaps leaving 
 her there alone in the mountains. She might even shut her 
 up in a convent for life ! Then she should die ! 
 
 No, she would say nothing.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MAECHESA GTJTNIGI AT HOME. 
 
 THE marchesa was, as I have said, in a very bad humor. 
 She had by no means recovered from what she conceived to 
 be the affront put upon her by the brilliant display made 
 bv Count Nobili, at the festival of the Holy Countenance, 
 nor, indeed, from the festival itself. 
 
 She had had the satisfaction of shutting up her palace, 
 it is true ; but she was not quite sure if this had impressed 
 the public mind of Lucca as she had intended. She felt 
 painful doubts as to whether the splendors opposite had 
 not so entirely engrossed public attention that no eye was 
 left to observe any thing else at least, in that street. It 
 was possible, she thought, that another year it might be 
 wiser not to shut up her palace at all, but so far to over 
 come her feelings as to exhibit the superb hangings, the 
 banners, the damask, and cloth of gold, used in the mediae 
 val festivals and processions, and thus outdo the modern 
 tinsel of Count Nobili. 
 
 Besides the festival, and Count Nobili's audacity, the 
 marchesa had a further cause for ill-humor. No one had 
 come on that evening to play her usual game of whist. 
 Even Trenta had deserted her. She had said to herself 
 that when she the Marchesa Guinigi "received," no 
 other company, no other engagement whatever, ought to 
 3
 
 50 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 interfere with the honor that her company conferred. These 
 were valid causes of ill-humor to any lady of the marchesa's 
 humor. 
 
 She was seated now in the sitting-room of her own par 
 ticular suite, one of three small and rather stuffy rooms, on 
 the second floor. These rooms consisted of an anteroom, 
 covered with a cretonne paper of blue and brown, a carpet- 
 less floor, a table, and some common, straw chairs placed 
 against the wall. From the anteroom two doors led into 
 two bedrooms, one on either side. Another door, opposite 
 the entrance, opened into the sitting-room. 
 
 All the windows this way faced toward the garden, the 
 wall of which ran parallel to the palace and to the street. 
 The marchesa's room had flaunting green walls with a red 
 border ; the ceiling was gaudily painted with angels, flowers, 
 and festoons. Some colored prints hung on the walls a 
 portrait of the Empress Eugenie on horseback, in a Spanish 
 dress, and four glaring views of Vesuvius in full eruption. 
 A divan, covered with well-worn chintz, ran round two 
 sides of the room. Between the ranges of the graceful 
 casements stood a marble console-table, with a mirror in a 
 black frame. An open card-table was placed near the mar- 
 chesa. On the table there was a pack of not over-clean 
 cards, some markers, and a pair of candles (the candles 
 still unlighted, for the days are long, and it is only six 
 o'clock). There was not a single ornament in the whole 
 room, nor any object whatever on which the eye could rest 
 with pleasure. White-cotton curtains concealed the deli 
 cate tracery and the interlacing columns of the Venetian 
 windows. Beneath lay the Moorish garden, entered from 
 the street by an arched gate-way, over which long trails of 
 ivy hung. Beautiful in itself, the Moorish garden was an 
 incongruous appendage to a Gothic palace. One of the 
 Guinigi, commanding for the Emperor Charles V., in Spain, 
 saw Granada and the Alhambra. On his return to Lucca,
 
 MARCIIESA GUINIGI AT HOME. 51 
 
 he built this architectural plaisance on a bare plot of 
 ground, used for jousts and tilting. That is its history. 
 There it has been since. It is small a city garden belted 
 inside by a pointed arcade of black-and-white marble. 
 
 In the centre is a fountain. The glistening waters 
 shoot upward refreshingly in the warm evening air, to fall 
 back on the heads of four marble lions, supporting a marble 
 basin. Fine white gravel covers the ground, broken by 
 statues and vases, and tufts of flowering shrubs growing 
 luxuriantly under the shelter of the arcade many-colored 
 altheas, flaming pomegranates, graceful pepper-trees with 
 bright, beady seeds, and magnolias, as stalwart as oaks, 
 hanging over the fountain. 
 
 The strong perfume of the magnolia-blossoms, still 
 white upon the boughs, is wafted upward to the open win 
 dow of the marchesa's sitting-room ; the sun is low, and 
 the shadows of the pointed arches double themselves upon 
 the ground. Shadows, too, high up the horizon, penetrate 
 into the room, and strike across the variegated scagliola 
 floor, and upon a table in the centre, on which a silver tray 
 is placed, with glasses of lemonade. Round the table are 
 ranged chairs of tarnished gilding, and a small settee with 
 spindle-legs. 
 
 In her present phase of life, the squalor of these rooms 
 is congenial to the marchesa. Hitherto reckless of ex 
 pense, especially in law, she has all at once grown parsi 
 monious to excess. As to the effect this change may pro 
 duce on others, and whether this mode of life is in keeping 
 with the stately palace she inhabits, the marchesa does not 
 care in the least ; it pleases her, that is enough. All her 
 life she has been quite clear on two points her belief in 
 herself, and her belief in the name she bears. 
 
 The marchesa leans back on a high-backed chair and 
 frowns. To frown is so habitual to her that the wrinkles 
 on her forehead and between her eyebrows are prematurely
 
 52 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 deepened. She has a long, sallow face, a straight nose, 
 keen black eyes, a high forehead, and a thin-lipped mouth. 
 She is upright, and well made ; and the folds of her plain 
 black dress hang about her tall figure with a certain dig" 
 nity. Her dark hair, now sprinkled with white, is fully 
 dressed, the bands combed low on her forehead. She 
 wears no ornament, except the golden cross of a chanoi- 
 nesse. 
 
 As she leans back on her* high-backed chair she silently 
 observes her niece, seated near the open window, knitting. 
 
 " If she had been my child ! " was the marchesa's 
 thought. " Why -was I denied a child ? " And she sighed. 
 
 The rays of the setting sun dance among the ripples of 
 Enrica's blond hair, and light up the dazzling whiteness of 
 her skin. Seen thus in profile, although her features are 
 regular, and her expression full of sweetness, it is rather 
 the promise than the perfection of actual beauty the rose 
 bud by-and-by to expand into the perfect flower. 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and a ruddy old face 
 looked in. It is the Cavaliere Trenta, in his official blue 
 coat and gold buttons, nankeen inexpressibles, a broad- 
 brimmed white hat and a gold-headed cane in his hand. 
 Whatever speck of dust might have had the audacity to 
 venture to settle itself upon any part of the cavaliere's 
 official blue coat, must at once have hidden its diminished 
 head after peeping at the cavaliere's beaming countenance, 
 so scrubbed and shiny, the white hair so symmetrically 
 arranged upon his forehead in little curls his whole ap 
 pearance so neat and trim. 
 
 " Is it permitted to enter ? " he asked, smiling blandly 
 at the marchesa, as, leaning upon his stick, he made her a 
 ceremonious bow. 
 
 " Yes, Cesarino, yes, you may enter," she replied, stiff 
 ly. "I cannot very well send you away now but you 
 deserve it."
 
 MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME. 53 
 
 " Why, most distinguished lady ? " again asked Trenta, 
 submissively, closing the door, and advancing to where she 
 sat. He bent down his head and kissed her hand, then 
 smiled at Enrica. " What have I done ? " 
 
 " Done ? You know you never came last night at all. 
 I missed my game of whist. I do not sleep well without 
 it." 
 
 " But, marchesa," pleaded Trenta, in the gentlest voice, 
 " I am desolated, as you can conceive desolated ; but 
 what could I do ? Yesterday was the festival of the Holy 
 Countenance, that solemn anniversary that brings prosper 
 ity to our dear city ! " And the cavaliere cast up his mild 
 blue eyes, and crossed himself upon the breast. "I was 
 most of the day in the cathedral. Such a service ! Better 
 music than last year. In the evening I had promised to 
 arrange the cotillon at Countess Orsetti's ball. As cham 
 berlain to his late highness the Duke of Lucca, it is ex 
 pected of me to organize every thing. One can leave noth 
 ing to that animal Baldassare he has no head, no system ; 
 he dances well, but like a machine. The ball was mag 
 nificent a great success," he continued, speaking rapidly, 
 for he saw that a storm was gathering on the marchesa's 
 brow, by the deepening of the wrinkles between her eyes. 
 " A great success. I took a few turns myself with Teresa 
 Ottolini tra la la la la," and he swayed his head and 
 shoulders to and fro as he hummed a waltz-tune. 
 
 " Ybuf" exclaimed the marchesa, staring at him with 
 a look of contempt " you ! " 
 
 " Yes. Why not ? I am as young as ever, dear mar 
 chesa eighty, the prime of life ! " 
 
 " The festival of the Holy Countenance and the cotil 
 lon ! " cried the marchesa, with great indignation. " Tell 
 me nothing about the Orsetti ball. I won't listen to it. 
 Good Heavens ! " she continued, reddening, " I am thirty 
 years younger than you are, but I left off dancing fifteen
 
 54 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 years ago. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cesari- 
 no!" 
 
 Cesarino only, smiled at her benignantly in reply. She 
 had called him a fool so often ! He seated himself beside 
 her without speaking. He had come prepared to entertain 
 her with an account of every detail of the ball ; but seeing 
 the temper she was in, he deemed it more prudent to be 
 silent to be silent specially about Count Nobili. The 
 mention of his name would, he knew, put her in a fury, so, 
 being a prudent man, and a courtier, he entirely dropped 
 the subject of the ball. Yet Trenta was a privileged per 
 son. He never voluntarily contradicted the marchesa, but 
 when occasion arose he always spoke his mind, fearless of 
 consequences. As he and the marchesa disagreed on al 
 most every possible subject, disputes often arose between 
 them ; but, thanks to Trenta's pliant temper and perfect 
 good-breeding, they were al \vays amicably settled. 
 
 " Count Marescotti and Baldassare are outside," con 
 tinued Trenta, looking at her inquiringly, as the marchesa 
 had not spoken. " They are waiting to know if the illus 
 trious lady receives this evening, and if she will permit 
 them to join her usual whist-party." 
 
 " Marescotti ! where may he come from ? the clouds, 
 perhaps or the last balloon ? " asked the marchesa, look 
 ing up. 
 
 " From Rome ; he arrived two days ago. He is no lon 
 ger so erratic. Will you allow him to join us ? " 
 
 "I shall certainly play my rubber if I am permitted," 
 answered the marchesa, drawing herself up. 
 
 This was intended as a sarcastic reminder of the disre 
 gard shown to her by the cavaliere the evening before; 
 but the sarcasm was quite thrown away upon Trenta ; he 
 w T as very simple and straightforward. 
 
 " The marchesa has only to command me," was his po 
 lite reply. " I wonder Marescotti and Baldassare are not
 
 MARCHESA GUINIGI AT HOME. 55 
 
 here already," he added, looking toward the door. " I left 
 them both in the street ; they were to follow me up-stairs 
 immediately." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the marchesa, smiling sarcastically, " Count 
 Marescotti is not to be trusted. Pie is a genius he may 
 be back on his way to Rome by this time." 
 
 " No, no," answered Trenta, rising and walking toward 
 the door, which he opened and held in his hand, while he 
 kept his eyes fixed on the staircase ; " Marescotti is dis 
 gusted with Rome with the Parliament, with the Govern 
 ment with every thing. He abuses the municipality be 
 cause a secret republican committee which he headed, in 
 correspondence with Paris, has been discovered by the 
 police and denounced. He had to escape in disguise." 
 
 " Well, well, I rejoice to hear it ! " broke in the mar 
 chesa. " It is a good Government ; let him find a better. 
 \Vhyhas he come to Lucca? We want no suns-culottes 
 here." 
 
 " Marescotti declares," continued the cavaliere, " that 
 even now Rome is still in bondage, and sunk in supersti 
 tion. He calls it superstition. He would like to shut up 
 all the churches. He believes in nothing but poetry and 
 Red republicans. Any kind of Christian belief he calls su 
 perstition." 
 
 "Marescotti is quite right," said the marchesa, angrily; 
 she was determined to contradict the cavaliere. " You are 
 a bigot, Trenta an old bigot. You believe every thing a 
 priest tells you. A fine exhibition we had yesterday of 
 what that comes to ! The Holy Countenance ! Do you 
 think any educated person in Lucca belives in the Holy 
 Countenance ? I do not. It is only an excuse for idleness 
 for idleness, I say. Priests love idleness ; they go into 
 the Church because they are too idle to work." She raised 
 her voice, and looked defiantly at Trenta, who stood before 
 her the picture of meek endurance holding the door-
 
 56 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 handle. " I hope I shall live to see all festivals abolished. 
 Why didn't the Government do it altogether when they 
 were about it ? no convents, no monks, no holidays, ex 
 cept on Sunday ! Make the people work work for their 
 bread ! We should have fewer taxes, and no beggars." 
 
 Trenta's benignant face had gradually assumed as 
 severe an aspect as it was capable of bearing. He pointed 
 to Enrica, of whom he had up to this time taken no notice 
 beyond a friendly smile the marchesa did not like Enrica 
 to be noticed now he pointed to her, and shook his head 
 deprecatingly. Could he have read Enrica's thoughts, he 
 need have feared no contamination to her from the mar 
 chesa ; her thoughts were far away she had not listened 
 to a single word. 
 
 " Dio Santo ! " he exclaimed at last, clasping his hands 
 together and speaking low, so as not to be overheard by 
 Enrica " that I should live to hear a Guinigi talk so ! 
 Do you forget, marchesa, that it was under the banner of 
 the blessed Holy Countenance ( Vulturum dl Lucca), 
 miraculously cast on the shores of the Ligurian Sea, that 
 your great ancestor Castruccio Castracani degli Antinielli 
 overcame the Florentines at Alto Passo ? " 
 
 " The banner didn't help him, nor St. Nicodemus either 
 I affirm that," answered she, angrily. Her temper was 
 rising. "I will not be contradicted, cavaliere don't at 
 tempt it. I never allow it. Even my husband never con 
 tradicted me and he was a Guinigi. Is the city to go 
 mad, eat, drink, and hang out old curtains because the 
 priests bid them ? Did you see Nobili's house ? " She 
 asked this question so eagerly, she suddenly forgot her 
 anger in the desire she felt to relate her injuries. "A 
 Guinigi palace dressed out like a booth at a fair ! What 
 a scandal ! This comes of usury and banking. He will be 
 a deputy soon. Will no one tell him he is a presumptuous 
 young idiot ? " she cried, with a burst of sudden rage, re-
 
 MARCHESA GDINIGI AT HOME. 57 
 
 memberiug the crowds that filled the streets, and the ad 
 miration and display excited. Then, turning round and 
 looking Trenta full in the face, she added spitefully, " You 
 may worship painted dolls, and kiss black crucifixes, if you 
 like : I would not give them house-room." 
 
 " Mercy ! " cried poor Trenta, putting his hands to his 
 ears. " For pity's sake the palace will fall about your 
 ears ! Remember your niece is present." 
 
 And again he pointed to Enrica, whose head was bent 
 dow T n over her work. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " was all the reply vouchsafed by the mar- 
 chesa, followed by a scornful laugh. " I shall say what I 
 please in my own house. Poor Cesarino ! You are very 
 ignorant. I pity you ! " 
 
 But Trenta was not there he had rushed down-stairs 
 as quickly as his old legs and his stick would carry him, 
 and was out of hearing. At the mention of Nobili's name 
 Enrica looked stealthily from under her long eyelashes, 
 and turned very white. The sharp eyes of her aunt might 
 have detected it had she been less engrossed by her pas 
 sage of arms with the cavaliere. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " she repeated, grimly laughing to herself. 
 " He is gone ! Poor old soul ! But I am going to have 
 my rubber for all that. Ring the bell, Enrioa. He must 
 come back. Trenta takes too much upon himself; he is 
 always interfering." 
 
 As Enrica rose to obey her aunt, the sound of feet was 
 heard in the anteroom. The marchesa made a sign to her 
 to reseat herself, which she did in the same place as before, 
 behind the thick cotton curtains of the Venetian casement.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 COUNT MAKESCOTTI. 
 
 COUNT MAKESCOTTI, the Red count (the marchesa had 
 said sans-culotte; Trenta had spoken of him as an atheist), 
 was, unhappily, something of all this, but he was much 
 more. He was a poet, an orator, and a patriot. Nature 
 had gifted him with qualities for each vocation. He had 
 a rich, melodious voice, with soft inflections ; large dark 
 eyes, that kindled with the impress of every emotion; 
 finely-cut features, and a pale, bloodless face, that tells of 
 a passionate nature. His manners were gracious, and he 
 had a commanding presence. He was born to be a leader 
 among men. Not only did he converse with ease and 
 readiness on* every conceivable topic not only did strophe 
 after strophe of musical verse flow from his lips with the 
 facility of an improvisator e^ but he possessed the supreme 
 art of moving the multitude by an eloquence born of his 
 own impassioned soul. While that suave voice rung in 
 men's ears, it was impossible not to be convinced by his 
 arguments. As a patriot, he worshiped Italy. His fervid 
 imagination reveled in her natural beauties art, music, 
 history, poetry. He worshiped Italy, and he devoted his 
 whole life to what he conceived to be her good. 
 
 Marescotti was no atheist ; he was a religious reformer, 
 sincerely and profoundly pious, and conscientious to the
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 59 
 
 point of honor. Indeed, his conscience was so sensitive, 
 that he had been known to confess two and three times on 
 the same day. The cavaliere called him an atheist because 
 he was a believer in Savonarola, and because he positive 
 ly refused to bind himself to any priestly dogma, or special 
 form of worship whatever. But he had never renounced 
 the creed of his ancestors. The precepts of Savonarola did, 
 indeed, afford him infinite consolation ; they were to him 
 a via media between Protestant latitude and dogmatic 
 belief. 
 
 The republican simplicity, stern morals, and sweeping 
 reforms both in Church and state preached by Savonarola 
 (reforms, indeed, as radical as were consistent with Cathol 
 icism), were the objects of his special reverence. Savo 
 narola had died at the stake for practising and for teaching 
 them ; Marescotti declared, with characteristic enthusiasm, 
 that he was ready to do likewise. Wrong or right, he be 
 lieved that, if Savonarola had lived in the nineteenth cen 
 tury, he would have acted as he himself had done. In the 
 same manner, although an avowed republican, he was no 
 sans-culotte. His strong sense of personal independence 
 and of freedom, political and religious, caused him to revolt 
 against what he conceived tyranny or coercion of any kind. 
 Even constitutional monarchy was not sufficiently free for 
 him. A king and a court, the royal prerogative of minis 
 ters, patent places, pensions, favors, the unacknowledged 
 influence of a reigning house represented to his mind a 
 modified system of tyranny therefore of corruption. Con 
 stant appeals to the sovereign people, a form of government 
 where the few yielded to the many, and the rich divided 
 their riches voluntarily with the poor was in theory what 
 he advocated. 
 
 Yet with these lofty views, these grand aspirations, with 
 unbounded faith, and unbounded energy and generosity, 
 Marescotti achieved nothing. He wanted the power of
 
 60 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 concentration, of bringing his energies to bear on any 
 one particular object. His mind was like an old cabinet, 
 crowded with artistic rubbish gems and rarities, jewels 
 of price and pearls of the purest water, hidden among 
 faded flowers ; old letters, locks of hair, daggers, tinsel reli 
 quaries, crosses, and modern grimcracks all that was in 
 congruous, piled together pell-mell in hopeless confusion. 
 
 His countrymen, singularly timid and conventional, and 
 always unwilling to admit new ideas upon any subject un 
 less imperatively forced upon them, did not understand 
 him. They did not appreciate either his originality or the 
 real strength of his character. He differed from them and 
 their mediasval usages therefore he must be wrong. He 
 was called eccentric by his friends, a lunatic by his ene 
 mies. He was neither. But he lived much alone ; he had 
 dreamed rather than reflected, and he had planned instead 
 of acting. 
 
 " Count Marescotti," said the marchesa, holding out 
 her hand, " I salute you. Baldassare, you are welcome." 
 
 The intonation of her voice, the change in her manner, 
 gave the exact degree of consideration proper to accord to 
 the head of an ancient Roman family, and the dandy son of 
 a Lucca chemist. And, lest it should be thought strange 
 that the Marchesa Guinigi should admit Baldassare at all 
 to her presence, I must explain that Baldassare was apro- 
 tkgk, almost a double, of the cavaliere, who insisted upon 
 taking him wherever he went. If you received the cava 
 liere, you must, perforce, receive Baldassare also. No one 
 could explain why this was so. They were continually 
 quarreling, yet they were always together. Their intimacy 
 had been the subject of many jokes and some gossip ; but 
 the character of the -cavaliere was immaculate, and Baldas- 
 sare's mother (now dead) had never lived at Lucca. Trenta, 
 when spoken to on the subject of his partiality, said he was 
 " educating him " to fill his place as master of the ceremo-
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 61 
 
 nies in Lucchcse society. Except when specially bullied 
 by the cavaliere who greatly enjoyed tormenting him in 
 public Baldassare was inoffensive and useful. 
 
 Now he pressed forward to the front. 
 
 " Signora Marchesa," he said, eagerly, " allow me to 
 make my excuses to you." 
 
 ' The marchesa turned a surprised and distant gaze upon 
 him ; but Baldassare was not to be discouraged. He had 
 that tough skin of true vulgarity which is impervious to 
 any thing but downright hard blows. 
 
 " Allow me to make my excuses," he continued. " The 
 cavaliere here has. been scolding me all the way up-stairs 
 for not bringing Count Marescotti sooner to you. I could 
 not." 
 
 Marescotti bowed an acquiescence. 
 
 " While we were standing in the street, waiting to 
 know if the noble lady received, an old beggar, known in 
 Lucca as the Hermit of Pizzorna, come down from the 
 mountains for the festival, passed by." 
 
 " Yes, it was a providence," broke in the count " a 
 real hermit, not one of those fat friars, with shaven crowns, 
 we have in Rome, but a genuine recluse, a man whose life 
 is one long act of practical piety." 
 
 When Marescotti had entered, he seemed only the calm, 
 high-bred gentleman ; now, as he spoke, his eye sparkled, 
 and his pale cheeks flushed. 
 
 " Yes, I addressed the hermit," he continued, and he 
 raised his fine head and crossed his hands on his breast as 
 if he were still before him. " I kissed his bare feet, road- 
 stained with errands of charity. ' My father,' I said to him, 
 ' bless me ' " 
 
 "Not only so," interrupted Baldassare, "but, would 
 you believe it, madame, the count cast himself down on 
 the dusty street to receive his blessing ! " 
 
 " And why not ? " asked the count, looking at him se-
 
 62 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 verely. " It came to me like a voice from heaven. The 
 hermit is a holy man. Would I were like him ! I have 
 heard of him for thirty years past. Winter after winter, 
 among those savage mountains, in roaring winds, in sweep 
 ing storms, in frost and snow, and water-floods, he has as 
 sisted hundreds, who, but for him, must infallibly have per 
 ished. What courage ! what devotion ! It is a poem." 
 Marescotti spoke hurriedly and in a low voice. "Yes, I 
 craved his blessing. I kissed his hands, his feet. I would 
 have kissed the ground on which he stood." As he pro 
 ceeded, Marescotti grew more and more abstracted. All 
 that he described was passing like a vision before him. 
 " Those venerable hands yes, I kissed them. 
 
 " How much money did you leave in them, count ? " 
 asked the marchesa, with a sneer. 
 
 " Great is the mercy of God ! " ejaculated the count, 
 earnestly, not heeding her. " Sinner as I am, the touch of 
 those hands that blessing purified me. I feel it." 
 
 " Incredible ! Well," cried Baldassare, " the price of 
 that blessing will keep the good man in bread and meat 
 for a year. Let the old beggar go to the devil, count, his 
 own way. He must soon appear there, anyhow. A good- 
 for-nothing old cheat ! His blessing, indeed ! I can get 
 you a dozen begging friars who will bless you all day for 
 a few farthings." 
 
 The count's brow darkened. 
 
 "Baldassare," said he, very gravely, "you are } T oung, 
 and, like your age, inconsiderate. I request that, in my 
 presence, you speak with becoming respect of this holy 
 man." 
 
 " Per Bacco ! " exclaimed the cavaliere, advancing from 
 where he had been standing behind the marchesa's chair, 
 and patting Baldassare patronizingly on the shoulder, " I 
 never heard you talk so much before at one time, Baldas 
 sare. Now, you had better have held your tongue, and
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 63 
 
 listened to Count Marescotti. Leading the cotillon last 
 night has turned your head. Take my advice, however 
 an old man's advice stick to your dancing. You under 
 stand that. Every man has his forte yours is the ball 
 room." 
 
 Baldassare smiled complaisantly at this allusion to the 
 swiftness of his heels. 
 
 "Out of the ballroom," continued Trenta, eying him 
 with quiet scorn, " I advise caution great caution. Out 
 of the ballroom you are capable of any imbecility." 
 
 " Cavaliere ! " cried Baldassare, turning very red and 
 looking at him reproachfully. 
 
 " You have deserved this reproof, young man," said the 
 marchesa, harshly. " Learn your place in addressing the 
 Count Marescotti." 
 
 That the son of a shopkeeper should presume to dispute 
 in her presence with a Roman noble, was a thing so un 
 suitable that, even in her own house, she must put it down 
 authoritatively. She had never liked Baldassare never 
 wanted to receive him, now she resolved never to see him 
 again ; but, as she feared that Trenta would continue to 
 bring him, under pretext of making up her whist-table, she 
 did not say so. 
 
 The medical Adonis was forced to swallow his rage, but 
 his cheeks tingled. He dared not quarrel either with the 
 marchesa, Trenta, or the count, by whose joint support 
 alone he could hope to plant himself firmly in the realms 
 of Lucchese fashionable life a life which he felt was his 
 element. Utterly disconcerted, however, he turned down 
 his eyes, and stared at his boots, which were highly glazed, 
 then glanced up at his own face (as faultless and impassive 
 as a Greek mask) in a mirror opposite, hastily arranged his 
 hair, and finally collapsed into silence and a corner. 
 
 At this moment Count Marescotti became suddenly 
 aware of Enrica's presence. She was, as I have said, sit-
 
 64 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 ting in the same place by the casement, concealed by the 
 curtain, her head bent down over her knitting. She had 
 only looked up once when Nobili's name had been men 
 tioned. No one had noticed her. It was not the usage 
 of Casa Guinigi to notice Enrica. Enrica was not the 
 marchesa's daughter ; therefore, except in marriage, she 
 was not entitled to enjoy the honors of the house. She 
 was never permitted to take part in conversation. 
 
 Marescotti, who had not seen her since she was fourteen, 
 now bounded across the room to where she sat, overshad 
 owed by the curtain, bowed to her formally, then touched 
 the tips of her fingers with his lips. 
 
 Enrica raised her eyes. And what e} T es they were! 
 large, melancholy, brooding, of no certain color, changing 
 as she spoke, as the summer sky changes the color of the 
 sea. They were more gray than blue, yet they were blue, 
 with long, dark eyelashes that swept upon her cheeks. As 
 she looked up and smiled, there was an expression of the 
 most perfect innocence in her face. It \vas like a flower 
 that opens its bosom frankly to the sun. 
 
 Marescotti's artistic nature was deeply stirred. He 
 gazed at her in silence for some minutes ; he was seeking 
 in his own mind in what type cf womanhood he should 
 place her. Suddenly an idea struck him. She was the 
 living image of the young Madonna the young Madonna 
 before the visit of the archangel pale, meditative, pathet 
 ic, but with no shadow of the future upon her face. Mare 
 scotti was so engrossed by this idea that he remained mo 
 tionless before her. Each one present observed his emotion, 
 the marchesa specially ; she frowned her disapproval. 
 
 Trenta laughed quietly to himself, then stroked his well- 
 shaved chin. 
 
 " Signorina," said the count, at length breaking silence, 
 " permit me to offer my excuses for not having sooner per 
 ceived you. Will you forgive me ? "
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 65 
 
 " Mio Dio ! " muttered the marchesa to herself, " he will 
 turn the child's head with his fine phrases." 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive, count," answered Enrica 
 simply. She spoke low. Her voice matched the expres 
 sion of her face ; there was a natural tone of plaintiveness 
 in it. 
 
 " When I last saw you," continued the count, stand 
 ing as if spellbound before her, "you were only a child. 
 Now," and his kindling eyes riveted themselves upon her, 
 "you are a woman. Like the magic rose that was the 
 guerdon of the Troubadours, you have passed in an hour 
 from leaf to bud, from bud to fairest flower. You were, 
 of course, at the Orsetti ball last night ? " He asked this 
 question, trying to rouse himself. " What ball in Lucca 
 would be complete without you ? " 
 
 " I was not there," answered Enrica, blushing deeply 
 and glancing timidly at the marchesa, who, with a scowl 
 on her face, was fanning herself violently. 
 
 " Not there ! " ejaculated Marescotti, with wonder. 
 " Why, marchesa, is it not barbarous to shut up your beau 
 tiful niece ? Is it because you deem her too precious to be 
 gazed upon ? If so, you are right." 
 
 And again his eyes, full of ardent admiration, were bent 
 on Enrica. 
 
 Enrica dropped her head to hide her confusion, and re 
 sumed her knitting. 
 
 It was a golden sunset. The sun was sinking behind 
 the delicate arcades of the Moorish garden, and spreading 
 broad patches of rosy light upon the marble. The shrubs, 
 with their bright flowers, were set against a tawny orange 
 sky. The air was full of light the last gleams of parting 
 day. The splash of the fountain upon the lions' heads was 
 heard in the silence, the heavy perfume of the magnolia- 
 flowers stole in wafts through the sculptured casements, 
 creeping upward in the soft evening air.
 
 66 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Still, motionless before Enrica, Marescotti was rapidly 
 falling into a poetic rapture. The marchesa broke tlie awk 
 ward silence. 
 
 " Enrica is a cliild," she said, dryly. " She knows noth 
 ing about balls. She has never been to one. Pray do not 
 put such ideas into her head, count," she added, looking at 
 him angrily. 
 
 " But, marchesa, your niece is no child she is a lovely 
 woman," insisted the count, his eyes still riveted upon her. 
 The marchesa did not consider it necessary to answer him. 
 
 Meanwhile the cavaliere, who had returned to his seat 
 near her, had watched the moment when no one was look 
 ing that way, had given her a significant glance, and placed 
 his finger warningly upon his lip. 
 
 Not understanding what he meant by this action, the 
 marchesa was at first inclined to resent it as a liberty, and 
 to rebuke him ; but she thought better of it, and only 
 glanced at him haughtily. 
 
 It was not the first time she had found it to her advan 
 tage to accept Trenta's hints. Trenta was a man of the 
 world, and he had his eyes open. What he meant, how 
 ever, she could not even guess. 
 
 Meanwhile the count had drawn a chair beside Enrica. 
 
 " Yes, yes, the Orsetti ball," he said, absently, passing 
 his hand through the masses of bluck curls that rested upon 
 his forehead. 
 
 He was following out, in his own mind, the notion of 
 addressing an ode to her in the character of the young Ma 
 donna the uninstructed Madonna without that look of 
 pensive suffering painters put into her eyes. 
 
 The Madonna figured prominently in Marescotti's creed, 
 spite of his belief in the stern precepts of Savonarola the 
 plastic creed of an artist, made up of heavenly eyes, ravish 
 ing forms, melodious sounds, rich color, sweeping rhythms, 
 moonlight, and violent emotions.
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 67 
 
 "I was not there myself no, or I should have been 
 aware you had not honored the Countess Orsetti with your 
 presence. But in the morning that glorious mass in the 
 old cathedral you were there ? " 
 
 Enrica answered that she had not left the house all day, 
 at which the count raised his eyebrows in astonishment. 
 
 " That mass," he continued, " in celebration of a local 
 miracle (respectable from its antiquity), has haunted me 
 ever since. The gloomy splendor of the venerable cathe 
 dral overwhelmed me ; the happy faces that met me on 
 every side, the spontaneous rejoicing of the whole popula 
 tion, touched me deeply. I longed to make them free. 
 They deserve freedom ; they shall have it ! " A dark fire 
 glistened in his eye. " I have been lost in day-dreams ever 
 since ; I must give them utterance." And he gazed stead 
 fastly at Enrica. " I have not left my room, marchesa, ever 
 since " at last Marescotti left Enrica's side, and approached 
 the marchesa " until an hour ago, when Baldassare " and 
 the count bowed to Adonis, still seated sulky in a corner 
 " came and carried me off in the hope that you would per 
 mit me to join your rubber. Had I known " he added, 
 in a lower voice, bending his head toward Enrica. Then 
 he stopped, suddenly aware that every one was listening to 
 all he said (a fact which he had been far too much absorbed 
 to notice previously), colored, and retreated to the sofa 
 with the spindle-legs. 
 
 " Per Bacco ! " whispered the cavaliere to the marchesa, 
 sitting near her on the other side ; " I am convinced poor 
 Marescotti has never touched a morsel of food since that 
 mass I am certain of it. He always lives upon a poetical 
 diet, poor devil ! rose-leaves and the beauties of Nature, 
 with a warm dish now and then in the way of a ragotit of 
 conspiracy. God help him ! he's a greater lunatic than 
 ever." This was spoken aside into the marchesa's ear. 
 " If you have a soul of pity, marchesa, order him a chicken
 
 68 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 before we begin playing, or he will faint upon the floor." 
 The marchesa smiled. 
 
 " I don't like impressionable people at all," she re 
 sponded, in the same tone of voice. " In my opinion, feel 
 ings should be concealed, not exhibited." And she sighed, 
 recalling her own silent vigils on the floor beneath, unknown 
 to all save the cavaliere. 
 
 " But a thousand pardons ! " cried Marescotti, gradu 
 ally waking up to some social energy, " I have been talking 
 only of myself ! Talking of myself in your presence, ladies ! 
 What can we do to amuse your niece, marchesa ? Lucca 
 is horribly dull. If she is to go neither to festivals nor to 
 balls, it will not be possible for her to exist here." 
 
 " It will be quite possible," answered the marchesa, 
 greatly displeased at the turn the conversation was taking. 
 " Quite possible, if I choose it. Enrica will exist where I 
 please. You forget she has lived here for seventeen years. 
 You see she has not died of it. She stays at home by my 
 order, count." 
 
 Enrica cast a pleading look at her aunt, as if to say, 
 " Can I help all this ? " As for Count Marescotti, he was 
 far too much engrossed with his own thoughts to be aware 
 that he was treading on delicate ground. 
 
 ;i But, marchesa," he urged, " you can't really keep your 
 niece any longer shut up like the fairy princess in the tower. 
 Let me be permitted to act the part of the fairy prince and 
 liberate her." 
 
 Again he had turned, and again his glowing eyes fixed 
 themselves on Enrica, who had withdrawn as much as pos 
 sible behind the curtains. Her cheeks were dyed with 
 blushes. She shrank from the count's too ardent glances, 
 as though those glances were an involuntary treason to 
 Nobili. 
 
 " Something must be done," muttered the count, medi 
 tating.
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 69 
 
 " Will you trust your niece with Cavaliere Trenta, and 
 permit me to accompany them on some little excursion in 
 the city, to make up for the loss of the cathedral and the 
 ball ? " 
 
 The marchesa, who found the count decidedly trouble 
 some, not to say impertinent, had opened her lips to give 
 an unqualified negative, but another glance from Trenta 
 checked her. 
 
 " An excellent idea," put in the cavaliere, before she 
 could speak. " With me, marchesa with me" he added, 
 looking at her deprecatingly. 
 
 Trenta loved Enrica better than any thing in the world, 
 but carefully concealed it, the better to serve her with her 
 aunt. 
 
 " As for me, I am ready for any thing." And, to show 
 his agility, he rose, and, with the help of his stick, made a 
 glissade on the floor. 
 
 Baldassare laughed out loud from the corner. It grati 
 fied his wounded vanity to see his elder ridiculous. 
 
 Marescotti, greatly alarmed, started forward and offered 
 his arm, in order to lead the cavaliere back to his seat, but 
 Trenta indignantly refused his assistance. The marchesa 
 shook her head. 
 
 " Calm yourself," she said, looking at him compassion 
 ately. " Calm yourself, Cesarino, I should not like you to 
 have a fit in my house." 
 
 " Fit ! che che ? " cried Trenta, angrily. " Not while I 
 am in the presence of the young and fair," he added, re 
 covering himself. " It is that which has kept me alive all 
 this time. No, marchesa, I refuse to sit down again. I re 
 fuse to sit down, or to take a hand at your rubber, until 
 something is settled." 
 
 This was addressed to the marchesa, who had caught 
 him by the tails of his immaculate blue coat and forced 
 him into a seat beside her.
 
 70 THE ITALIANS 
 
 " Vive la bagatelle ! Where shall we go ? You can 
 not refuse the count," he added, giving the marchesa a 
 meaning look. " What shall we do ? Let us all propose 
 something. Let me see. I propose to improve Enrica's 
 mind. She is young the young have need of improve 
 ment. I propose to take her to the church of San Frediano 
 and to show her the ancient fresco representing the dis 
 covery of the Holy Countenance ; also the Trenta chapel, 
 containing the tombs of my family. I will try to explain 
 to her their names and history. What do you say to this, 
 my child ? " 
 
 And the cavaliere turned to Enrica, who, little ac 
 customed to be noticed at all, much less to occupy the 
 whole conversation, looked supplicatingly at her aunt. 
 She would gladly have run out of the room if she had 
 dared. 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed the irrepressible Baldassare, from 
 the corner. " Never ! What a ghastly idea ! Tombs 
 and a mouldy old church ! You may find satisfaction, 
 Signore Trenta, in the contemplation of your tomb, but the 
 signorina is not eighty, nor am I, nor is the count. I pro 
 pose that after being shut up so many years the Guinigi 
 Palace be thrown open, and a ball given on the first floor 
 in honor of the signorina. There should be a band from 
 Florence and presents from Paris for the cotillon. What 
 do you say to that, Signora Marchesa ? " asked the mis 
 guided young man, with unconscious self-satisfaction. 
 
 If a mine had sprung under the marchesa's feet, she 
 could not have been more horrified. What she would have 
 said to Baldassare is difficult to guess, but fortunately for 
 him, while she was struggling for words in which she could 
 suitably express her sense of his presumption, Trenta, see 
 ing what was coming, was beforehand. 
 
 " Be silent, Baldassare," he exclaimed, " or, per Dio, I 
 will never bring you here again."
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 71 
 
 Before Baldassare could offer his apologies, the count 
 burst in 
 
 " I propose that we shall show the signorina something 
 that will amuse her." He thought for a moment. " Have 
 you ever ascended the old tower of this palace ? " he asked. 
 
 Enrica shook her head. 
 
 " Then I propose the Guinigi Tower the stairs are 
 rather rickety, but they are not unsafe. I was there the 
 last time I visited Lucca. The view over the Apennines 
 is superb. Will you trust yourself to us, signorina ? " 
 
 Enrica raised her head and looked at him hesitatingly, 
 glanced at her aunt, then looked at him again. Until the 
 marchesa had spoken she dared not reply. She longed to 
 go. If she ascended the tower, might she not see Nobili ? 
 She had not set her eyes on him for a whole week. 
 
 Marescotti saw her hesitation, but he misunderstood 
 the cause. He returned her look with an ardent glance. 
 Where was the young Madonna leading him ? He did not 
 stop to inquire, but surrendered himself to the enchantment 
 of her presence. 
 
 " Is my proposal accepted ? " Count Marescotti inquired, 
 anxiouslj' turning toward the marchesa, who sat listening 
 to them with a deeply-offended air. 
 
 " And mine too ? " put in the cavaliere. " Both can be 
 combined. I should so much like to show Enrica the tombs 
 of the Trenta. We have been a famous family in our time. 
 Do not refuse us, marchesa." 
 
 All this was entirely out of the habits of Casa Guinigi. 
 Hitherto Enrica had been kept in absolute subjection. If 
 she were present no one spoke to her, or noticed her. Now 
 all this was to be changed, because Count Marescotti had 
 come up from Rome. Enrica was not only to be gazed at 
 and flattered, but to engross attention. 
 
 The marchesa showed evident tokens of serious dis 
 pleasure. Had Count Marescotti not been present, she
 
 72 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 would assuredly have expressed this displeasure in very 
 strong language. In all matters connected with her niece, 
 with her household, and with the management of her own 
 affairs, she could not tolerate remark, much less interfer 
 ence. Every kind of interference was offensive to her. 
 She believed in herself, as I have said, blindly : never, up 
 to that time, had that belief been shaken. All this discus 
 sion was, to her mind, worse than interference it was ab 
 solute revolution. She inwardly resolved to shut up her 
 house and go into the country, rather than submit to it. 
 She eyed the count, who stood waiting for an answer, as 
 if he were an enemy, and scowled at the excellent Trenta. 
 
 Enrica, too, had fixed her eyes upon her beseechingly; 
 Enrica evidently wanted to go. The march esa had already 
 opened her lips to give an abrupt refusal, when she felt 
 a warning hand laid upon her arm. Again she was shaken 
 in her purpose of refusal. She , rose, and approached the 
 card-table. 
 
 " I shall take time to consider," she replied to the in 
 quiring eyes awaiting her reply. 
 
 The marchesa took up the pack of cards and examined 
 the markers. She was debating with herself what Trenta 
 could possibly mean by his extraordinary conduct, twice 
 repeated. 
 
 " You had better retire now," she said to Enrica, with 
 an expression of hostility her niece knew too well. " You 
 have listened to quite enough folly for one night. Men 
 are flatterers." 
 
 " Not I ! not I ! " cried Marescotti. " I never say any 
 thing but what I mean." 
 
 And he flew toward the door in order to open it before 
 Enrica could reach it. 
 
 " All good angels guard you ! " he whispered, with a 
 tender voice, into her ear, as, greatly confused, she passed 
 by him, into the anteroom. " May you find all men as
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 73 
 
 true as I ! Per Dio ! she is the living image of the young 
 Madonna ! " he added, half aloud, gazing.after her. " Coun 
 tenance, manner, air it is perfect ! " 
 
 A match was now produced out of Trenta's pocket. 
 The candles were lighted, and the casements closed. The 
 party then sat down to whist. 
 
 The marchesa was always specially irritable when at 
 cards. The previous conversation had not improved her 
 temper. Moreover, the count was her partner, and a worse 
 one could hardly be conceived. Twice he did not even 
 take up the cards dealt to him, but sat immovable, staring 
 at the print of the Empress Eugenie in the Spanish dress 
 on the green wall opposite. Called to order peremptorily 
 by the marchesa, he took up his cards, shuffled them, then 
 laid them down again on the table, his eyes wandering off 
 to the chair hitherto occupied by Enrica. 
 
 This was intolerable. The marchesa showed him that 
 she thought so. He apologized. He did take up his cards, 
 and for a few deals attended to the game. Again becom 
 ing abstracted, he forgot what were trumps, losing thereby 
 several tricks. Finally, he revoked. Both the marchesa 
 and the cavaliere rebuked him very sharply. Again he 
 apologized, tried to collect his thoughts, but still played 
 abominably. 
 
 Meanwhile, Trenta and Baldassare kept up a perpetual 
 wrangle. The cavaliere was cool, sardonic, smiling, and 
 provoking Baldassare hot and flushed with a concentra 
 tion of rage he dared not express. The cavaliere, thanks 
 to his court education, was an admirable whist-player. 
 His frequent observations to his young friend were excel 
 lent as instruction, but were conveyed in somewhat con 
 temptuous language. Baldassare, having been told by the 
 cavaliere that playing a good hand at whist was as neces 
 sary to his future social success as dancing, was much cha 
 grined. 
 
 4
 
 74 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Poor Baldassare ! his life was a continual conflict a 
 sacrifice to bis love of fine company. It might be doubted 
 if he would not have been infinitely happier in the atmos 
 phere of the paternal establishment, weighing out drugs, 
 in shabby clothes, behind the counter, than he was now, 
 snubbed and affronted, and barely tolerated. 
 
 After this the marchesa and Trenta became partners ; 
 but matters did not improve. A violent altercation ensued 
 as to who led a certain crucial card, which decided the 
 game. Once seated at the whist-table, the cavaliere was 
 a real autocrat. There he did not affect even to submit to 
 the marchesa. Now, provoked beyond endurance, he 
 plainly told her " she never had played a good game, and, 
 what was more, that she never would she was too impet 
 uous." Upon hearing this the marchesa threw down her 
 cards in a rage, and rose from the table. Trenta rose also. 
 With an imperturbable countenance he offered her his arm, 
 to lead her back to her seat. 
 
 The marchesa, extremely irate at what he had said, 
 pushed him rudely to one side and reseated herself. 
 
 Baldassare and Marescotti rose also. The count, hav 
 ing continued persistently absent up to the last, was utter 
 ly unconscious of the little fracas that had taken place be 
 tween . the marchesa and the cavaliere, and the consequent 
 sudden conclusion of the game. He had seen her rise, and 
 it was a great relief to him. He had been debating in his 
 own mind whether he should adopt the Dante rhyme for 
 his ode to the young Madonna, or make it in strophes. 
 He inclined to the latter treatment as more picturesque, 
 and therefore more suitable to the subject. 
 
 " May I," said he, suddenly roused to what was passing 
 about him, and advancing with a gracious smile upon his 
 mobile face, lit up by the pleasant musings of the whist- 
 table pleasant to him, but assuredly not pleasant to his
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI. 75 
 
 partner "may I hope, marchesa, that you will acquiesce 
 in our little plan for to-morrow ? " 
 
 The marchesa had come by this time to look on the 
 count as a bore, of whom she was anxious to rid herself. 
 She was so anxious, indeed, to rid herself of him that she 
 actually assented. 
 
 " My niece, Signore Conte," she said, stiffly, " shall be 
 ready with her gouvernante and the Cavaliere Trenta, at 
 eleven o'clock to-morrow. Now good-night ! " 
 
 Marescotti took the hint, bowed, and departed arm-in 
 arm with Baldassare.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CABINET COUNCIL. 
 
 WHEN the count and Baldassare had left the room, 
 Cavaliere Trenta made no motion to follow them. On the 
 contrary, he leaned back in the chair on which he was 
 seated, and nursed his leg with the nankeen trouser medi 
 tatively. The expression of his face showed that his 
 thoughts were busy with some project he desired to com 
 municate. Until he had done so in his own way, and at 
 his own time, he would continue to sit where he was. It 
 was this imperturbable self-possession and good-humor com 
 bined which gave him so much influence over the irascible 
 marchesa. They were as iron to*fire, only the iron was 
 never heated. 
 
 The marchesa, deeply resenting his remarks upon her 
 whist-playing, tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, 
 fanned herself, and glowered at him out of the darkness 
 which the single pair of candles did not dispel. As he still 
 made no motion to go, she took out her watch, looked at 
 it, and, with an exclamation of surprise, rose. Quite use 
 less. Trenta did not stir. 
 
 " Marchesa," he said at last, abruptly, raising his head 
 and looking at her, " do me the favor to sit down. Spare 
 me a few moments before you retire." 
 
 " I want to go to bed," she answered, rudely. " It is 
 already past my usual hour."
 
 THE CABINET COUNCIL. 77 
 
 " Marchesa one moment. I permitted myself the lib 
 erty of an old friend just now to check your speech to 
 Count Marescotti." 
 
 "Yes," said she, drawing up her long throat, and throw 
 ing back her head, an action habitual to her when dis 
 pleased, " you did so. I did not understand it. We have 
 been acquainted quite long enough for you to know I do 
 not like interference." 
 
 "Pardon me, noble lady" (Trenta spoke very meekly 
 to soothe her now was absolutely necessary) " pardon 
 me, for the sake of my good intentions." 
 
 " And pray what were your good intentions, cavaliere ? " 
 she asked, in a mocking tone, reseating herself. Her curi 
 osity was rapidly getting the better of her resentment. 
 
 As she asked the question, the cavaliere left off nurs 
 ing his leg with the nankefcn trouser, rose, drew his chair 
 closer to hers, then sat down again. The light from the 
 single pair of candles was very dim, and scarcely extended 
 beyond the card-table. Both their heads were therefore in 
 shadow, but the marchesa's eyes gleamed nevertheless, as 
 she waited for Trenta's explanation. 
 
 "Did you observe nothing this evening, my friend?" 
 he asked "nothing ? " His manner was unusually ex 
 cited 
 
 "No," she answered, thoughtfully. She had been so 
 exclusively occupied with the slights put upon herself that 
 ..every thing else had escaped her. " I observed nothing 
 except the impertinence of Count Marescotti, and the au 
 dacitythe" 
 
 " Stop, marchesa," interrupted Trenta, holding up his 
 hand. " We will talk of all that another time. If Count 
 Marescotti and Baldassare have offended you, you can de 
 cline to receive them. You observed nothing, you say ? I 
 did." He leaned forward, and spoke with emphasis " Ma 
 rescotti is in love with Enrica."
 
 78 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 The marchesa started violently and raised herself bolt 
 upright. 
 
 " The Red count in love with a child like Enrica ! " 
 
 " Only a child in your eyes, Signora Marchesa," rejoined 
 Trenta, warmly. (He had warmed with his own convic 
 tions, his benevolent heart was deeply interested in Enrica. 
 He had known her since she had first come to Casa 
 Guinigi, a bab} r ; from his soul he pitied her.) " In the 
 eyes of the world Enrica is not only a woman, but prom 
 ises to be a very lovely one. She is seventeen years old, 
 and marriageable. Young ladies of her name and position 
 must have fortunes, or they do not marry well. If they do, 
 it is a chance quite a chance. Under these circumstances, 
 it would be cruel to deprive her of so suitable an alliance 
 as Count Marescotti. Now, allow me to ask you, seriously, 
 how would this marriage suit you ? " 
 
 " Not at all," replied the marchesa, curtly. " The 
 count is a republican. I hate republicans. The Guinigi 
 have always been Ghibelline, and loyal. I dislike him, 
 too, personally. I was about to desire you never to bring 
 him here again. Contact with low people has spoiled him. 
 His manners are detestable." 
 
 " But, marchesa, che vuole ? " Trenta shrugged his 
 shoulders. " He belongs to one of the oldest families in 
 Rome ; he is well off, handsome (he reminds me of your 
 ancestor, Castruccio Castracani) ; a wife might improve 
 him." The marchesa shook her head. 
 
 " He like the great Castruccio ! I do not see it." 
 
 " Permit me," resumed Trenta, " without entering into 
 details which, as a friend, you have confided to me, I must 
 remind you that your affairs are seriously embarrassed." 
 
 The marchesa winced ; she guessed what was coming. 
 She knew that she could not deny it. 
 
 " You are embarrassed by lawsuits. Unfortunately, all 
 have gone against you."
 
 THE CABINET COUNCIL. 79 
 
 " I fought for the ancient privileges of the Guinigi ! " 
 burst out the marchesa, imperiously. "I would do it 
 again." 
 
 " I do not in the least doubt you would do it again, 
 exalted lady," responded Trenta, with a quiet smile. " In 
 deed, I feel assured of it. I merely state the fact. You 
 have sacrificed large sums of money. You have lost every 
 suit. The costs have been enormous. Your income is 
 greatly reduced. Enrica is therefore portionless." 
 
 " No, no, not altogether." The marchesa moved ner 
 vously in her chair, carefully avoiding meeting Trenta's 
 steely blue eyes. " 1 have saved money, Cesarino I have 
 indeed," she repeated. The marchesa was becoming quite 
 affable. " I cannot touch the heirlooms. But Enrica will 
 have a small portion." 
 
 " Well, well," replied Trenta. " But it is impossible 
 you can have saved much since the termination of that last 
 long suit with the chapter about your right to the second 
 bench in the nave of the cathedral, the bench awarded to 
 Count Nobili when he bought the palace. The expense 
 was too great, and the trial too recent." 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 " Then there was that other affair with the municipality 
 about the right of flying the flag from the Guinigi Tower. 
 I do not mention small affairs, such as disputes with your 
 late steward at Corellia, trials at Barga, nor litigation here 
 at Lucca on a small scale. My dear marchesa, you have 
 found the law an expensive pastime." The cavaliere's 
 round eyes twinkled as he said this. " Enrica is therefore 
 virtually portionless. The choice lies between a husband 
 who will wed her for herself, or a convent. If I under 
 stand your views, a convent would not suit you. Besides, 
 you would not surely voluntarily condemn a girl, without 
 vocation, and brought up beside you, to the seclusion of a 
 convent ? "
 
 80 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " But Enrica is a child I tell you she is too young to 
 think about marriage, cavaliere." 
 
 The marchesa spoke with anger. She would stave off 
 as long as possible the principal question that of mar 
 riage. Sudden proposals, too, emanating from others, al 
 ways nettled her ; it narrowed her prerogative. 
 
 "Besides," objected the marchesa, still fencing with 
 the real question, " who can answer for Count Marescotti ? 
 He is so capricious ! Supposing he likes Enrica to-day, he 
 may change before to-morrow. Do you really think he can 
 care enough about Enrica to marry her ? Her name would 
 be nothing to him." 
 
 " I think he does care for her," replied Trenta, reflec 
 tively ; " but that can be ascertained. Enrica is a fit con 
 sort for a far greater man than Count Marescotti. Not 
 that he, as you say, would care about her name. Remem 
 ber, she will be your heiress that is something." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my heiress," answered the marchesa, vague 
 ly ; for the dreadful question rose up in her mind, " What 
 would Enrica have to inherit ? " 
 
 That very day she had received a most insolent letter 
 from a creditor. Under the influence of the painful 
 thoughts, she turned her head aside and said nothing. 
 One of her hands was raised over her eyes to shade them 
 from the candles ; the other rested on her dark dress. 
 
 If a marriage were really in question, what could be 
 more serious? Was not Enrica's marriage to raise up 
 heirs to the Guinigi heirs to inherit the palace and the 
 heirlooms ? If the marchesa banished the thought, but it 
 would return, and haunt her like a spectre if not the pal 
 ace, then at least the name the historic name, revered 
 throughout Italy ? Nothing could deprive Enrica of the 
 name that name was in itself a dower. That Enrica 
 should possess both name and palace, with a husband of 
 her the marchesa's own choosing, had been her dream,
 
 THE CABINET COUNCIL. 81 
 
 but it had been a far-off dream a dream to be realized in 
 the course of years. 
 
 Taken thus aback, the proposal made by Trenta ap 
 peared to her hurried and premature totally wanting in the 
 dignified and well-considered action that should mark the 
 conduct of the great. Besides, if an immediate marriage 
 were arranged between Count Marescotti and Enrica, only 
 a part of her plan could be realized. Enrica was, indeed, 
 now almost portionless ; there would be no time to pile up 
 those gold-pieces, or to swell those rustling sheaves of 
 notes that she had in imagination accumulated. 
 
 " Portionless ! " the marchesa repeated to herself, half 
 aloud. " What a humiliation ! my own niece ! " 
 
 It will be observed that all this time the marchesa had 
 never considered what Enrica's feeling might be. She was 
 to obey her that was all. 
 
 But in this the marchesa was not to blame. She un 
 doubtedly carried her idea of Enrica's subserviency too 
 far ; but custom was on her side. Marriages among per 
 sons of high rank are " arranged " in Italy arranged by 
 families or _by priests, acting as go-betweens. The lady 
 leaves the convent, and her marriage is arranged. She is 
 unconscious that she has a heart she only discovers that 
 unruly member afterward. To love a husband is unneces 
 sary ; there are so many " golden youths " to choose from. 
 And the husband has his pastime too. Cosi fan tutti ! It 
 is a round game ! 
 
 All this time the cavaliere had never taken his eyes off 
 his friend. To a certain extent he understood what was 
 passing in her mind. A portionless niece would reveal her 
 poverty. 
 
 " A good marriage is a good thing," he suggested, as 
 a safe general remark, after having waited in vain for some 
 response. 
 
 " In all I do," the marchesa answered, loftily, " I must
 
 82 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 first consider what is due to the dignity of my position." 
 Trenta bowed. 
 
 " Decidedly, marchesa ; that is your duty. But what 
 then?" 
 
 "No feeling whatever but that will influence me now, 
 or hereafter nothing." She dwelt upon the last word de 
 fiantly, as the final expression of her mind. Spite of this 
 defiance, there was, however, a certain hesitation in her 
 manner which did not escape the cavaliere. As she spoke, 
 she looked hard at him, and touched his arm to arouse his 
 attention. 
 
 Trenta, who knew her so well, perfectly interpreted her 
 meaning. His ruddy cheeks flushed crimson ; his kindly 
 eyes kindled; he felt sure that his advice would be accept 
 ed. She was yielding, but he must be most cautious not 
 to let his satisfaction appear. So strangely contradictory 
 was the marchesa that, although nothing could possibly be 
 more advantageous to her own schemes than this marriage, 
 she might, if indiscreetly pressed, veer round, and, in spite 
 of her interest, refuse to listen to another syllable on the 
 subject. 
 
 All this kept the cavaliere silent. Receiving no an 
 swer, she looked suspiciously at him, then grasped his arm 
 tightly. 
 
 " And you, cavaliere how long have you been so deep 
 ly interested in Enrica ? What is she to you ? Her future 
 can only signify to you as far as it affects myself." 
 
 She waited for a reply. What was the cavaliere to 
 answer ? He loved Enrica dearly, but he dared not say so, 
 lest he should offend the marchesa. He feared that if he 
 spoke he should assuredly say too much. Well as he knew 
 her, the marchesa's egotism horrified him. 
 
 " Poor Enrica ! " he muttered, involuntarily, half aloud. 
 
 The marchesa caught at the name. 
 
 " Enrica ? yes. From the time of my husband's death
 
 THE CABINET COUNCIL. 83 
 
 I have sacrificed my life to the duties imposed on me by 
 my position. So must Enrica. No personal feeling for 
 her shall bias me in the least." 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on those of Trenta. She paused 
 again, and passed her white hand slowly one over the other. 
 The cavaliere looked down ; he durst not meet her glance, 
 lest she should read his thoughts. Thinking of Enrica at 
 that moment, he absolutely hated her ! 
 
 " What would you advise me to do ? " she asked, at 
 last. Her voice fell as she put the question. 
 
 Trenta had been waiting for this direct appeal. Now 
 his tongue was unloosed. 
 
 " I will tell you, Signora Marchesa, plainly what I 
 would advise you to do," was his answer. " Let Enrica 
 marry Marescotti. Put the whole matter into my hands, 
 if you have sufficient confidence in me." 
 
 " Remember, Trenta, the humiliation ! " 
 
 " What humiliation ? " asked the cavaliere, with sur 
 prise. 
 
 " The humiliation involved in the confession that my 
 niece is almost portionless." The words seemed to choke 
 her. " She will inherit all I have to leave, and she glanced 
 significantly at the cavaliere ; " but that is you understand 
 me ? uncertain." 
 
 " Bagatella ! that will be all right," he rejoined, with 
 alacrity. " The idea of money will not sway Marescotti in 
 the least. He is wealthy a fine fellow. Have no fear of 
 that. Leave it all to me, Enrica, and Marescotti. I am an 
 old courtier. Many a royal marriage has passed through 
 my hands. Per Bacco though no one but the duke knew 
 it through my hands ! You may trust me, inarchesa." 
 
 There was a proud consciousness of the past in the old 
 man's face. He showed such perfect confidence in himself 
 that he imparted the same confidence to the marchesa. 
 
 " I would trust no one else, Cesarino," she said, rising
 
 84 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 from her chair. " But be cautious ; bind me to nothing 
 until we meet again. I must hear all that passes between 
 you and the count, then judge for myself." 
 
 "I will obey you in all things, noble lady," replied 
 Trenta, submissively. 
 
 Plow he dreaded betraying his secret exultation 1 To 
 emancipate Enrica from her miserable life by an honorable 
 marriage, was, to his benevolent heart, infinite happiness ! 
 
 " Good-night, marchesa. May you repose well ! " 
 
 " Good-night, Cesarino a rivederci ! " 
 
 So they parted.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COUNTESS OKSETTl's BALL. 
 
 THE ball at Casa Orsetti was much canvassed in Lucca. 
 Hospitality is by no means a cardinal virtue in Italy. 
 Even in the greatest houses, the bread and salt of the 
 Arab is not offered to you or, if offered at all, appears in 
 the shape of such dangerously acid lemonade or such weak 
 tea, it is best avoided. Every year there are dances at the 
 Casino dei Nobili, during the Carnival, and there are 
 veglioni, or balls, at the theatre, where ladies go masked 
 and in dominoes, but do not dance ; but these annual dissi 
 pations are paid for by ticket. A general reception, there 
 fore, including dancing, supper, and champagne, gratis, 
 was an event. 
 
 The Orsetti Palace, a huge square edifice of reddish- 
 gray stone, with overtopping roof, four tiers of lofty win 
 dows, and a broad arched entrance, or portone, with dark- 
 green doors, stands in the street of San Michele. You pass 
 it, going from the railway-station to the city-gate (where 
 the Lucchese lions keep guard), and the road leads onward 
 to the peaked mountains over Spezia. 
 
 On the evening of the ball the entire street of San 
 Michele was hung with Chinese lanterns, arranged in fes 
 toons. Opposite the entrance shone a gigantic star of gas. 
 The palace itself was a blaze of light. As the night was
 
 86 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 warm, every window was thrown open ; chandeliers scin 
 tillating like jeweled fountains hung from the ceilings ; 
 wax-lights innumerable, in gilded sconces, were grouped 
 upon the walls ; crimson-silk curtains cast a ruddy glare 
 across the street, and the sound of harps and violins floated 
 through the night air. The crowd of beggars and idlers, 
 generally gathered in the street, saw so much that they 
 might be considered to " assist," in an independent but fes 
 tive capacity, at the entertainment from outside. Matches 
 were hawked about for the convenience of the male portion 
 of this extempore assembly, and fruit in baskets was on 
 sale for the women. " Cigars cigars of quality ! " 
 " Good fruit ripe fruit ! " were cries audible even in the 
 ballroom ; and a fine aroma of coarse tobacco mounted rap 
 idly upward to the illuminated windows. 
 
 Within the archway groups of servants were ranged in 
 the Orsetti livery. Also a magnificent personage, not to 
 be classed with any of the other domestics, wearing a silver 
 chain with a key passed across his breast. The personage 
 called a major-domo, in the discharge of his duty, divested 
 the ladies of their shawls, and arranged their draperies. 
 
 All this was witnessed with much glee by the plebs 
 outside the men smoking, the women eating and talking. 
 As the guests arrived in rapid succession, the plebs pressed 
 more and more forward, until at last some of the boldest 
 stood within the threshold. The giants in livery not only 
 tolerated this, but might be said to observe them individu 
 ally with favor seeing how much of their admiration was 
 bestowed on themselves and their fine clothes. The major- 
 domo also, with amiable condescension, affected not to 
 notice them no, not even when one tall fellow, a butcher, 
 with eyes as black as sloes, a pipe in his mouth, and a 
 coarse cloak wrapped round him, took off his hat to the 
 Princess Cardeneff, as she passed by him glittering with 
 diamonds, and cried in her face, " Oh ! bella, bella ! "
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. 87 
 
 When the major-domo had -performed those mysteries 
 intrusted to him, attendant giants threw open folding 
 doors at the farther end of the court, and the bright visions 
 disappeared into a long gallery on the ground-floor, painted 
 in brilliant frescoes, to the reception-room. The suite of 
 rooms on the ground-floor are the summer apartments, 
 specially arranged for air and coolness. Rustic chairs stand 
 against walls painted with fruit and flowers, the stems and 
 leaves represented as growing out of the floor, as at Pom 
 peii. The whole saloon is like & parterre. Settees, sofas, 
 and cozy Paris chairs covered with rich satins, are placed 
 under arbors of light-gilt trellis-work, wreathed with ex 
 quisite creepers in full flower. Palms, orange and lemon 
 trees, flowering cacti, and large-leaved cane-plants, are 
 grouped about ; consoles and marble tables, covered with 
 the loveliest cut flowers. 
 
 Near the door, in the first of these floral saloons where 
 sweet scents made the air heavy, stands the Countess 
 Orsetti. Although she had certainly passed that great 
 female climacteric, forty, a stately presence, white skin, 
 abundant hair, and good features treated artistically, gave 
 her still a certain claim to matronly beauty. She greets 
 each guest with compliments and phrases which would 
 have been deemed excessive out of Italy. Here in Lucca, 
 where she met most of her guests every day, these compli 
 ments and phrases were not only excessive, but wearisome 
 and out of place. Yet such is the custom of the country, 
 and to such fulsome flattery do the language and common 
 usage lend themselves. Countess Orsetti, therefore, is not 
 responsible for this absurdity. 
 
 Her son is beside her. He is short, stout, and smiling, 
 with a hesitating manner, and a habit of referring every 
 thing to his magnificent mamma. Away from his mamma, 
 he is frank, talkative, and amusing. It is to be hoped that 
 he will marry soon, and escape from the leading-strings.
 
 88 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 If he marries Teresa Ottoltni and it is said such a result 
 is certain no palace in Lucca would be big enough to hold 
 Teresa and the countess-mother at one time. 
 
 Group after group enters, bows to the countess, and 
 passes on among the flowers : the Countess Navascoes 
 (with her lord), pale, statuesque, dark-e} T ed, raven-haired 
 a type of Italian womanhood ; Marchesa Manzi born of 
 the noble house of Buoncampagni looking as if she had 
 walked out of a picture by Titian ; the Da Gia, separated 
 from her husband a little habit, this, of Italian ladies, con 
 sequent upon intimacy with the jeunesse doree, who prefer 
 the wives of their best friends to all other women it saves 
 trouble, and a " golden youth " is essentially idle. This 
 little habit, moreover, of separation from husbands does not 
 damage the lady in the least ; no one inquires what has 
 happened, or who is in the wrong. Society receives and 
 pets her just the same, and, quite impartial, receives and 
 pets the husband also. Luisa Bernardini, a glowing little 
 countess, as plump as an ortolan, dimpling with smiles, an 
 ugly old husband at her side comes next. It is whispered, 
 unless the ugly old husband is blind as well as deaf, they 
 will be separated, too, very shortly. Young Civilla, a 
 " golden youth," is so very pressing. He could live with 
 Luisa at Naples a cheap place. They might have gone 
 on for years as a triangular household but for Civilla's 
 carelessness. Civilla would always put out old Bernardini 
 about the dinner. (Civilla dined at Bernardini's house 
 every day, as he would at a co/&) Now, old Bernardini 
 did not care a button that his little wife had a lover ; it 
 would not have been en rtyle if she had not nor did he 
 care that his wife's lover should dine with him every day 
 not a bit but old Bernardini is a gourmand, and he does 
 care to be kept waiting for his dinner. He has lately con 
 fided to a friend, that he should be sorry to cause a scandal, 
 but that he must separate from his wife if Civilla will not
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTFS BALL. 89 
 
 reform in the matter of the dinner-hour. " He is getting 
 old," Bernardini says, "and his digestion suffers." No 
 man keeps a French cook to be kept waiting for his dinner. 
 
 Luisa, who looks the picture of innocence, wears an un 
 exceptionable pink dress, with a train that bodes ill-luck, 
 and many apologies, to her partners. A long train is 
 Luisa's little game. (Spite of Civilla, she has many other 
 little games.) Fragments of the train fly about the room 
 all the evening, and admirers take care that she shall see 
 these picked up, fervently kissed, and stowed away as relics 
 in breast-pockets. One enthusiast pinned his fragment to 
 his shoulder, like an order a knight of San Luisa, he called 
 himself. 
 
 Teresa Ottolini, with her mother, has just arrived. Be 
 ing single, Teresa either is, or" affects to be, excessively 
 steady ; no one would marry her if she were not not even 
 the good-natured Orsetti. Your Italian husband infuturo 
 will pardon nothing in his wife that may be not even that 
 her dress should be conspicuous, much less her manners. 
 Neither is it expedient that she should be seen much in 
 society. That dangerous phalanx of " golden youth " are 
 ever on the watch, " gentlemen sportsmen," to a man ; 
 their sport, woman. If she goes out much these " golden 
 youth " might compromise her. Less than a breath upon 
 a maiden's name is social death. That name must not 1)6 
 coupled with any man's not coupled even in lightest par 
 lance. So the lady waits, waits until she has a husband 
 it is more piquant to be a naughty wife than a fast miss 
 then she makes her choice one, or a dozen it is a matter 
 of taste. Danger is added to vice ; and that element of 
 intrigue dear to the Italian soul, both male and female. 
 The jeunesse dorbe delight in mild danger a duel with 
 swords, not pistols, with a foolish husband. Why cannot 
 he grin and bear it ? others do. 
 
 But to return to Teresa. She is courtesying very low
 
 90 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 to the Countess Orsetti. Although it is well known that 
 these ladies hate each other, Countess Orsetti receives Te 
 resa with a special welcome, kisses her on both cheeks, 
 addresses more compliments to her, and makes her more 
 courtesies than to any one else. How beautiful she is, the 
 Ottolini, with those white flowers twisted into the braids 
 of her chestnut hair ! those large, lazy eyes, too like 
 sleeping volcanoes ! Count Orsetti thinks her beautiful, 
 clearly ; for, under the full battery of his mother's glances, 
 he advances to meet her, blushing like a girl. He presses 
 Teresa's hand, and whispers in her ear that "she must not 
 forget her promise about the cotillon. He has lived upon 
 it ever since." Her reply has apparently satisfied him, for 
 the honest fellow breaks out all over into smiles and bows 
 and amorous glances. Then she passes on, the fair Teresa, 
 like a queen, followed by looks of unmistakable admiration 
 much more unmistakable looks of admiration than would 
 be permitted elsewhere ; but we are in Italy, where men 
 are born artists and have artistic feelings. 
 
 The men, as a rule, are neither as distinguished looking 
 nor as well dressed as the women. The type of the Luc- 
 chese nobleman is dark, short, and commonplace rustic is 
 the word. 
 
 There is the usual crowding in doorways, and appro 
 priation of seats whence arrivals can be seen and criti 
 cised. But there is no line of melancholy young girls 
 wanting partners. The gentlemen decidedly predominate, 
 and all the ladies, except Teresa Ottolini and the Boccarini, 
 are married. 
 
 The Marchesa Boccarini had already arrived, accom 
 panied by her three daughters. They are seated near the 
 door leading from the first saloon, where Countess Orsetti 
 is stationed. In front of them is a group of flowering plants 
 and palm-trees. Madame Boccarini peers through the 
 leaves, glass in eye. As a general scans the advance of
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTFS BALL. 91 
 
 the enemy's troops from behind an ambush, calculates what 
 their probable movements will be, and how he can foil them 
 either by open attack or feigned retreat, skirmish or 
 manoeuvre so Madame Boccarini scans the various arri 
 vals between the dark-green foliage. 
 
 To her ever$r young and pretty woman is a rival to her 
 daughters ; if a rival, an enemy if an enemy, to be anni 
 hilated if possible, or at least disabled, and driven igno- 
 miniously from the field. 
 
 It is well known that the Boccarini girls are poor. They 
 will have no portions every one understands that. The 
 Boccarini girls must marry as they can ; no priest will in 
 terest himself in their espousals. It was this that made 
 Nera so attractive. She was perfectly natural and uncon 
 ventionally bold " like an English mees," it was said 
 with looks of horror. (The Americans have much to an 
 swer for ; they have emancipated young ladies ; all their 
 sins, and our own to boot, we have to answer for abroad.) 
 
 The Boccarini were in reality so poor that it was no 
 uncommon thing for them to remain at home because they 
 could not afford to buy new dresses in which to display 
 themselves. (Poor Madame Boccarini felt this far more 
 than the girls did themselves.) To be seen more than 
 thrice in the same dress is impossible. Lucca is so small, 
 every one's clothes are known. There was no throw 
 ing dust in the eyes of dear female friends in this par 
 ticular. 
 
 On the present occasion the Boccarini girls had made 
 great efforts to produce a brilliant result. Madame Boc 
 carini had told her daughters that they must expect no 
 fresh dresses for six months at least, so great had been 
 the outlay. Nera, on hearing this, had tossed her stately 
 head, and had inwardly resolved that before six months 
 she would marry and that, dress or no dress, she would 
 go wherever she had a chance of meeting Count Nobili.
 
 92 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Her mother tacitly concurred in these views, as far as 
 Count Nobili was concerned, but said nothing. 
 
 A Belgravian mother who frankly drills her daughter 
 and points out, viva voce, when to advance and when to 
 retreat, and to whom the honors of war are to be accorded 
 is an article not yet imported into classi% Italy with the 
 current Anglomania. 
 
 Beside Nera sat Prince Ruspoli, a young Roman of 
 great wealth. Ruspoli aspired to lead the fashion, but not 
 even Poole could well tailor him. (Ruspoli was called 
 poule mouill&e.) Nature had not intended it. His tall, 
 gaunt figure, long arms, and thin legs, rendered him artis 
 tically unavailable. The music has just sounded from a 
 large saloon at the end of the suite, and Prince Ruspoli has 
 offered his arm to Nera for the first waltz. If Count No 
 bili had arrived, she would have refused Ruspoli, even on 
 the chance of losing the dance ; but he had not come. Her 
 sisters, who are older, and less attractive than herself, had 
 as yet found no partners ; but they were habitually resigned 
 and amiable, and submitted with perfect meekness to be 
 obliterated by Nera. 
 
 A knot of young men have now formed near the door 
 of the dancing-saloon. They are eagerly discussing the 
 cotillon, the final dance of the evening. Count Orsetti 
 had left his mother's side and joined them. 
 
 The cotillon is a matter of grave consideration the 
 very gravest. Indeed it was very seldom these young 
 heads considered any thing so grave. On the success of 
 the cotillon depends the success of the evening. All the 
 " presents " had come from Paris. Some o the figures 
 were new and required consultation. 
 
 " I mean to dance with Teresa Ottolini," announced 
 Count Orsetti, timidly he could not name Teresa 
 without reddening. " We arranged it together a month
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. 93 
 
 " And I am engaged to Countess Navascoes," said Count 
 Mala testa. 
 
 This engagement was said to have begun some years 
 back, and to be very enthralling. No one objected, least 
 of all the husband, who worshiped at the shrine of the 
 blooming Bernardini when she quarreled with Civilla. A 
 lady of fashion has a choice of lovers, as she has a choice 
 of dresses for all emergencies. 
 
 " But how about these new figures ? " asked Orsetti. 
 
 " Per Bacco hear the music ! " cried Malatesta. " What 
 a delicious waltz ! I want to dance. Let's settle it at 
 once. Who's to lead ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Baldassare;' of course," replied Franchi, a sallow, 
 languid young man, who looked as if he had been raised 
 in a hot-house, and had lost all his color. " Nobody else 
 would take the trouble. Who is he to dance with ? " 
 
 "Let him see who will have him. I shall not interfere. 
 He'll dance for both, anyhow," answered Orsetti, laughing. 
 " No one competes with Adonis." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 " Oh ! dancing, of course," returned Orsetti. " Don't 
 you see him twirling round like a teetotum, with Marchesa 
 Amici ' of the swan-neck ? ' ' And he pointed to a pair 
 who were waltzing with such precision that they never by 
 a single step broke the circle Baldassare gallantly receiv 
 ing the charge of any free lancers who flung themselves in 
 their path. 
 
 Baldassare is much elated at being permitted to dance 
 with " the swan-neck," a little faded now, but once a noted 
 beauty. The swan-neck is a famous lady. Ill-natured 
 persons might have added an awkward syllable to famous. 
 She had been very dear to a great Russian magnate who 
 lived in a villa lined with malachite, and loaded her with 
 gifts. But as the marquis, her husband, was always with 
 her and invariably spoke of his wife as an angel, where
 
 94 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 was the harm ? Now the Russian magnate was dead, and 
 the Marchesa Amici had retired to Lucca, to enjoy the 
 spoils along with her discreet and complaisant marquis. 
 
 " How that young fellow. does push himself! " observes 
 the cynical Franchi. " Dancing with the Amici such a 
 great lady ! Nothing is sacred to him." 
 
 " I wish Nobili were come." It was Orsetti who spoke 
 now. " I should have liked him to lead instead of Baldas- 
 sare. Adonis is getting forward. He wants keeping in 
 order. Will no one else lead ? I cannot, in my own house." 
 
 " Oh ! but you would mortally offend poor Trenta if 
 you did not let Baldassare lead. The women will keep 
 him in order," was the immediate reply of a young man 
 who had not yet spoken. " The cavaliere must marshal 
 the dancers, and Baldassare must lead, or the old man 
 would break his heart." 
 
 " I wish Nobili were here all the same," replied Orsetti. 
 " If he does not come soon, we must select his partner for 
 him. Whom is he to have ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Nera Boccarini, of course," responded two or 
 three voices, amid a general titter. 
 
 " I don't think Nobili cares a straw about Nera," put in 
 the languid Franchi, drawling out his words. "I have 
 heard quite another story about Nobili. Give Nera to 
 Ruspoli. He seems about to take her for life. I wish him 
 joy ! " with a sneer. " Ruspoli likes English manners. 
 Nera won't get Nobili, my word upon that there are too 
 many stories about her." 
 
 But these remarks at the moment passed unnoticed. 
 No one asked what Franchi had heard, all being intent 
 about the cotillon and the choice of partners. 
 
 " Well," burst out Orsetti, no longer able to resist the 
 music (the waltz had been turned into a galop), " I am 
 sure T don't care if Nobili or Ruspoli likes Nera. I shall 
 not try to cut them out."
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTFS BALL. 95 
 
 " No, no, not you, Orsetti ! We know your taste does 
 not lie in that quarter. Yours is the domestic style, chaste 
 and frigid ! " cried Malatesta, with a sardonic smile. There 
 was a laugh. Malatesta was so bad, even according to the 
 code of the "golden youths," that he compromised any 
 lady by his attentions. Orsetti blushed crimson. 
 
 " Pardon me," he replied, much confused, " I must go ; 
 my partner is looking daggers at me. Call up old Trenta 
 and tell him what he has to do." Orsetti rushes off to the 
 next room, where Teresa Ottolini is waiting for him, with 
 a look of gentle reproach in her sleepy eyes, where lies the 
 hidden fire. 
 
 Meanwhile Cavaliere Trenta's white head, immaculate 
 blue coat and gold buttons to which coat were attached 
 several orders had been seen hovering about from chair 
 to chair through the rooms. He attached himself specially 
 to elderly ladies, his contemporaries. To these he repeated 
 the identical high-flown compliments he had addressed to 
 them thirty years before, in the court circle of the Duke of 
 Lucca compliments such as elderly ladies love, though 
 conscious all the time of their absurd inappropriateness. 
 
 Like the dried-up rose-bud of one's youth, religiously 
 preserved as a relic, there is a faint flavor of youth and 
 pleasure about them, sweet still, as a remembrance of the 
 past. " Always beautiful, always amiable ! " murmured the 
 cavaliere, like a rhyme, a placid smile upon his rosy face. 
 
 Summoned to the cabinet council held near the door, 
 Trenta becomes intensely interested. He weighs each de 
 tail, he decides every point with the gravity of a judge : 
 how the new figures are to be danced, and with whom Bal- 
 dassare is to lead no one else could do it. He himself 
 would marshal the dances. 
 
 The double orchestra now play as if they were trying 
 to drown each other. Half a dozen rooms are full of dan 
 cers. The matrons, and older men, have subsided into
 
 96 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 whist up-stairs. All the ladies have found partners ; there 
 is not a single wall-flower. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the stately propriety of the ball. 
 It was a grand and stately gathering. Nobody but Nera 
 Boccarini was natural. " To save appearances " is the 
 social law. " Do what you like, but save appearances." 
 A dignified hypocrisy none disobey. These men and wom 
 en, with the historic names, dare not show each other what 
 they are. There was no flirting, no romping, no loud 
 laughter ; not a loud word no telltale glances, no sitting 
 in corners. It was a pose throughout. Men bowed cere 
 moniously, and addressed as strangers ladies with whom 
 they spent every evening. Husbands devoted themselves 
 to wives whom they never saw but in public. Innocence 
 may betray itself, seems to betray itself guilt never. 
 Guilt is cautious. 
 
 At this moment Count Nobili entered. He was re 
 ceived with lofty courtesy by the countess. Her manner 
 implied a gentle protest. Count Nobili was a banker's son ; 
 his mother was not n&e any thing. Still he was wel 
 come. She graciously bent her head, on which a tiara of 
 diamonds glittered in acknowledgment of his compliments 
 on the brilliancy of her ball. 
 
 Nobili's address was frank and manly. There was an 
 ease and freedom about him that contrasted favorably with 
 the effeminate appearance and affected manners of the 
 jeunesse dorie. His voice, too, was a pleasant voice, and 
 gave a value to all he said. A sunny smile lighted up his 
 fair-complexioned face, the face old Carlotta had called 
 lucky." 
 
 " You are very late," the countess had said, with the 
 slightest tone of annoyance in her voice fanning herself 
 languidly as she spoke. " My son has been looking for 
 you." 
 
 " It has been my loss, Signora Contessa," replied Nobili,
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. 97 
 
 bowing. " Pardon me. I was delayed. With your per 
 mission, I will find your son." He bowed again, then 
 walked on into the dancing-rooms beyond. 
 
 Nobili had come late. " Why should he go at all ? " 
 he had asked himself, sighing, as he sat at home, smoking 
 a solitary cigar. " What was the Orsetti ball, or any other 
 ball, to him, when Enrica was not there ? " 
 
 Nevertheless, he did dress, and he did go, telling him 
 self, however, that he was simply fulfilling a social duty by 
 so doing. Now that he is here, standing in the ballroom, 
 the incense of the flowers in his nostrils, the music thrilling 
 in his ear now that flashing eyes, flushed cheeks, graceful 
 forms palpitating with the fury of the dance and hands 
 with clasping fingers, are turned toward him does he still 
 feel regretful sad ? Not in the least. 
 
 No sooner had he arrived than he found himself the 
 object of a species of ovation. This put him into the high 
 est possible spirits. It was most gratifying. He could 
 not possibly do less than return these salutations with the 
 same warmth with which they were offered. 
 
 Not that Count Nobili acknowledged any inferiority to 
 those among whom he moved as an equal. Count Nobili 
 held that, in New Italy, every man is a gentleman who is 
 well educated and well mannered. As to the language 
 the Marchesa Guinigi used about him, he shook with 
 laughter whenever it was mentioned. 
 
 So it fell out that, before he had arrived many minutes, 
 the remembrance of Enrica died out, and Nobili flung him 
 self into the spirit of the ball with all the ardor of his na 
 ture. 
 
 " Why did you come so late, Nobili ? " asked Orsetti, 
 turning his head, and speaking in the pause of a waltz 
 with Luisa Bernardini. " You must go at once and talk to 
 Trenta about the cotillon." 
 
 " Well, Nobili, you gave us a splendid entertainment 
 5
 
 98 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 for the festival," said Franchi. " Per Dio ! there were no 
 women to trouble us." 
 
 " No women ! " exclaimed Civilla " that was the only 
 fault. Divine woman ! Otherwise it was superb. Who 
 has been ill-treating you, Franchi, to make you so sav 
 age ?" 
 
 Franchi put up his eye-glass and stared at him. 
 
 " When there is good wine, I prefer to drink it without 
 women. They distract me." 
 
 "Never saw such a reception in Lucca," said Count 
 Malatesta ; " never drank such wine. Go on, caro mio, go 
 on, and prosper. We will all support you, but we cannot 
 imitate you." 
 
 Nobili, passing on quickly, nearly ran over Cavaliere 
 Trenta. He was in the act of making a profound obeisance, 
 as he handed an ice to one of his contemporaries. 
 
 " Ah, youth ! youth ! " exclaimed poor Trenta, softly, 
 with difficulty recovering his equilibrium by the help of his 
 stick. " Never mind, Count Nobili, don't apologize ; I can 
 bear any thing from a young man who celebrates the festi 
 val of the Holy Countenance with such magnificence. Per 
 Bacco ! you are the best Lucchese in Lucca. I have seen 
 nothing like it since the duke left. My son, it was worthy 
 of the palace you inhabit." 
 
 Ah ! could the marchesa have heard this, she would 
 never have spoken to Trenta again ! 
 
 " You gratify me exceedingly, cavaliere," replied Nobili, 
 really pleased at the old man's praise. " I desire, as far as 
 I can, to become Lucchese at heart. Why should not the 
 festivals of New Italy exceed those of the old days ? At 
 least, I shall do my best that it be so." 
 
 " Eh ? eh ? " replied Trenta, rubbing his nose with a 
 doubtful expression ; " difficult very difficult. In the old 
 days, my young friend, society was a system. Each sover 
 eign was the centre of a permanent court circle. There
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTTS BALL. 99 
 
 were many sovereigns and many circles many purses, too, 
 to pay the expenses of each circle. Now it is all hap-haz- 
 ard ; no money, no court, no king." 
 
 " No king ? " exclaimed Nobili, with surprise. 
 
 " I beg pardon, count," answered the urbane Trenta, 
 remembering Nobili's liberal politics " I mean no society. 
 Society, as a system, has ceased to exist in Italy. But we 
 must think of the cotillon. It it now twelve o'clock. 
 There will be supper. Then we must soon begin. You, 
 count, are to dance with Nera Boccarini. You came so 
 late we were obliged to arrange it for you." 
 
 Nobili colored crimson.. 
 
 " Does the lady does Nera Boccarini know this ? " he 
 asked, and as he asked his color heightened. 
 
 " Well, I cannot tell you, but I presume she does. 
 Count Orsetti will have told her. The cotillon was settled 
 early. You have no objection to dance with her, I pre 
 sume ? " 
 
 " None none in the world. Why should I ? " replied 
 Nobili, hastily (now the color of his cheeks had grown 
 crimson). " Only only I might not have selected her." 
 The cavaliere looked up at him with evident surprise. " Am 
 I obliged to dance the cotillon at all, cavaliere ? " added 
 Nobili, more and more confused. " Can't I sit out ? " 
 
 " Oh, impossible simply impossible ! " cried Trenta, 
 authoritatively. " Every couple is arranged. Not a man 
 could fill your place ; the whole thing would be a fail 
 ure." 
 
 " I am sorry," answered Nobili, in a low voice " sorry 
 all the same." 
 
 " Now go, and find your partner," said Trenta, not heed 
 ing this little speech. " I am about to have the chairs ar 
 ranged. Go and find your partner." 
 
 " Now what could make Nobili object to dance with 
 Nera Boccarini ? " Trenta asked himself, when Nobili was
 
 100 .THE ITALIANS. 
 
 gone, striking liis stick loudly on the floor, as a sign for the 
 music to cease. 
 
 There was an instant silence. The gentlemen handed 
 the ladies to a long gallery, the last of the suite of the 
 rooms on the ground-floor. Here a buffet was arranged. 
 The musicians also were refreshed with good wine and liq 
 uors, before the arduous labors of the cotillon commenced. 
 No brilliant cotillon ends before 8 A. M. ; then there is 
 breakfast and driving home by daylight at ten o'clock. 
 
 Nobili, his cheeks still tingling, felt that the moment 
 had come when he must seek his partner. It would be dif 
 ficult to define the contending feelings that made him re 
 luctant to do so. Nera Boccarini had taken no pains to 
 conceal how much she liked him. This was flattering ; per 
 haps he felt it was too flattering. There was a determina 
 tion about Nera, a power of eye and tongue, an exuber 
 ance of sensuous youth, that repelled while it allured him. 
 It was like new wine, luscious to the taste, but strong and 
 heavy. New wine is very intoxicating. Nobili loved En- 
 rica. At that moment every woman that did not in some 
 subtile way remind him of her, was distasteful to him. 
 Now, it was not possible to find two women more utterly 
 different, more perfect contrasts, than the dreamy, reserved, 
 tender Enrica so seldom seen, so little known and the 
 joyous, outspoken Nera to be met with at every mass, 
 every fete, in the shops, on the Corso, on the ramparts. 
 
 Now, Nera, who had been dancing much with Prince 
 Ruspoli, had heard from him that Nobili was selected as 
 her partner in the cotillon. 
 
 " Another of your victims," Prince Ruspoli had said, 
 with a kindling eye. 
 
 Nera had laughed gayly. 
 
 " My victims ? " she retorted. " I wish you would tell 
 me who they are." 
 
 This question was accompanied by a most inviting
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. 101 
 
 glance. . Prince Ruspoli met her glance, but said nothing. 
 (Nora greatly preferred Nobili, but it is well to have two 
 strings to one's bow, and Ruspoli was a prince with a 
 princely revenue.) 
 
 When Nobili appeared, Prince Ruspoli, who had handed 
 Nera to a seat near a window, bowed to her and retir.ed. 
 
 " To the devil with Nobili ! " was Prince Ruspoli's 
 thought, as he resigned her. " I do like that girl she is 
 so English ! " and Ruspoli glanced at Poole's dress-clothes, 
 which fitted him so badly, and remembered with satisfac 
 tion certain balls in London, and certain water-parties at 
 Maidenhead (Ruspoli had been much in England), where 
 he had committed the most awful solecisms, according to 
 Italian etiquette, with frank, merry-hearted girls, whose 
 buoyant spirits were contagious. 
 
 Nobili's eyes fell instinctively to the ground as he ap 
 proached Nera. The rosy shadow of the red-silk curtains 
 behind her fell upon her face, bosom, and arms, with a ruddy 
 glow. 
 
 " I am to have the honor of dancing the cotillon with 
 you, I believe ? " he said, still looking down. 
 
 " Yes, I believe so," she responded " at least so I am 
 told ; but you have not asked me yet. Perhaps you would 
 prefer some one else. I confess -Tarn satisfied." 
 
 As she spoke, Nera riveted her full black eyes upon 
 Nobili. If he only would look up, she would reacl his 
 thoughts, and tell him her own thoughts also. But Nobili 
 did not look up ; he felt her gaze, nevertheless ; it thrilled 
 him through and through. 
 
 At this moment, the melody of a voluptuous waltz, the 
 opening of the cotillon, burst from the orchestra with an 
 entrain that might have moved an anchorite. As the 
 sounds struck upon his ear, Nobili grew dizzy under the 
 magnetism of those unseen eyes. His cheeks flushed sud 
 denly, and the blood stirred itself tumultuously in his veins.
 
 102 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Why should I repulse this girl because she lovgs me ? " 
 he asked himself. 
 
 This question came to him, wafted, as it were, upon the 
 wings of the music. 
 
 " Count Nobili, you have not answered me," insisted 
 Nera. She had not moved. " You are very absent this 
 evening. Do you wish to dance with me ? Tell me." 
 
 She dwelt upon the words. Her voice was low and 
 very pleading. Nobili had not yet spoken. 
 
 " I ask you again," she said. 
 
 This time her voice sounded most enticing. She touched 
 his arm, too, la} r ing her soft fingers upon it, and gazed up 
 into his face. Still no answer. 
 
 " Will you not speak to me, Nobili ? " She leaned for 
 ward, and grasped his arm convulsively. " Nobili, tell me, 
 I implore you, what have I done to offend you ? " 
 
 Tears gathered in her eyes. Nobili felt her hand trem 
 ble. 
 
 He looked up ; their eyes met. There was a fire in hers 
 that was contagious. His heart gave a great bound. Press 
 ing within his own the hand that still rested so lovingly 
 upon his arm, Nobili gave a rapid glance round. The room 
 was empty ; they were standing alone near the window, 
 concealed by the ample curtains. Now the red shadow fell 
 upon them both 
 
 "This shall be my answer, Nera siren," whispered 
 Nobili. 
 
 As he speaks he clasps her in his arms ; a passionate 
 kiss is imprinted upon her lips. 
 
 Hours have passed ; one intoxicating waltz-measure has 
 been exchanged for another, that falls upon the ear as en 
 thralling as the last. Not an instant had the dances ceased. 
 The Cavaliere Trenta, his round face beaming with smiles, is 
 seated in an arm-chair at the top of the largest ballroom.
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. 103 
 
 He keeps time with his foot. Now and then he raps loud 
 ly with his stick on the floor and calls out the changes of 
 the figures. Baldassare and Luisa Bernardini lead with the 
 grace and precision of practised dancers. 
 
 " Brava ! brava ! a thousand times ! Brava ! " calls out 
 the cavaliere from his arm-chair, clapping his hands. "You 
 did that beautifully, marchesa ! " This was addressed to 
 the swan's-neck, who had circled round, conducted by her 
 partner, selecting such gentlemen as she pleased, and group 
 ing them in one spot, in order to form a bouquet. " You 
 couldn't have done it better if you had been taught in 
 Paris. Forward ! forward ! " to a timid couple, to whom 
 the intricacies of the figure were evidently distracting. 
 Belle donne ! belle donne ! Victory to the brave ! Fear 
 nothing. Orsetti, keep the circle down there ; you are out 
 of your place. You will never form the bouquet if you 
 don't Louder ! louder ! " to the musicians, holding up 
 his stick at them like a marshal's baton " loud as they 
 advance then piano diminuendo pia-nis-si-mo as they 
 retreat. That sort of thing gives picturesqueness light 
 and shade, like a picture. Hi ! hi"! Malatesta ! The 
 devil ! You are spoiling every thing ! Didn't I tell you 
 to present the flowers to your partner? So so. The 
 flowers they are there." Trenta pointed to a table. He 
 struggled to rise to fetch the bouquets himself. Malatesta 
 was too quick for him, however. 
 
 " Now bring up all the ladies and place them in chairs ; 
 bow to them," etc., etc. 
 
 Thanks to the energy of the cavaliere, and the agility 
 of Baldassare who, it is admitted on all hands, had never 
 distinguished himself so much as on this occasion all the 
 difficulties of the new figures have been triumphantly sur 
 mounted. Gentlemen had become spokes of a gigantic 
 wheel that whirled round a lady seated on a chair in the 
 centre of the room. They had been named as roots, trees,
 
 1 0-1 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 and even vegetables ; they had answered to such names, 
 seeking corresponding weeds as their partners. At a clap 
 of the cavaliere's hands they had dashed off wildly, waltz 
 ing. Gentlemen had worn paper nightcaps, put on masks, 
 and been led about blindfold. They had crept under chairs, 
 waved flags from tables, thrown up colored balls, and un 
 raveled puzzles all to the rhythm of the waltz-measure 
 babbling on like a summer brooklet under the sun, through 
 emerald meadows. 
 
 And now the exciting moment of the ribbons is come 
 the moment when the best presents are to be produced 
 the ribbons a sheaf of rainbow-colors, fastened into a 
 strong golden ring, which ring is to be held by a single 
 lady, each gentleman grasping (as best he can) a single 
 ribbon. As long as the lady seated on the chair in the 
 centre pleases, the gentlemen are to gjTate round her. 
 When she drops the ring holding the sheaf of ribbons, the 
 Cavaliere Trenta is to clap his hands, and each gentleman 
 is instantly to select that lady who wears a rosette corre 
 sponding in color to his ribbon the lady in the chair being 
 claimed by her partner. 
 
 Nobili has placed Nera Boccarini on the chair in the 
 centre. (Ever since the flavor of that fervid kiss has rest 
 ed on his lips, Nobili has been lost in a delicious dream. 
 "Why should not he and Nera dance on on on for 
 ever ? Into indefinite space, if possible only together ? " 
 He asks himself this question vaguely, as she rests within 
 his arms as he drinks in the subtile perfume of the red 
 roses bound in her glossy hair.) 
 
 Nera is triumphant. Nobili is her own ! As she sits 
 in that chair when he has placed her, she is positively ra 
 diant. Love has given an unknown tenderness to her eyes, 
 a more delicate brilliancy to her cheeks, a softness, almost 
 a languor, to her movements. (Look out, acknowledged 
 belle of Lucca look out, Teresa Ottolini here is a dan-
 
 TI1E COUNTESS ORSETTl'S BALL. 105 
 
 gerous rival to your supremacy ! If Nobili loves Nera as 
 Nera believes he does Nera will ripen quickly into yet 
 more transcendent beauty.) 
 
 Now Nobili has left Nera, seated in the chair. He is 
 distributing the various ribbons among the dancers. As 
 there are over a hundred couples, and there is some mur 
 muring and struggling to secure certain ladies, who match 
 certain ribbons, this is difficult, and takes time. See it 
 is done ; again Nobili retires behind Nera's chair, to wait 
 the moment when he shall claim her himself. 
 
 How the men drag at the ribbons, whirling round and 
 round, hand-in-hand ! Nera's small hand can scarcely hold 
 them the men whirling round every instant faster tum- 
 blin"- over each other, indeed; each moment the ribbons 
 
 O ' / 
 
 are dragged harder. Nera laughs ; she sways from side 
 to side, her arms extended. Faster and more furiously the 
 men whirl round like runaway horses now, bearing dead 
 upon the reins. The strain is too great, Nera lets fall the 
 ring. The cavaliere claps his hands. Each gentleman 
 rushes toward the lady wearing a rosette matching his rib 
 bon. Nera rises. Already she is encircled by Nobili's 
 arm. He draws her to him ; she makes one step forward. 
 Nera is a bold, firm dancer, but, unknown to her, the rib 
 bons in falling have become entangled about her feet ; she 
 is bound, she cannot stir; she gives a little scream. No 
 bili, startled, suddenly loosens his hold upon her waist. 
 Nera totters, extends her arms, then falls heavily back 
 ward, her head striking on the parquet floor. There is a 
 cry of horror. Every dancer stops. They gather round 
 her where she lies. Her face is turned upward, her eyes 
 are set and glassy, her cheeks are ashen. 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " cries Nobili, in a voice of anguish, " I 
 have killed her!" He casts himself on the floor beside 
 her he raises her in his strong arms. "Air, air! give 
 her air, or she will die ! " he cries.
 
 106 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Putting every one aside, he carries Nera to the nearest 
 window, he lays her tenderly on a sofa. It is the very spot 
 where he had kissed her under the fiery shadow of the 
 red curtain. Alas ! Nobili is sobered now from the pas 
 sion of that moment. The glamour has departed with the 
 light of Nera's eyes. He is ashamed of himself; but there 
 is a swelling at his heart, nevertheless an impulse of in 
 finite compassion toward the girl who lies senseless before 
 him her beauty, her undisguised love for him, plead pow 
 erfully for her. Does he love her ? 
 
 The Countess Boccarini and Nera's sisters are by her 
 side. The poor mother at first is speechless ; she can only 
 chafe her child's cold hands, and kiss her white lips. 
 
 " Nera, Nera," at last she whispers, " Nera, speak to 
 me speak to me one word only one word ! " 
 
 " But, alas ! there is no sign of animation to all ap 
 pearance Nera is dead. Nobili, convinced that he alone is 
 responsible, and too much agitated to care what he does, 
 kneels beside her, and places his hand upon her heart. 
 
 " She lives ! she lives ! " he cries " her heart beats ! 
 Thank God, I have not killed her ! " 
 
 This leap from death to life is too much for him ; he 
 staggers to his feet, falls into a chair, and sobs aloud. 
 Nera's eyelids tremble ; she opens her eyes, her lips move. 
 
 " Nera, my child, my darling, speak to me ! " cries Ma 
 dame Boccarini. " Tell me that you can hear me." 
 
 Nera tries to raise her head, but in vain. It falls back 
 upon the cushion. 
 
 " Home, mamma home ! " her lips feebly whisper. 
 
 At the sound of her voice Nobili starts up; he brushes 
 away the tears that still roll down his cheeks. Again he 
 lifts Nera tenderly in his arms. For that night Nera be 
 longs to him ; no one else shall touch her. He bears her 
 down-stairs to a carriage. Then he disappears into the 
 darkness of the night.
 
 THE COUNTESS ORSETTI'S BALL. 107 
 
 No one will leave the ball until there is some report of 
 Nera's condition from the doctor who has been summoned. 
 The gay groups sit around the glittering ballroom, and 
 whisper to each other. The " golden youth " offer bets as 
 to Nera's recovery ; the ladies, who are jealous, back freely 
 against it. In half an hour, however, Countess Orsetti is 
 able to announce that " Nera Boccarini is better, and that, 
 beyond the shock, it is hoped that she is not seriously 
 hurt." 
 
 " You see, Malatesta, I *was right," drawls out the lan 
 guid Franchi as he descends the stairs. " You will believe 
 me another time. You know I told you and Orsetti that 
 Nera Boccarini and Nobili understood each other. He's 
 desperately in love with her." 
 
 " I don't believe it, all the same," answers Malatesta, 
 shaking his head. " A man can't half kill a girl and show 
 no compunction specially not Nobili the best-hearted 
 fellow breathing. Nobili is just the man to feel such an 
 accident as that dreadfully. How splendid Nera looked 
 to-night ! She quite cut out the Ottolini." Malatesta 
 spoke with enthusiasm ; he had a practised eye for wom 
 an's fine points. "Here, Adonis I beg your pardon 
 Baldassare, I mean where are you going ? " 
 
 " Home," replies the Greek mask. 
 
 " Never mind home ; we are all obliged to you. You 
 lead the cotillon admirably." 
 
 Baldassare smiles, and shows two rows of faultless 
 teeth. 
 
 " Come and have some supper with us at the Universo. 
 Franchi is coming, and all our set." 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure," replies Baldassare, smil 
 ing.
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CALUMNY. 
 
 BALDASSARE was, of course, invited by the cavaliere to 
 join the proposed expedition to the tombs of the Trenta 
 and to the Guinigi Tower. Half an hour before the time 
 appointed he appeared at the Palazzo Trenta. The cava 
 liere was ready, and they went out into the street together. 
 
 "If you have not been asleep since the ball, Baldas- 
 sare which is probable perhaps you can tell me how 
 Nera Boccarini is this "morning?" 
 
 " She is quite well, I understand," answered Adonis, 
 with an air of great mystery, as he smoothed his scented 
 beard. " She is only a little shaken." 
 
 " By Jove ! " exclaimed the cavaliere. " Never was I 
 present at any thing like that ! A love-scene in public ! 
 Once, indeed, I remember, on one occasion, when her high 
 ness Paulina threw herself into the arms of his serene high 
 ness " 
 
 " Have you heard the news ? " asked Baldassare, inter 
 rupting him. 
 
 He dreaded a long tirade from the old chamberlain on 
 the subject of his court reminiscences ; besides, Baldassare 
 was bursting with a startling piece of intelligence as yet 
 evidently unknown to Trenta.
 
 CALUMNY. 109 
 
 " News ! no," answered the cavaliere, contemptuously. 
 " I dare say it is some lie. You have, I am sorry to say, 
 Baldassare, all the faults of a person new to society ; you 
 believe every thing." 
 
 Baldassare eyed the cavaliere defiantlj' ; but he pulled 
 at his curled mustache in silence. 
 
 The cavaliere stopped short, raised his head, and scanned 
 him attentively. 
 
 " Out with it, my boy, out with it, or it will choke you ! 
 I see you are dying to tell me ! " 
 
 " Not at all, cavaliere," replied Baldassare, with as 
 sumed indifference ; " only I must say that I believe you 
 are the only person in Lucca who has not heard it." 
 
 " Heard what ? " demanded Trenta, angrily. 
 
 Baldassare knew the cavaliere's weak point ; he de 
 lighted to tease him. Trenta considered himself, and was 
 generally considered by others, as a universal news-monger ; 
 it was a habit that had remained to him from his former 
 life at court. From the time of Polonius downward a 
 court-chamberlain has always been a news-monger. 
 
 " Heard ? Why, the news the great news," Baldas 
 sare spoke in the same jeering tone. He drew himself up, 
 affecting to look over the cavaliere's head as he bent on 
 his stick before him. 
 
 " Go on," retorted the cavaliere, doggedly. 
 
 " How strange you have not heard any thing ! " Trenta 
 now looked so enraged, Baldassare thought it was time to 
 leave off bantering him. " Well, then, cavaliere, since you 
 really appear to be ignorant, I will tell you. After you 
 left the Orsetti ball, Malatesta asked me and the other 
 young men of their set to supper at the Universe Hotel." 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " ejaculated the cavaliere, who was now 
 thoroughly irritated, " you consider yourself one of their 
 set, do you ? I congratulate you, young man. This is 
 news to me."
 
 HO THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Certainly, cavaliere, if you ask me, I do consider my 
 self one of their set." 
 
 The cavaliere shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. 
 
 "We talked of the accident," continued Baldassare, 
 affecting not to notice his sneers, " and we talked of No- 
 bili. Many said, as you do, that Nobili is in love with 
 Nera Boccarini, and that he would certainly marry her. 
 Malatesta laughed, as is his way, then he swore a little. 
 Nobili would do no such thing, he 'declared, he would an 
 swer for it. He had it on the best authority, he said, 
 that of an eye-witness." (Ah, cruel old Carlotta, you have 
 made good your threat of vengeance !) " An eye-witness 
 had said that Nobili was in love with some one else some 
 one who wrote to him ; that they had been watched that 
 he met some one secretly, and that by-and-by all the city 
 would know it, and that there would be a great scandal." 
 
 " And who may the lady be ? " asked the cavaliere care 
 lessly, raising his head as he put the question, with a sar 
 donic glance at Baldassare. " Not that I believe one word 
 Malatesta says. He is a young coxcomb, and you, Baldas 
 sare, are a parrot, and repeat what you hear. Per Bacco ! 
 if there had been any thing serious, I should have known 
 it long ago. Who is the lady ? " Spite of himself, how 
 ever, his blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. 
 
 " The marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi." 
 
 " What ! " roared out the cavaliere, striking his stick 
 so violently on the ground that the sound echoed through 
 the solitary street. " Enrica Guinigi, whom I see every 
 day ! What a lie ! what a base lie ! How dare Mala 
 testa the beast say so ? I will chastise him myself ! 
 with my own hand, old as I am, I will chastise him ! En 
 rica Guinigi ! " 
 
 Baldassare shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace. 
 This incensed the cavaliere more violently. 
 
 " Now, listen to me, Baldassare Lena,'* shouted the
 
 CALUMNY. HI 
 
 cavaliere, advancing, and putting his fist almost into his 
 face. " Your father is a chemist, and keeps a shop. He 
 is not a doctor, though you call him so. If ever you pre 
 sume again to repeat scandals such as this scandals, I say, 
 involving the reputation of noble ladies, my friends ladies 
 into whose houses I have introduced you, there shall be no 
 more question of your being of their ' set.'' I will take care 
 that you never enter one of their doors again. By the body 
 of my holy ancestor, San Riccardo, I will disgrace you 
 publicly disgrace you ! " 
 
 Trenta's rosy face had grown purple, his lips worked 
 convulsively. He raised his stick, and flourished it in the 
 air, as if about to make it descend like a truncheon on 
 Baldassare's shoulders. Adonis drew back a step or two, 
 following with his eyes the cavaliere's movements. He 
 was quite unmoved by his threats. Not a day passed that 
 Trenta did not threaten him with his eternal displeasure. 
 Adonis was used to it, and bore it patiently. He bore it 
 because he could not help it. Although by no means over 
 burdened with brains, he was conscious that as yet he was 
 not sufficiently established in society to stand alone. Still, 
 he had too high an opinion of his personal beauty, fine 
 clothes, and general merits, to believe that the ladies of 
 Lucca would permit of his banishment by any arbitrary de 
 cree of the cavaliere. 
 
 " You had better find out the truth, cavaliere," he mut 
 tered, keeping well out of the range of Trenta's stick, " be 
 fore you put yourself in such a passion." 
 
 " Domine Dio ! that they should dare to utter such 
 abominations ! " ejaculated the cavaliere. " Why, Enrica 
 lives the life of a nun ! I doubt if she has ever seen No- 
 bili certainly she has never spoken to him. Let Mala- 
 testa, and the young scoundrels at the club, attack the 
 married women. They can defend themselves. But, to 
 calumniate an innocent girl ! it is horrible ! it is unman-
 
 112 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 ly ! His highness the Duke of Lucca would have banished 
 the wretch forthwith. Ah ! Italy is going to the devil ! 
 Now, Baldassare," he continued, turning round and glar 
 ing upon Adonis, who still retreated cautiously before him, 
 " I have a great mind to send you home. Wfc are about, 
 to meet the young lady herself. You are not worthy to 
 be in her company." 
 
 " I only repeated what Malatesta told me," urged Bal 
 dassare, plaintively, looking very blank. " I am not an 
 swerable for him. Go and quarrel with Malatesta, if you 
 like, but leare me alone. You asked me a question, and I 
 answered you. That is all." 
 
 Baldassare had dressed himself with great care ; his 
 hair was exquisitely curled for the occasion. He had noth 
 ing to do all day, and the prospect of returning home was 
 most depressing. 
 
 " You are not answerable for being born a fool ! " was 
 the rejoinder. " I grant that. Who told Malatesta ? " 
 asked the cavaliere, turning sharply toward Baldassare. 
 
 " He said he had heard it in many quarters. He in 
 sisted on having heard it from one who had seen them to 
 gether." 
 
 (Old Carlotta, sitting in her shop-door at the corner of 
 the street of San Simone, like an evil spider in its web, 
 could have answered that question.) 
 
 The cavaliere was still standing on the same spot, in 
 the centre of the street. 
 
 " Baldassare," he said, addressing him more calmly, 
 "this is a wicked calumny. The marchesa must not hear 
 it. Upon reflection, I shall not notice it. Malatesta is a 
 chattering fool an ape ! I dare say he was tipsy when 
 he said it. But, as you value my protection, swear to me 
 not to repeat one word of all this. If you hear it men 
 tioned, contradict it flatly contradict it, on my authority 
 the authority of the Marchesa Guinigi's oldest friend. No-
 
 CALUMNY. 113 
 
 bill will marry Ncra Boccarini, and there will be an end of 
 it ; and Enrica yes, Baldassare," continued the cavaliere, 
 with an air of immense dignity " yes, to prove to you how 
 ridiculous this report is, Enrica is about to marry also. I 
 am at this very time authorized by the family to arrange 
 an alliance with " 
 
 " I guess ! " burst out Baldassare, reddening with da- 
 light at being intrusted with so choice a piece of news 
 " with Count Marcscotti ! " Trenta gave a conscious smile, 
 and nodded. This was done with a certain reserve, but 
 still graciously. "To be sure; it was easy to see how 
 much he admired her, but I did not know that the lady " 
 
 " Oh, yes, the lady is all right she will agree," rejoined 
 Trenta. " She knows no one else ; she will obey her aunt's 
 commands and my wishes." 
 
 " I am delighted ! " cried Baldassare. " Why, there 
 will be a ball at Palazzo Guinigi a ball, after all ! " 
 
 " But the marchesa must never hear this scandal about 
 Nobili," added Trenta, suddenly relapsing into gravity. 
 " She hates him so much, it might give her a fit. Have a 
 care, Baldassare have a care, or you may yet incur my 
 severest displeasure." 
 
 " I am sure I don't want the marchesa or any one else 
 to know it," replied Baldassare, greatly reassured as to the 
 manner in which he would pass his day by the change in 
 Trenta's manner. " I would not annoy her or injure the 
 signorina for all the world. I am sure you know that, 
 cavaliere. No word shall pass my lips, I promise you." 
 
 " Good ! good ! " responded Trenta, now quite pacified 
 (it was not in Trenta's nature to be angry long). Now he 
 moved forward, and as ho did so he took Baldassare's arm, 
 in token of forgiveness. " No names must be mentioned," 
 he continued, tripping along " mind, no names ; but I 
 authorize you, on my authority, if you hear this abominable 
 nonsense repeated I authorize you to say that you have
 
 114 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 it from me that Enrica Guinigi is to be married, and not 
 to .Nobili. He! he! That will surprise them those 
 chattering young blackguards at the club." 
 
 Thus, once more on the most amiable terms, the cava- 
 liere and Baldassare proceeded leisurely arm-in-arm toward 
 the street of San Simone.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FKEDIASTO. 
 
 Couxr MARESCOTTT was walking rapidly up and down 
 in the shade before the Guinigi Palace when the cavaliere 
 and Baldassare appeared. He was so absorbed in his own 
 thoughts that he did not perceive them. 
 
 " I must speak to him as soon as possible about Enrica," 
 was Trenta's thought on seeing him. " With this report 
 going about, there is not an hour to lose." 
 
 " You have kept your appointment punctually, count," 
 he said, laying his hand on Marescotti's shoulder. 
 
 " Punctual, my dear cavaliere ? I never missed an ap 
 pointment in my life when made with a lady. I was up 
 long before daylight, looking over some books I have with 
 me, in order to be able the better to describe any object of 
 interest to the Signorina Enrica." 
 
 " An opportunity for you, my boy,-" said Trenta, nodding 
 his head roguishly at Baldassare. " You will have a lesson 
 in Lucchese history. Of course, you know nothing about 
 it." 
 
 " Every man has his forte," observed the count, good- 
 naturedly, seeing 'Baldassare's embarrassment at having 
 his ignorance exposed. (The cavaliere never could leave 
 poor Adonis alone.) " We all know your forte is the ball 
 room ; there you beat us all."
 
 116 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Taught by me, taught by me," muttered the cavaliere ; 
 " he owes it all to me." 
 
 Leaving the count and Baldassare standing, together in 
 the street, the cavaliere knocked at the door of the Guinigi 
 Palace. When it was opened he entered the gloomy court. 
 Within he found Enrica and Teresa awaiting his arrival. 
 
 At the sight of her whom he so much loved, and of 
 whom he had just heard what he conceived to be such an 
 atrocious calumny, the cavaliere was quite overcome. Tears 
 gathered in his eyes ; he could hardly reply to her when 
 she addressed him. 
 
 " My Enrica," he said at last, taking her by the hand 
 and imprinting a kiss upon her forehead, " you are a good 
 child. Heaven bless you, and keep you alwa3*s as you 
 are ! " A conscious blush overspread Enrica's face. 
 
 " If he knew all, would he say this ? " she asked herself; 
 and her pretty head with the soft curls dropped involun 
 tarily. 
 
 Enrica was very simply attired, but the flowing lines 
 of her graceful figure were not to be disguised by any 
 mere accident of dress. A black veil, fastened upon her 
 hair like a mantilla (a style much affected by the Lucca 
 ladies), fell in thick folds upon her shoulders, and partially 
 shaded her face. 
 
 Teresa stood by her young mistress, prepared to follow 
 her. Trenta perceived this. He did not like Teresa. If 
 she went with them, the whole conversation might be re 
 peated in Casa Guinigi. This, with Count Marescotti in 
 the company, would be to say the least of it incon 
 venient. 
 
 " You may retire," he said to Teresa. " I will take 
 charge of the signorina." 
 
 " But Signore Cavaliere " and Teresa, feeling the af 
 front, colored scarlet "the marchesa's positive orders 
 were, I was not to leave the signorina."
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO. 117 
 
 " Never mind," answered the cavaliere, authoritatively, 
 " I will take that on myself. You can retire." 
 
 Teresa, swelling with anger, remained in the court. 
 The cavaliere offered his arm to Enrica. She turned and 
 addressed a few words to the exasperated Teresa ; then, 
 led by Trenta, she passed into the street. Upon the thresh 
 old, Count Marescotti met them. 
 
 " This is indeed an honor," he said, addressing Enrica 
 his face beamed, and he bowed to the ground. " I 
 trembled lest the marchesa should have forbidden your 
 coming." 
 
 " So did I," answered Enrica, frankly. " I am so glad. 
 I fear that my aunt is not altogether pleased ; but she has 
 said nothing, and I came." 
 
 She spoke with such eagerness, she saw that the count 
 was surprised. This made her blush. At any other time 
 such an expedition as that they were about to make would 
 have been delightful to her for its own sake, Enrica was 
 so shut up within the palace, except on the rare occasions 
 when she accompanied Teresa to mass, or took a formal 
 drive on the ramparts at sundown with her aunt. But 
 now she was full of anxiety about Nobili. They had not 
 met for a week he had not written to her even. Should 
 she see him in the street ? Should she see him from the 
 top of the tower ? Perhaps he was at home at that very 
 moment watching her. She gave a furtive glance upward 
 at the stern old palace before her. The thick walls of sun- 
 dried bricks looked cruel ; the massive Venetian casements 
 mocked her. The outer blinds shut out all hope. Alas ! 
 there was not a chink anywhere. Even the great doors 
 were closed. 
 
 " Ah ! if Teresa could have warned him that I was 
 coming ! " and she gave a great sigh. " If he only knew 
 that I was here, standing in the very street ! Oh, for one 
 glimpse of his dear, bright face ! "
 
 118 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Again Enrica sighed, and again she gazed up wistfully 
 at the closed facade. 
 
 Meanwhile the cavaliere and Baldassare were engaged 
 in a violent altercation. Baldassare had proposed walking 
 to the church of San Frediano, which, in consideration of 
 the cavaliere's wishes, they were to visit first. " No one 
 would think of driving such a short distance," he in 
 sisted. " The'sun was not hot, and the streets were all in 
 shade." The cavaliere retorted that " it was too hot for 
 any lady to walk," swung his stick menacingly in the air, 
 called Baldassare " an imbecile," and peremptorily ordered 
 him to call a. fiacre. Baldassare turned scarlet in the face, 
 and rudely refused to move. 
 
 " He was not a servant," he said. " He would do noth 
 ing unless treated like a gentleman." 
 
 This was spoken as he hurled what he intended to be 
 a tremendous glance of indignation at the cavaliere. It 
 produced no effect whatever. With an exasperating smile, 
 the cavaliere again desired Baldassare to do as he was bid, 
 or else to go home. The count interposed, a fiacre was 
 called, in which they all seated themselves. 
 
 San Frediano, a basilica in the Lombard style, is the 
 most ancient church in Lucca. The mid-day sun now 
 flashed full upon the front, and lighted up the wondrous 
 colors of a mosaic on a gold ground, over the entrance. 
 At one corner of the building a marble campanile, formed 
 by successive tiers of delicate arcades, springs upward into 
 the azure sky. Flocks of gray pigeons circled about the 
 upper gallery (where hang the bells), or rested, cooing 
 softly in the warm air, upon the sculptured cornice border 
 ing the white arches. It was a quiet scene of tranquil 
 beauty, significant of repose in life and of peace in death 
 the church, with its wide portals, offering an everlasting 
 home to all Avho sought shelter within its walls.
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FKEDIANO. 119 
 
 The cavaliere was so impatient to do the honors that 
 he actually jumped unaided from the carriage. 
 
 " This, dear Enrica, is my parish church," he said, as 
 he handed her out, pointing upward to the richly-tinted 
 pile, which the suns of many centuries had dyed of a gold 
 en hue. " I know every stone in the building. From a 
 child I have played in this piazza, under these venerable 
 walls. My earliest prayers were said at the altar of the 
 Sacrament within. Here I confessed my youthful sins. 
 Here I received my first communion. Here I hope to lay 
 my bones, when it shall please God to call me." 
 
 Trenta spoke with a tranquil smile. It was clear 
 neither life nor death had any terrors for him. " The very 
 pigeons know me," he added, placidly. He looked up to 
 the campanile, gave a peculiar whistle, and, putting his 
 hand into his pocket, threw down some grains of corn upon 
 the pavement. The pigeons, whirling round in many cir 
 cles (the sunlight flashing upon their burnished breasts, 
 and upon the soft gray and purple feathers of their wings), 
 gradually in little groups of twos and threes-^-flew down, 
 and finally settled themselves in a knot upon the pavement, 
 to peck up the corn. 
 
 " Good, pious old man, how I honor you !" ejaculated 
 Count Marescotti, fervently, as he watched the timid gray- 
 coated pigeons gathering round the cavaliere's feet, as he 
 stood apart from the rest, serenely smiling as he fed them. 
 " May thy placid spirit be unruffled in time and in eter 
 nity ! " 
 
 The interior of the church, in the Longobardic style, is 
 bare almost to plainness. On entering, the eye ranges 
 through a long broad nave with rounded arches, the arches 
 surmounted by narrow windows ; these dividing arches, 
 supported on single columns with monumental capitals, 
 forming two dark and rather narrow aisles. The high 
 altar is raised on three broad steps. Here burn a few
 
 120 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 lights, dimmed into solitary specks by the brightness of 
 the sun. The walls on either side of the aisles are broken 
 by various chapels. These lie in deep shadow. The roof, 
 formed of open rafters, bearing marks of having once been 
 elaborately gilded, is now but a mass of blackened timbers. 
 The floor is of brick, save where oft-recurring sepulchral 
 slabs are cut into the surface. These slabs, of black-and- 
 white marble, or of alabaster stained and worn from its na 
 tive whiteness into a dingy brown, are almost obliterated 
 by the many footsteps which have come and gone upon 
 them for so many centuries. Not a single name remains 
 to record whom they commemorate. " Dimly seen under a 
 covering of dirt and dust deposited by the living, lie the 
 records of these unknown dead : here a black lion rampant 
 on a white shield ; there a coat-of-arms on an escutcheon, 
 with the fragment of a princely coronet ; beyond, a life- 
 sized monk, his shadowy head resting on a cushion a 
 matron with her robes soberly gathered about her feet, her 
 hands crossed on her bosom a bishop, under a painted 
 canopy, mjre on head and staff in hand a warrior, grimly 
 helmeted, carrying his drawn sword in his hand. Who 
 are these? Whence came they ? None 'can tell. 
 
 Beside one of the most worn and defaced of these slabs 
 the cavaliere stopped. 
 
 " On this stone," he said, his smiling countenance sud 
 denly grown solemn " on this very stone, where you see 
 the remains of a mosaic " and he pointed to some morsels 
 of color still visible, crossing himself as he did so " a no 
 table miracle was performed. Before I relate it, let us 
 adore the goodness of the Blessed Virgin, from whom- all 
 good gifts come." 
 
 Cavaliere Trenta was on his knees before he had done 
 speaking ; again he fervently crossed himself, reciting the 
 " Maria Santissima." Enrica bowed her head, and timidly 
 knelt beside him ; Baldassare bent his knees, but, remem-
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO. 121 
 
 bering that Iris trousers were new, and that they might 
 take an adverse crease that could never be ironed out, 
 he did not allow himself to touch the floor ; then, with 
 open eyes and ears, he rose and stood waiting for the cava- 
 liere to proceed. Baldassare was uneducated and supersti 
 tious. The latter quality recommended him strongly to 
 Trenta. He was always ready to believe every word the 
 cavaliere uttered with unquestioning faith. At the men 
 tion of a church legend Count Marescotti turned away with 
 an expression of disgust, and leaned against a pillar, his 
 eyes fixed on Enrica. 
 
 The cavaliere, having risen from his knees, and carefully 
 dusted himself with a snowy pocket-handkerchief, took 
 Enrica by the hand, and placed her in such a position that 
 the sunshine, striking through the windows of the nave, 
 fell full upon the monumental stone before them. 
 
 " My Enrica," he said, in a subdued voice, " and you, 
 Baldassare" he motioned to him to approach nearer 
 " you are both young. Listen to me. Lay to heart what 
 an old man tells you. Such a miracle as I am about to re 
 late must touch even the count's hard heart." 
 
 He glanced round at Marescotti, but it was evident he 
 was chagrined by what he saw. Marescotti neither heard 
 him, nor even affected to do so. Trenta's voice in the great 
 church was weak and piping indistinct even to those bo- 
 side him. Finding the count unavailable either for instruc 
 tion or reproof, the cavaliere shook his head, and his counte 
 nance fell. Then he turned his mild blue eyes upon Enrica, 
 leaned upon his stick, and commenced : 
 
 " In the sixth century, the flag-stones in this portion of 
 the nave were raised for the burial of a distinguished lady, 
 a member of the Manzi family ; but oh ! stupendous prodi 
 gy ! " the cavaliere cast up his eyes to heaven, and clasped 
 his dimpled hands " no sooner had the coffin been lowered 
 into the vault prepared for it, than the corpse of the lady 
 6
 
 122 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 of the Manzi family sat upright in the open Bier, put aside 
 the flowers and wreaths piled upon her, and uttered these 
 memorable and never-to-be-forgotten words : ' Bury me 
 elsewhere ; here lies the body of San Frediano.' " 
 
 Baldassare, who had grown very pale, now shuddered 
 visibly, and contemplated the cavaliere with awe. 
 
 " Stupendous ! " he muttered " prodigious ! In 
 deed!" 
 
 Enrica did not speak ; her eyes were fixed on the ground. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you may well say prodigious," responded 
 Trenta, bowing his white head ; then, looking round tri 
 umphantly : " It was prodigious, but a prodigy, remember, 
 vouched for by the chronicles of the Church. (Chronicles 
 of the Church are much more to be trusted than any thing 
 else, much more than Evangelists, who were not bishops, 
 and therefore had no authority we all know that.) No 
 sooner, my friends, had the corpse of the lady of the Manzi 
 family spoken, as I have said, than diligent search was 
 made by those assembled in the church, when lo ! within 
 the open vault the remains of the adorable San Frediano 
 were discovered in excellent preservation. I need not say 
 that, having died in the odor of sanctity, the most fragrant 
 perfume filled the church, and penetrated even to the adja 
 cent streets. Several sick persons were healed by merely 
 inhaling it. One man, whose arm had been shot off at the 
 shoulder-joint many years before, found lu's limb come again 
 in an instant, by merely touching the blessed relic." The 
 cavaliere paused to take breath. No one had spoken. 
 " Have you heard the miracle of the glorious San Fre 
 diano ? " asked Trenta, a little timidly, raising his voice to 
 its utmost pitch as he addressed Count Marescotti. 
 
 " No, I have not, cavaliere ; but, if I had, it would not 
 alter my opinion. I do not believe in mediaeval miracles." 
 As he spoke, Count Marescotti turned round from the steps 
 of a side-altar, whither he had wandered to look at a pict-
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO. 123 
 
 ure. " I did not hear one word you said, my dear cava- 
 liere, but I am acquainted with the supposed miracles of 
 San Frediano. They are entirely without evidence, and in 
 no way shake my conclusions as to the utter wortblessness 
 of such legends. In this I agree with the Protestants," he 
 continued, " rather than with that inspired teacher, Savo 
 narola. The Protestants, spite of so-called 'ecclesiastical 
 authority,' persist in denying them. With the Protestants, 
 I hold that the entire machinery of modern miracles is false 
 and unprofitable. With the Apostles miraculous power 
 ended." 
 
 " Marescotti ! " ejaculated the poor cavaliere, aghast at 
 the effect his appeal had produced, " for God's sake, don't, 
 don't ! before Enrica and in a church, too ! " 
 
 " I believe with Savonarola in other miracles," con 
 tinued the count, in a louder tone, addressing himself di 
 rectly to Enrica, on whom he gazed with a tender expres 
 sion he was far too much engrossed with her and with 
 the subject to heed Trenta's feeble remonstrance " I be 
 lieve in the mystic essence of soul to soul I believe in the 
 reappearance of the disembodied spirit to its kindred affinity 
 still on earth still clothed with a fleshly garment. I be 
 lieve in those magnetic influences that circle like an atmos 
 phere about certain purified and special natures, binding 
 them together in a closely -locked embrace, an embrace that 
 neither time, distance, nor even death itself, can weaken or 
 sever ! " 
 
 He paused for an instant ; a dark fire lit up his eyes, 
 which were still bent on Enrica. 
 
 "All this I believe life would be intolerable to me 
 without such convictions. At the same time, I am ready 
 to grant that all cannot accept my views. These are 
 mysteries to be approached without prejudice mysteries 
 that must be received absolutely without prejudice of 
 religion, country, or race ; received as the aesthetic in-
 
 124 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 stinct within us teaches. Who," he added, and as he spoke 
 he stood erect on the steps of the altar, his arms out 
 stretched in the eagerness of argument, his grand face all 
 aglow with enthusiasm " who can decide ? It is faith 
 that convinces faith that vivifies faith that transforms 
 faith that links us to the hierarchy of angels ! To believe 
 to act on our belief, even if that belief be false that is true 
 religion. A merciful Deity will accept our imperfect sacri 
 fice. Are we not all believers in Christ? Away with 
 creeds and churches, with formularies and doctrines, with 
 painted walls and golden altars, with stoled priests, infalli 
 ble popes, and temporal hierarchies ! What are these vain 
 distinctions, if we love God ? Let the whole world unite 
 to believe in the Redeemer. Then we shall all be brothers 
 you, I all, brothers joined within the holy circle of 
 one universal family of one universal worship ! " 
 
 Count Marescotti ceased speaking, but his impassioned 
 words still echoed through the empty aisles. His eyes had 
 wandered from Enrica ; they were now fixed on high. His 
 countenance glowed with rapture. Wrapped in the visions 
 his imagination had called forth, he descended from the 
 altar, and slowly approached the silent group gathered be 
 side the monumental stone. 
 
 Enrica had eagerly drunk in every word the count had 
 uttered. He seemed to speak the language of her secret 
 musings ; to interpret the hidden mysteries of her young 
 heart. She, at least, believed in the affinity of kindred 
 spirits. What but that had linked her to Nobili ? Oh, to 
 live in such a union ! 
 
 Trenta had become very grave. 
 
 " You are a visionary," he said, addressing the count, 
 who now stood beside them. " I am sorry for you. Such a 
 consummation as you desire is impossible. Your faith has 
 no foundation. It is a creation of the brain. The Catholic 
 Church stands upon a rock. It permits no change, it ac-
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FI1EDIANO. 125 
 
 cepts no compromise, .it- admits no errors. The authority 
 given to St. Peter by Jesus Christ himself, with the spirit 
 ual keys, can alone open the gates of heaven. All without 
 are damned. Good intentions are nothing. Private inter 
 pretation, believe me, is of the devil. Obedience to the 
 Holy Father, and the intercession of the saints, can alone 
 save your soul. Submit yourself to the teaching of our 
 mother Church, my dear count. Submit yourself you 
 have my prayers." Trenta watched Marescotti with a 
 fixed gaze of such solemn earnestness, it seemed as though 
 he anticipated that the blessed San Frediano himself might 
 appear, and then and there miraculously convert him. 
 " Submit yourself," he repeated, raising his arm and point 
 ing to the altar, " then you will be blest." 
 
 No miraculous interposition, however, was destined to 
 crown the poor cavaliere's strenuous efforts to convert the 
 heretical count ; but, long before he had finished, the sound 
 of his voice had recalled Count Marescotti to himself. He 
 remembered that the old chamberlain belonged, in years at 
 least, if not in belief, to the past. He blamed himself for 
 his thoughtlessness in having said a syllable that could 
 give him pain. The mystic disciple of Savonarola became 
 in an instant the polished gentleman. 
 
 " A thousand pardons, my dear Trenta," he said, pass 
 ing his hand over his forehead, and putting back the dark, 
 disordered hair that hung upon his brow "a thousand 
 pardons ! I am quite ashamed of myself. We are here, as 
 I now remember, to examine the tombs of your ancestors 
 in the chapel of the Trenta. I have delayed you too long. 
 Shall we proceed ? " 
 
 Trenta, glad to escape from the possibility of any fur 
 ther discussion with the count, whose religious views were 
 to him nothing but the ravings of a mischievous maniac, 
 at once turned into the side-aisle, and, with ceremonious po 
 liteness, conducted Enrica toward the chapel of the Trenta.
 
 126 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 The chapel, divided by gates of gilt bronze from the line 
 of the other altars bordering the aisles, forms a deep recess 
 near the high altar. The walls are inlaid by what had once 
 been brilliantly-colored marbles, in squares of red, green, 
 and yellow ; but time and damp had dulled them into a 
 sombre hue. Above, a heavy circular cornice joins a dome- 
 shaped roof, clothed with frescoes, through which the light 
 descends through a central lantern. Painted figures of 
 prophets stand erect within the four spandrils, and beneath, 
 breaking the marble walls, four snow-white statues of the 
 Evangelists fill lofty niches of gray-tinted stone. Opposite 
 the gilded gates of entrance which Trenta had unlocked, a 
 black sarcophagus projects from the wall. This sarcopha 
 gus is surmounted by a carved head. Many other monu 
 ments break the marble walls ; some very ancient, others 
 of more recent shape and construction. The floor, too, is 
 almost entirely overlaid by tombstones, but, like those in 
 the nave, they are greatly defaced, and the inscriptions are 
 for the most part illegible. Over the altar a blackened 
 painting represents " San Riccardo of the Trenta " battling 
 with the infidels before Jerusalem. 
 
 " Here," said the cavaliere, standing in the centre under 
 the dome, " is the chapel of the Trenta. Here I, Cesare 
 Trenta, fourteenth in succession from Gualtiero Trenta 
 who commanded a regiment at the battle of Marignano 
 against the French under Francis I. hope to lay my bones. 
 The altar, as you see, is sanctified by the possession of an 
 ancestral picture, deemed miraculous." He bowed to the 
 earth as he spoke, in which example he was followed by 
 Enrica and Baldassare. " San Riccardo was the compan 
 ion-in-arms of Godfrey de Bouillon. His bones lie under 
 the altar. Upon his return from the crusades he died in 
 our palace. We still show the very room. His body is 
 quite entire within that tomb. I have seen it myself when 
 a boy."
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FREDIANO. 127 
 
 Even the count did not venture to raise any doubt as to 
 the authenticity of the patron saint of the Trenta family. 
 The cavaliere himself was on his knees ; rosary in hand, he 
 was devoutly offering up his innocent prayers to the ashes 
 of an imaginary saint. After many crossings, bowings, and 
 touchings of the tomb (always kissing the fingers that had 
 been in contact with the sanctified stone), he arose, smil 
 ing. 
 
 " And now," said the count, turning toward Enrica, " I 
 will ask leave to show you another tomb, which may, possi 
 bly, interest you more than the sepulchre of the respected 
 Trenta." As he spoke he led her to the opposite aisle, tow 
 ard a sarcophagus of black marble placed under an arch, 
 on which was inscribed, in gilt letters, the name " Castruc- 
 cio Castracani degli Antimelli," and the date " 1328." 
 " Had our Castruccio moved in a larger sphere," said the 
 count, addressing the little group that had now gathered 
 about him, "he would have won a name as great as that 
 of Alexander of Macedon. Like Alexander, he died in the 
 flower of his age, in the height of his fame. Had he lived, 
 he would have been King of Italy, and Lucca would have 
 become the capital of the peninsula. Chaste, sober, and 
 merciful brave without rashness, and prudent without fear 
 Castruccio won all hearts. Lucca at least appreciated her 
 hero. Proud alike of his personal qualities, and of those 
 warlike exploits with which Italy already rang, she unani 
 mously elected him dictator. When this signal honor was 
 conferred upon him," continued the count, addressing him 
 self again specially to Enrica, who listened, her large 
 dreamy eyes fixed upon him, " Castruccio was absent, en 
 gaged in one of those perpetual campaigns against Florence 
 which occupied so large a portion of his short life. At that 
 very moment he was encamped on the heights of San Mi- 
 niato, preparing to besiege the hated rival of our city 
 broken and reduced by the recent victory he had gained
 
 128 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 over her at Altopasso. At Altopasso he had defeated and 
 humiliated Florence. Now he had planted our flag under 
 her very walls. Upon the arrival of the embassadors sent 
 by the Lucchese Republic one of whom was a Guinigi " ' 
 
 " There was a Trenta, too, among them ; Antonio Trenta, 
 a knight of St. John," put in the cavaliere, gently, unwilling 
 to interrupt the count, but finding it impossible to resist 
 the temptation of identifying his family with his country's 
 triumphs. The count acknowledged the omission with a 
 courteous bow. 
 
 " Upon the arrival of the embassadors," he resumed, 
 " announcing the honor conferred upon him, Castruccio in 
 stantly left his camp, and returned with all haste to Lucca. 
 The dignity accorded to Castruccio exalted him above all 
 external demonstration, but he understood that his native 
 city longed to behold, and to surround with personal ap 
 plause, the person of her idol. In the piazza without this 
 church, the very centre of Lucca, the heart, as it were, 
 whence all the veins and arteries of our municipal body 
 flow, Castruccio was received with all the pomp of a Roman 
 triumph. Ah ! cavaliere" and the count's lustrous eyes 
 rested on Trenta, who was devouring every word he uttered 
 with silent delight " those were proud days for Lucca ! " 
 
 " Recall them recall them, O Count ! " cried Trenta. 
 " It does me good to listen." 
 
 " Thirty thousand Florentine prisoners followed Cas 
 truccio to Lucca. His soldiers were laden with booty. 
 They drove before them innumerable herds of cattle ; 
 strings of wagons, filled with the spoils of a victorious cam 
 paign, blocked the causeways. Last of all appeared, rum 
 bling on its ancient wheels, the carroccio, or state-car of the 
 Florentine Republic, bearing their captured flags lowered, 
 and trailing in the dust. Castruccio whose sole represent 
 atives are the Marchesa Guinigi and yourself, signorina 
 Castruccio followed. He was seated in a triumphal chariot,
 
 CHURCH OF SAN FEEDIANO. 129 
 
 drawn by eight milk-white horses. Banners fluttered 
 around him. A golden crown of victory was suspended 
 above his head. He was arrayed in a flowing mantle of 
 purple, over a suit of burnished armor. His brows were 
 bound by a wreath of golden laurel. In his right hand he 
 carried a jeweled sceptre. Upon his knees lay his victo 
 rious sword unsheathed. Never was manly beauty more 
 transcendent. His lofty stature and majestic bearing ful 
 filled the expectation of a hero. How can I describe his 
 features ? They are known to all of you by that famous 
 picture (the only likeness of him extant) belonging to the 
 Marchesa Guinigi, placed in the presence-chamber of her 
 palace." 
 
 " Yes, yes," burst forth Trenta, no longer able to con 
 trol his enthusiasm. " Old as I am, when I think of those 
 days, it makes me young again. Alas 1 what a change ! 
 Now we have lost not only our independence, but our very 
 indentity. Our sovereign is gone banished our state 
 broken up. "We are but the slaves of a monster called the 
 kingdom of Italy, ruled by Piedmontese barbarians ! " 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " whispered the irrepressible Baldas- 
 sare. "Pray do not interrupt the count." Even the 
 stolid Adonis was moved. 
 
 " The daughters of the noblest houses of Lucca," con 
 tinued Marescotti, " strewed flowers in Castruccio's path. 
 The magistrates and nobles received him. on their knees. 
 Young as he was, with one voice they saluted him 'Father 
 of his Country ! ' " 
 
 The count paused. He bowed his head toward the 
 sarcophagus before which they were gathered, in a mute 
 tribute of reverence. After a few minutes of rapt silence 
 he resumed : 
 
 " When the multitude heard that name, ten thousand 
 thousand voices echoed it. ' Father of his Country ! ' re 
 sounded to the summits of the surrounding Apennines.
 
 130 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 The mountain-tops tossed it to and fro the caves thun 
 dered it the very heavens bore it aloft to distan-t hemi 
 spheres ! Our great soldier, overcome by such overwhelm 
 ing marks of affection, expressed in every look and gesture 
 how deeply he was moved. Before leaving the piazza, 
 Castruccio was joined by his relative, young Paolo Gui- 
 nigi ! after his decease to become dictator, and Lord of 
 Lucca. Amid the clash of arms, the brayings of trumpets, 
 and the applause of thousands, they cordially embraced. 
 They were fast friends as well as cousins. Our Castruccio 
 was of a type incapable of jealousy. Paolo was a pa 
 triot that was enough. Together they proceeded to the 
 cathedral of San Martino. At the porch Castruccio was 
 received by the archbishop and the assembled clergy. He 
 was placed hi a chair of carved ivory, and carried in triumph 
 up the nave to the chapel of the Holy Countenance. Here 
 he descended, and, while he prostrated himself before the 
 miraculous image, hymns and songs of praise burst from 
 the choir. 
 
 " Such, Signorina Enrica," said the count, turning 
 toward her, "is a brief outline of the scene that passed 
 within this city of Lucca, before that tomb held the illus 
 trious dust it now contains." 
 
 " Bravo, bravo, count ! " exclaimed the mercurial Tren- 
 ta, in a delighted tone. (He was ready to forgive all the 
 count's transgressions, in the fervor of the moment.) 
 " That is how I love to hear you talk. Now you do your 
 self justice. Gesu mio ! how seldom it is given to a man 
 to be so eloquent ! How can he bring himself to employ 
 such gifts against the infallible Church ? " This last remark 
 was addressed to Enrica in a tone too low to be overheard. 
 
 " And now," said the old chamberlain, always on the 
 lookout to marshal every one as he had marshaled every 
 one at court "now we will leave the church, and proceed 
 to the Guinigi Tower."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TUB GTJINIGI TOWEK. 
 
 COUNT MARESCOTTI, by reason of too much imagina 
 tion, and Baldassare, by reason of too little, were both 
 oblivious ; consequently the key and the porter were nei 
 ther of them forthcoming when the party arrived at the 
 door of the tower, which opened from a side-street behind 
 and apart from the palace. Both the count and Baldas 
 sare ran off to find the man, leaving Trenta alone with 
 Enrica. 
 
 " Ahi ! " exclaimed the cavaliere, looking after them 
 with a comical smile, " this youth of New Italy ! They 
 have no more brains than a pin. When I was young, and 
 every city had its own ruler and its own court, I should not 
 have escorted a lady and kept her waiting outside in the 
 sun. Bah ! those were not the manners of my day. At 
 the court of the Duke of Lucca ladies were treated like 
 divinities, but now the young men don't know how to kiss 
 a woman's hand." 
 
 Receiving no answer, Trenta looked hard at Enrica. 
 He was struck by her absent expression. There was a far 
 away look on her face he had never noticed on it before. 
 
 "Enrica," he said, taking both her hands within his 
 own, " I fear you are not amused. These subjects are too 
 grave to interest you. What are you thinking about ? "
 
 132 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 An anxious look came into her eyes, and she glanced 
 hastily round, as if to assure, herself that no one was near. 
 
 " Oh ! I am thinking of such strange things ! " She 
 stopped and hesitated, seeing the cavaliere's glance of sur 
 prise. "I should like to tell you all, dear cavaliere I 
 would give the world to tell you " 
 
 Again she stopped. 
 
 " Speak speak, my child," he answered ; " tell me all 
 that is in your mind." 
 
 Before she could reply, the count and Baldassare reap 
 peared, accompanied by the porter of the Guinigi Palace 
 and the keys. 
 
 " Are you sure you would rather not return home again, 
 Enrica? You have only to turn the corner, remember," 
 asked Trenta, looking at her with anxious affection. 
 
 " No, no," she answered, greatly confused ; " please 
 say nothing not now another time. I should like to 
 ascend the tower ; let us go on." 
 
 The cavaliere was greatly puzzled. It was plain there 
 was something on her mind. What could it be ? How 
 fortunate, he told himself, if she had taken a liking to Ma- 
 rescotti, and desired to confess it ! This would make all 
 easy. When he had spoken to the count, he would con 
 trive to see her alone, and insist upon knowing if it were 
 so. 
 
 The door was now opened, and the porter led the way, 
 followed by the count and Baldassare. Trenta came next, 
 Enrica last. They ascended stair after stair almost in 
 darkness. After having mounted a considerable height, 
 the porter unlocked a small door that barred their farther 
 advance. Above appeared the blackened walls of the hol 
 low tower, broken by the loop-holes already mentioned, 
 through which the ardent sunshine slanted. Before them 
 was a wooden stair, crossing from angle to angle up to a 
 height, with no other support but a frail banister;
 
 THE GUINIGI TOWER. 133 
 
 this even was broken in places. The count and Enrica 
 both entreated the cavalicre to remain below. Marescotti 
 ventured to allude to his great age a subject he himself 
 continually, as lias been seen, mentioned, but which he 
 generally much resented when alluded to by others. 
 
 Trenta listened with perfect gravity and politeness, but, 
 when the count had done speaking, he placed his foot firm 
 ly on the first stair, and began to ascend after the porter. 
 The others were obliged to follow. At the last flight sev 
 eral loose planks shook ominously under their feet ; but 
 Trenta, assisted by his stick, stepped on perseveringly. He 
 also insisted on helping Enrica, who was next to him, and 
 who by this time was both giddy and frightened. At 
 length a trap-door, at the top of the tower, was reached 
 and unbarred by the attendant. Without, covered with 
 grass, is a square platform, protected by a machicolated 
 parapet of turreted stone-work. In the centre rises a clus 
 ter of ancient bay-trees, fresh and luxuriant, spite of the 
 wind and storms of centuries. 
 
 The count leaped out upon the greensward and rushed 
 to the parapet. 
 
 " How beautiful ! " he exclaimed, throwing back his 
 head and drawing in the warm air. " See how the sun of 
 New Italy lights up the old city ! Cathedral, palace, church, 
 gallery, roof, tower, all ablaze at our feet ! Speak, tell me, 
 is it not wonderful ? " and he turned to Enrica, who, anx 
 iously turning from side to side, was trying to discover 
 where she could best overlook the street of San Simone 
 and Nobili's palace. 
 
 Addressed by Marescotti, she started and stopped 
 short. 
 
 " Never, never," he continued, becoming greatly excited, 
 " shall I forget this meeting ! here with you the golden- 
 haired daughter of this ancient house ! " 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Enrica. " O count, what a mistake !
 
 134 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 I have no house, no home. I live on the charity of my 
 aunt." 
 
 " That makes no difference in your descent, fair Guinigi. 
 Charity ! charity ! Who would not shower down oceans 
 of charity to possess such a treasure ? " He leaned his back 
 against the parapet, and bent his eyes with fervent admi 
 ration on her. " It is only in verse that I can celebrate her," 
 he muttered, "prose is too cold for her warm coloring. 
 The Madonna the uninstructed Madonna before the 
 archangel's visit " 
 
 " But, count," said Enrica timidly (his vehemence and 
 strange glances made her feel very shy), " will you tell me 
 the names of the beautiful mountains around ? I have seen 
 so little I am so ignorant." 
 
 " I will, I will," replied Marescotti, speaking rapidly, 
 his glowing eyes raising themselves from her face to look 
 out over the distance ; " but, in mercy, grant me a few mo 
 ments to collect myself. Remember I am a poet ; imagi 
 nation is my world ; the unreal my home ; the Muses my 
 sisters. I live there above, in the golden clouds " and he 
 turned and pointed to a crest of glittering vapor sailing 
 across the intense blue of the sky. Then, with his hand 
 pressed on his brow, he began to pace rapidly up and down 
 the narrow platform. 
 
 The cavaliere and Baldassare were watching him from 
 the farther end of the tower. 
 
 " He ! he ! " said Trenta, and he gave a little laugh and 
 nudged Baldassare. " Do you see the count ? He is fair 
 ly off. Marescotti is too poetical for this world. Unprac 
 tical, poor fellow very unpractical. The fit is on him now. 
 Look at him, Baldassare ; see how he stares about, and 
 clinches his fist. I hope he will not leap over the parapet 
 in his ecstasy." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " responded Baldassare, who with eyes wide 
 open, and hands thrust into his pockets, leaned back beside
 
 THE GUINIGI TOWER. 135 
 
 Trenta against the wall. "Ha, ha! I must laugh," Bal- 
 dassare whispered into his ear " I cannot help it look 
 how the count's lips are moving. He is in the most ex 
 traordinary excitement." 
 
 " It's all very fine," rejoined Trenta, " but I wonder he 
 does not frighten Enrica. There she stands, quite still. I 
 can't see her face, but she seems to like it. It's all very 
 fine," he repeated, nodding his white head reflectively. 
 "Republicans, communists, orators, poets, heretics all 
 the plagues of hell ! Dio buono ! give me a little plain 
 common-sense plain common-sense, and a paternal govern 
 ment. As to Marescotti, these new-fangled notions ^Yill 
 turn his brain ; he'll end in a mad-house. I don't believe 
 he is quite in his senses at this very minute. Look ! look ! 
 What strides he is taking up and down ! For the love of 
 Heaven, my boy, run and fasten the trap-door tight ! He 
 may fall through ! He's not safe ! I swear it, by all the 
 saints ! " Baldassare, shaking with suppressed laughter, 
 secured the trap-door. 
 
 " I must say you are a little hard on the count," Baldas 
 sare said. " Why, he's only composing. I know his way. 
 Trust me, it's a sonnet. He is composing a sonnet addressed 
 perhaps to the signorina. He admires her very much." 
 
 Trenta smiled, and mentally determined, for the second 
 time, to take the earliest opportunity of speaking to Count 
 Marescotti before the ridiculous reports circulating in Lucca 
 reached him, 
 
 " Per Bacco ! " he replied, " when the count is as old as 
 I am, he will have learned that quiet is the greatest luxury 
 a man can enjoy especially in Italy, where the climate is 
 hot and fevers frequent." 
 
 How long the count would have continued in the clouds, 
 it is impossible to say, had he not been suddenly brought 
 down to earth or, at least, the earth on the top of the 
 tower by something that suddenly struck his gaze.
 
 136 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Enrica, who had strained her eyes in vain to discover 
 some trace of Nobili in the narrow street below, or in the 
 garden behind his palace, had now thrown herself on the 
 grass under the overhanging branches of the glossy bay- 
 trees. These inclosed her as in a bower. Her colorless 
 face rested upon her hand, her eyes were turned toward 
 the ground, and her long blond hair fell in a tangled mass 
 below the folds of her veil, upon her white dress. The 
 count stood transfixed before her. 
 
 " Move not, sweet vision ! " he cried. " Be ever so ! 
 That innocent face shaded by the classic bay ; that white 
 robe rustling with the thrill of womanly affinities ; those 
 fair locks floating like an aureole in the breeze thy breath 
 has softly perfumed ! Rest there enthroned the world 
 thy backguard, the sky thy canopy ! Stay, let me crown 
 thee ! " 
 
 As he spoke he hastily plucked. some sprays of bay, 
 which he twisted into a wreath. He approached Enrica, 
 who had remained quite still, and, kneeling at her feet, 
 placed the wreath upon her head. 
 
 "Enrica Guinigi" the count spoke so softly that 
 neither Trenta nor Baldassare could catch the words 
 " there is something in your beauty too ethereal for this 
 world." 
 
 Enrica, covered with blushes, tried to rise, but he held 
 out his hands imploringly for her to remain. 
 
 " Suffer me to speak to you. Yours is a face of one 
 easily moved to love to love and to suffer," he added, 
 strange lights coming into his eyes as he gazed at her. 
 
 Enrica. listened to him in painful silence; his words 
 sounded prophetic. 
 
 " To love and to suffer ; but, loving once " again the 
 count was speaking, and his voice enchained her by its 
 sweetness " to love forever. Where shall the man be 
 found pure enough to dare to accept such love as you can
 
 THE GUINIGI TOWER. 137 
 
 bestow ? By Heavens ! " he added, and his voice fell to a 
 whisper, and his black eyes seemed to penetrate into her 
 very soul, "you love already. I read it in the depths of 
 those heavenly eyes, in the shadow that already darkens 
 that soft brow, in the dreamy, languid air that robs you of 
 your youth. You love is it possible that you love ? " 
 
 He stopped before the question was finished before 
 the name was uttered. A spasm, as if wrung from him by 
 sharp bodily pain, passed over his features as he asked this 
 question, never destined to be answered. No one but 
 Enrica had heard it. An indescribable terror seized her ; 
 from pale she grew deadly white ; her eyelids dropped, her 
 lips trembled. Tears gathered in Marescotti's eyes as he 
 gazed at her, but he dared not complete the question. 
 
 " If you have guessed my secret, do not oh ! do not 
 betray me ! " 
 
 She said this so faintly that the sound came to him like 
 a whisper from the rustling bay-leaves. 
 
 " Never ! " he responded in a low, earnest tone 
 " never ! " 
 
 She believed him implicitly. With that look, that 
 voice, who could doubt him ? 
 
 " I have cause to suffer," she replied with a sigh, not 
 venturing to meet his eyes " to suffer and to wait. But 
 my aunt " 
 
 She said no more ; her head fell on her bosom, her arms 
 dropped to her side, she sighed deeply. 
 
 " May I be at hand to shield you ! " was his answer. 
 
 After this, he, too, was silent. Rising from his knees, 
 he leaned against the trunk of the bay-tree and contem 
 plated her steadfastly. There was a strange mixture of 
 passion and of curiosity in his mobile face. If she would 
 not tell him, could he not rend her secret from her? 
 
 Trenta, seated at the opposite side of the platform, ob 
 served them as they stood side by side, half concealed by
 
 138 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 the foliage observed them with benign satisfaction. It 
 was all as it should be ; his mission would be easy. It was 
 clear they understood each other. He believed at that 
 very moment Enrica was receiving the confession of Mare- 
 scotti's love ; the confusion of her looks was conclusive. 
 The cavaliere's whole endeavor was, at that moment, to 
 keep Baldassare quiet ; he rejoiced to see that he was gently 
 yielding to the influence of the heat, and nodding at his 
 side 
 
 " Count," said Enrica, looking up and endeavoring to 
 break a silence which had become painful, " if I have in 
 spired you with any interest " 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " Jf you have inspired me ? " ejaculated Marescotti, re 
 proachfully, not moving his eyes off her. 
 
 " I can hardly believe it," she added ; " but, if it be 
 so, speak to me in the voice of poetry. Tell me your 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed the count, clasping his hands ; " I 
 have been longing to do so ever since I first saw you. Will 
 you permit it ? If so, give me paper and pencil, that I may 
 write." 
 
 Enrica had neither. Rising from the ground, she 
 crossed over to where Trenta sat, apparently absorbed in 
 the contemplation of the roofs of his native city. Fortu 
 nately, after diving into various pockets, he found a pencil 
 and the fly-leaf of a letter. Marescotti took them and re 
 treated to the farther end of the tower; Enrica leaned 
 against the wall beside the cavaliere. 
 
 In a few minutes the count joined them ; he returned 
 the pencil with a bow to the cavaliere. The sonnet was 
 already written on the fly-leaf of the letter. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Enrica, " give me that paper, I know it 
 will tell me my fate. Give it to me. Count, do not refuse 
 me." Her look, her manner, was eager imploring. As
 
 THE GUINIGI TOWER. 139 
 
 the count drew back, she endeavored to seize the paper 
 from his hand. But Marescotti, holding the paper above 
 his head, in one moment had crushed it in his fingers, and, 
 rushing forward, he flung it over the battlements. 
 
 " It is not worthy of you ! " he exclaimed, with excite 
 ment ; " it is -worthy neither of you nor of me ! No, no," 
 and he leaned over the tower, and watched the paper as 
 it floated downward in the still air. " Let it perish." 
 
 " Oh ! why have you destroyed it ? " cried Enrica, great 
 ly distressed. " That paper would have told me all I want 
 to know. How cruel ! how unkind ! " 
 
 But there was no help for it. No lamentation could 
 bring the paper back again. The sonnet was gone. Mare 
 scotti had sacrificed the man to the poet. His artistic sense 
 had conquered. 
 
 " Excuse me, dear signorina," he pleaded, " the compo 
 sition was imperfect. It was too hurried. With your per 
 mission, on my return, I will address some other verses to 
 you, more appropriate more polished." 
 
 " Ah ! they will not be like those. They will not tell 
 me what I want to know. They cannot come from your 
 very soul like those. The power to divine is gone from 
 you." Enrica could hardly restrain her tears. 
 
 " I am very sorry," answered the count, " but I could 
 not help it ; I did it unconsciously." 
 
 "Indeed, count, you did very wrong," put in the cava- 
 liere ; "one understands you wrote in furore so much the 
 better," and Trenta gave a sly wink, which was entirely 
 lost on Marescotti. " But time is getting on. When are 
 we to have that oration on the history and beauties of Luc 
 ca that we came up to hear? Had you not better begin?" 
 
 The count was engaged at that moment in plucking a 
 sprig of bay for himself and for the cavaliere to wear, as 
 he said, " in memoriam." " I am ready," he replied. " It 
 is a subject that I love."
 
 140 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Let us begin with the mountains ; they are the nearest 
 to God." As he pronounced that name, the count raised 
 his eyes reverently, and uncovered his head. Enrica had 
 placed herself on his right hand, but all interest had died 
 out of her face. She only listened mechanically. 
 
 (Yes, the mountains, the glorious mountains ! There 
 they were before, behind, in front ; range upon range 
 peak upon peak, like breakers on a restless sea ! Moun 
 tains of every shade, of every shape, of every height. Al 
 ready their mighty tops were flecked with the glow of the 
 western sunbeams; already pink and purple mists had 
 gathered upon their sides, filling the valleys with mys 
 tery !) 
 
 " There," said the count, pointing in the direction of the 
 winding river Serchio, "is La Panga, the loftiest Apennine 
 in Central Italy. The peaked summits of those other moun 
 tains more to the right are the marble-bosomed range of 
 Carrara. One might believe them at this time covered 
 with a mantle of snow, but for the ardent sun, the deep 
 green of the belting plains, and the luxuriance of the for 
 ests. Yonder steep chestnut-clothed height that termi 
 nates the valley opening before us is Bargilio, a mountain 
 fortress of the Panciatici over the Baths of Lucca." 
 
 Marescotti paused to take breath. Enrica's eyes lan 
 guidly followed the direction of his hand. The cavaliere, 
 standing on his other side, was adjusting his spectacles, 
 the better to distinguish the distance. 
 
 " To the south," continued the count, pointing with his 
 fmger " in the centre of that rich vine-trellised Campagna, 
 lies Pescia, a garden of luscious fruits. Beyond, nestling 
 in the hollows of the Apennines, shutting in the plain of 
 that side, is ancient Lombard-walled Pistoja the key to 
 the passes of Northern Italy. Farther on, nearer Florence, 
 rise the heights of Monte Catni, crowned as with a diadem 
 by a small burgh untouched since the middle ages. Nearer
 
 TUB GUINIGI TOWER. 141 
 
 at hand, glittering like steel in the sunshine, is the lake 
 of Bientina. You can see its low, marshy shores fringed 
 by beauteous woodlands, but Avithout a single dwelling." 
 
 Enrica, in a fit of abstraction, leaned over the parapet. 
 Her eyes were riveted upon the city beneath. Marescotti 
 followed her eyes. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " there is Lucca ; " and as he spoke he 
 glanced inquiringly at her, and the tones of his clear, melo 
 dious voice grew soft and tender. " Lucca the Industrious, 
 bound within her line of ancient walls and fortifications. 
 Great names and great deeds are connected with Lucca. 
 Here, tradition says, Julius Cassax ruled as proconsul. 
 How often may the sandals of his feet have trod these nar 
 row streets his purple robes swept the dust of our piazza ! 
 Here he may have officiated as high-priest at our altars 
 dictated laws from our palaces ! It was after the conquest 
 of the Nervii (most savage among the Gaulish tribes) that 
 Julius CiBsar is said to have first come to Lucca. Pompey 
 and Crassus met him here. It was at this time that Domi- 
 tius Ctesar's enemy, then a candidate for the consulship 
 boasted that he would ruin him. But Ca3sar, seizing the 
 opportune moment of his recent victories over the Gauls, 
 and his meeting with Pompey formed the bold plan of 
 grasping universal power by means of his deadliest enemies. 
 These, enemies, rather than see the supreme power vested 
 in each other, united to advance him. The first triumvirate 
 was the consequence of the meeting. Ages pass by. The 
 Roman Empire dissolves. Barbarians invade Italy. Lucca 
 is an independent state not long to remain so, however, 
 for the Countess Matilda, daughter of Duke Bonifazio, is 
 born within her walls. At Lucca Countess Matilda holds 
 her court. By her counsels, assistance, and the rich legacy 
 of her patrimonial dominions, she founds the temporal 
 power of the papacy. To Lucca came, in the fifteenth cen 
 tury, Charles VIII. of France, presumptuous enough to at-
 
 142 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 tempt the conquest of Naples ; also that mighty dissem 
 bler, Charles V., to meet the reigning pontiff Paul III. in 
 our cathedral of San Martino. But more precious far to 
 me than the traditions of the shadowy pomp of defunct 
 tyrants is the remembrance that Lucca was the Geneva of 
 Italy that these streets beneath us resounded to the pub 
 lic teaching of the Reformation ! Such progress, indeed, 
 had the reformers made, that it was publicly debated in 
 the city council, ' If Lucca should declare herself Protes 
 tant' " 
 
 " Per Bacco ! a disgraceful fact in our history ! " burst 
 out Trenta, a look of horror in his round blue eyes. " Hide 
 it, hide it, count ! For the love of Heaven ! You do not 
 expect me to rejoice at this ? Pray, when you mention it, 
 add that the Protestants were obliged to flee for their lives, 
 and that Lucca purified itself by abject submission to the 
 Holy Father." 
 
 " Yes ; and what came of that ? " cried the count, rais 
 ing his voice, a sudden flush of anger mounting over his 
 face. " The Church your Catholic and Apostolic Church 
 established the Inquisition. The Inquisition condemned 
 to the flames the greatest prophet and teacher since the 
 apostles Savonarola ! " 
 
 Trenta, knowing how deeply Marescotti's feelings were 
 engaged in the subject of Savonarola, was too courteous to 
 desire any further discussion. But at the same time he 
 was determined, if possible, to hear no more of what was 
 to him neither more nor less than blasphemy. 
 
 "Do you know how long we have been up here, 
 count ? " he asked, taking out his watch. " Enrica must 
 return. I hope you won't detain us," he said, with a piti 
 ful look at the count, who seemed preparing for an oration 
 in honor of the mediaeval martyr. " I have already got a 
 violent rheumatism in my shoulder. Here, Baldassare, 
 open the trap-door, and let us go down.- Where is Bal-
 
 THE GUINIGI TOWER. 143 
 
 dassare ? Baldassare ! Where are you, imbecile ? Bal- 
 dassare, I say ! Why, diamine ! Where can the boy be ? 
 He's not been privately practising his last new step behind 
 the bay-trees, and taken a false one over the parapet ? " 
 
 The small space was easily searched. Baldassare was 
 discovered stretched at full length and fast asleep under a 
 bench on the other side of the bay-trees. 
 
 " Ah, wretch ! " grumbled the old chamberlain, " if you 
 sleep like this you will outlive me, who mean to flourish 
 for the next hundred years. He's always asleep, except 
 when dancing," he added indignantly appealing to Mare- 
 scotti. "Look at him. There's beauty without expres 
 sion. Doesn't he inspire you ? Endymion who has over 
 slept himself and missed Diana Narcissus overcome by 
 the sight of his own beauty." 
 
 After being called, pushed, and pinched, by the cava- 
 liere, Baldassare at last opened his eyes in great bewilder 
 ment stretched himself, yawned, then, suddenly clapping 
 his hand to his side, looked fiercely at Trenta. Trenta 
 was shaking with laughter. 
 
 " Mille diavoli ! " cried Baldassare, rubbing himself vig 
 orously, " how dare you pinch me so, cavaliere ? I shall be 
 black and blue. Why should not I sleep ? Nobody spoke 
 to me." 
 
 " I fear you have heard little of the history of Lucca," 
 said the count, smiling. 
 
 " DJO buono ! what is history to me ? I hate it ! I tell 
 you what, cavaliere, you have hurt me very much." And 
 Baldassare passed his hand carefully down his side. " The 
 next time I go to sleep in your company, I'll trouble you 
 to keep your fingers to yourself. .You have rapped me like 
 a drum." 
 
 Trenta watched the various phases of Baldassare's wrath 
 with the greatest amusement. The descent having been 
 safely accomplished, the whole party landed in the street.
 
 144 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Count Marescotti, wlio came last, advanced to take leave 
 of Enrica. At this moment an olive-skinned, black-eyed 
 girl rose out of the shadow of a neighboring wall, and, low 
 ering a basket from her head, filled with fruit tawny figs, 
 ruddy peaches, purple grapes, and russet-skinned medlars, 
 shielded from the heat by a covering of freshly -picked vine- 
 leaves offered it to Enrica. Our Adonis, still sulky and 
 sore from the pinches inflicted by the mischievous fingers 
 of the cavaliere, waved the girl rudely away. 
 
 " Fruit ! Che ! Begone ! our servants have better. 
 Such fruit as that is not good enough for us ; it is full of 
 worms." 
 
 The girl looked up at him timidly, tears gathered in 
 her dark eyes. 
 
 " It is for my mother," she answered, humbly ; " she is 
 ill." 
 
 As she bent her head* to replace the basket, Marescotti, 
 who had listened to Baldassare with evident disgust, raised 
 the basket in his arms, and with the utmost care poised it 
 on the coil of her dark hair. 
 
 " Beautiful peasant," he said, " I salute you. This is 
 for your mother," and he placed some notes in her hand. 
 
 The girl thanked him, coloring as red as the peaches in 
 her basket, then, hastily turning the corner of the street, 
 disappeared. 
 
 " A perfect Pomona ! I make a point of honoring 
 beauty whenever I find it," exclaimed the count, looking 
 after her. He cast a reproving glance at Baldassare, who 
 stood with his eyes wide open. " The Greeks worshiped 
 beauty I agree with them. Beauty is divine. What say 
 you ? Were not the Greeks right ? " 
 
 The words were addressed to Baldassare the sense and 
 the direction of his eyes pointed to Enrica. 
 
 " Yes ; beauty," replied Baldassare, smoothing his glossy 
 mustache, and trying to look very wise (he was not in the
 
 THE GUINIGI TOWER. 145 
 
 least conscious of the covert rebuke administered by Mare- 
 scotti) " beauty is very refreshing, but I must say I prefer 
 it in the upper classes. For my part, I like beauty that 
 can dance wooden shoes are not to my taste." 
 
 " Ah ! canaglia ! " muttered the cavaliere, " there is no 
 teaching you. You will never be a gentleman." 
 
 Baldassare was dumfounded. He had not a word to 
 reply. 
 
 " Count " and the old chamberlain, utterly disregarding 
 the dismay of poor Adonis, who never clearly understood 
 what he had done to deserve such severity, now addressed 
 himself to Marescotti " will 3 7 ou be visible to-morrow after 
 breakfast ? If so, I shall have the honor of calling on you." 
 
 " With pleasure," was the count's reply. 
 
 Enrica stood apart. She had not spoken one word since 
 the disappearance of the sonnet that sonnet which would 
 have told her of her future ; for had not Marescotti, by some 
 occult power, read her secret ? Alas ! too, was she not 
 about to reenter her gloomy home without catching so 
 much as a glimpse of Nobili ? Count Marescotti had no 
 opportunity of saying a word to Enrica that was not audi 
 ble to all. He did venture to ask her if she would be pres 
 ent next evening, if he joined the marchesa's rubber ? Be 
 fore she could reply, Trenta had hastily answered for her, 
 that " he would settle all that with the count when they 
 met in the morning." So, standing in the street, they 
 parted. Count Marescotti sought in vain for one last glance 
 from Enrica. When he turned round to look for Baldas 
 sare, Baldassare had disappeared. 
 7
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 C OUNT N OBILI. 
 
 WHEX Nobili rushed home through the dark streets 
 from the Countess Orsetti's ball, he shut himself up in his 
 own particular room, threw himself on a divan, and tried 
 to collect his thoughts. At first he was only conscious of 
 one overwhelming feeling -a feeling of intense joy that 
 Nera Boccarina was alive. The unspeakable horror he had 
 felt, as she lay stretched out on the floor before him, had 
 stupefied him. If she had died ? As the horrible question 
 rose up within him, his blood froze in his veins. But she 
 was not dead nay, if the report of Madame Orsetti was to 
 be trusted, she was in no danger of dying. 
 
 " Thank God ! thank God ! " Then, as the quiet of 
 the night and the solitude of his own room gradually re 
 stored his scattered senses, Nobili recalled her, not only in 
 the moment of danger, as she lay death-like, motionless, but 
 as she stood before him lit up by the rosy shadow of the 
 silken curtains. Was it an enchantment ? Had he been 
 under a spell ? Was Nera fiend or angel ? As he asked 
 himself these questions, again her wondrous eyes shone 
 upon him like stars ; again the rhythm of that fatal waltz 
 struck upon his ears soft and liquid'as the fall of oars upon 
 the smooth bosom of an inland lake, bathed in the mellow 
 light of sunset.
 
 COUNT NOBILI. 147 
 
 What had he done ? He had kissed her her lips had 
 clung to his; her fingers had linked themselves in his 
 grasp ; her eyes ah ! those eyes had told him that she 
 loved him. Loved him ! why not ? 
 
 And Enrica ! the thought of Enrica pierced through 
 him like the stab of a knife. Nobili sprang to his feet, 
 pressed both hands to his bosom, then sank down again, 
 utterly bewildered. Enrica ! He had forgotten her ! He, 
 Nobili, was it possible ? Forgotten her ! A pale plain 
 tive face rose up before him, with soft, pleading eyes. 
 There was the little head, with its tangled meshes of 
 yellow curls, the slight girlish figure, the little feet. " En 
 rica ! my Enrica ! " he cried aloud, so palpable did her 
 presence seem " Hove you, I love you only ! " He 
 dashed, as it were, Nera's image from him. She had 
 tempted him tempted him with all the fullness of her 
 beauty, tempted him and he had yielded ! On a sudden 
 it came over him. Yes, she had tempted him. She had 
 followed him pursued him rather. Wherever he went, 
 there Nera was before him. He recalled it all. And 
 how he had avoided her with the avoidance of an in 
 stinct ! He clinched his fists as he thought of it. What 
 devil had possessed him to fall headlong into the snare ? 
 What was Nera or any other woman to him now ? If 
 he had been obliged to dance with her, why had he 
 yielded to her ? 
 
 " I will never speak to her again," was his instant re 
 solve. But the next moment he remembered that he had 
 been indirectly the cause of an accident which might have 
 been fatal. He must see her once more if she were visible 
 or, if not, he must see her mother. Common humanity 
 demanded this. Then he would set eyes on her no more. 
 He had almost come to hate her, for the spell she had 
 thrown over him. 
 
 But for Enrica he would have left Lucca altogether for
 
 148 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 a time. What had passed that evening would be the sub 
 ject of general gossip. He remembered with shame and 
 as he did so the blood rushed over his face and brow how 
 openly he had displayed his admiration. He remembered 
 the hot glances he had cast upon Nera. He remembered 
 how he had leaned entranced over her chair ; how he had 
 pressed her to him in the fury of that wild waltz, her white 
 arms entwined round him the fragrance of the red roses 
 she wore in her hair mounting to his brain ! At the mo 
 ment he had been too much entranced to observe what was 
 passing about him. Now he recalled glances and muttered 
 words. The savage look Ruspoli had cast on him, when he 
 led her up to him in one of the figures of the cotillon ; how 
 Malatesta had grinned at him how Orsetti had whispered 
 " Bravo ! " in his ear. Might not some rumor of all this 
 reach Enrica ? through Trenta, perhaps, or that chatter 
 ing fool, Baldassare ? If they spoke of the accident, they 
 would surely connect his name with that of Nera. Would 
 they say he was in love with her ? He grew cold as he 
 thought of it. 
 
 Neither could Nobili conceal from himself how probable 
 it was that the Marchesa Guinigi should come to some 
 knowledge of his clandestine interviews with her niece. 
 It had been necessary to trust many persons. Spite of 
 heavy bribes, one of these might at any moment betray 
 them. He might be followed and watched, spite of his 
 precautions. Their letters might be intercepted. Should 
 any thing happen, what a situation for Enrica ! She was 
 too trusting and too inexperienced fully to appreciate the 
 danger ; but Nobili understood it, and trembled for her. 
 Something must, he felt, be done at once. Enrica must be 
 prepared for any thing that might happen. He must write 
 to her write this very night to her. 
 
 And then came the question what should he say to 
 her ? Then Nobili felt, and felt keenly, how much he had
 
 COUNT NOBILI. 149 
 
 compromised himself. Hitherto his love for Enrica, and 
 Enrica's love for him, had been so full, so entire, that every 
 thought was hers. Now there was a name he must hide 
 from her, an hour of his life she must never know. 
 
 Nobili rose from the divan on which he had been lying, 
 lighted some candles, and, sitting down at a table, took a 
 pen in his hand. But the pen did not help him. He tore 
 it between his teeth, he leaned his head upon his hand, he 
 stared at the blank paper before him. What should he 
 say to her ? was the question he asked himself. After all, 
 should he confess all his weakness, and implore her forgive 
 ness ? or should he take the chance of her hearing nothing ? 
 
 After much thought and many struggles with his pen, 
 ho decided he would say nothing. But write he would ; 
 write he must. Full of remorse for what had passed, he 
 longed to assure her of his love. He yearned to cast him 
 self for pardon at her feet; to feast his eyes upon the 
 sweetness of her fair face ; to fill his ears with the sound 
 of her soft voice ; to watch her heavenly eyes gathering 
 upon him with the gleam of incipient passion. 
 
 How pure she was ! How peerless, how different from 
 all other women ! How different from Nera ! dark-eyed, 
 flashing, tempting Nera ! Nera, so sensual in her ripe and 
 dazzling beauty. At that moment of remorse and repent 
 ance he would have likened her to an alluring fiend, 
 Enrica to an angel ! Yes, he would write ; he would say 
 something decisive. This point settled, Nobili put down 
 the pen, struck a match, and lit a cigar. A cigar would 
 cairn him, and help him to think. 
 
 His position, even as he understood it, was sufficiently 
 difficult. How much more, had he known all that lay be 
 hind ! He had entered life a mere boy at his father's death, 
 with some true friends ; his wealth had created him a host 
 of followers. His frank, loyal disposition, his generosity, 
 his lavish hospitality, his winning manners, had insured
 
 150 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 him general popularity. Not one, even of those who envied 
 him, could deny that he was the best fellow in Lucca. 
 Women adored him, or said so, which came to the same 
 thing, for he believed them. Many had proved, with more 
 than words, that they did so. In a word, he had been/eteeZ, 
 followed, and caressed, as long as he could remember. 
 Now the incense of flattery floating continually in the 
 air which he breathed had done its work. He was not 
 actually spoiled, but he had grown arrogant ; vain of his per 
 son and of his wealth. He was vain, but not yet frivolous ; 
 he was insolent, but not yet heartless. At his age, impres 
 sions come from without, rather than from within. Nobili 
 was extremely impressionable ; he also, as has been seen ? 
 wanted resolution to resist temptation. As yet, he had not 
 developed the firmness and steadfastness that really be 
 longed to his character. 
 
 But spite of foibles, spite of weakness foibles and 
 weakness were but part of the young blood within him 
 Nobili possessed, especially toward women, that rare union 
 of courage, tenderness, and fortitude, we call chivalry ; he 
 forgot himself in others. He did this as the most natural 
 thing in the world he did it because he could not help it. 
 He was capable of doing a great wrong he was also capa 
 ble of a great repentance. His great wealth had hitherto 
 enabled him to indulge every fancy. With this power of 
 wealth, unknown almost to himself, a spirit of conquest had 
 grown upon him. He resolved to overcome whatever op 
 posed itself to him. Nobili was constantly assured by those 
 ready flatterers who lived upon him those toadies who, like 
 a mildew, dim and deface the virtues of the rich that "he 
 could do what he pleased." 
 
 With the presumption of youtbhe believed this, and he 
 acted on it, especially in regard to women. He was of an 
 age and temperament to feel his pulse quicken at the sight 
 of every pretty woman he met, even if he should meet a
 
 COUNT NOBILI. 151 
 
 dozen in the day. Until lately, however, he had cared for 
 no one. . He had trifled, dangled, ogled. He had plucked 
 the fair fruit where it hung freely on the branch, and he had 
 turned away heart-whole. He knew that there was not a 
 young lady in Lucca who would not accept him as her suitor 
 joyfully accept him, if he asked her. Not a father, let 
 his name be as old as the Crusades, his escutcheon deco 
 rated with " the golden rose," or the heraldic ermine of the 
 emperors, who would not welcome him as a son-in-law. 
 
 The Marchesa Guinigi alone had persistently repulsed 
 him. He had heard and laughed at the outrageous words 
 she had spoken. He knew what a struggle it had cost her 
 to sell the second Guinigi Palace at all. He knew that of 
 all men she had least desired to sell it to him. For that 
 special reason he had resolved to possess it. He had bought 
 it, so to say, in spite of her, at the price of gold. 
 
 Yet, although Nobili laughed with his friends at the 
 marchesa's outrageous words, in reality they greatly nettled 
 him. By constant repetition they came even to rankle. 
 At last he grew unconfessed, of course so aggravated by 
 them that a secret longing for revenge rose up within him. 
 She had thrown down the gauntlet, why should he not pick 
 it up ? The marchesa, he knew, had a niece, why should 
 he not marry the niece, in defiance of the aunt ? 
 
 No sooner was this idea conceived than he determined, 
 if he married at all (marriage to a young man leading his 
 dissipated life is a serious step), that, of all living women, 
 the marchesa's niece should be his wife. All this time he 
 had never seen Enrica. Yes, he would marry the niece, to 
 spite the marchesa. Marry she, the marchesa, should see 
 a Guinigi head his board ; a Guinigi seated at his hearth ; 
 worse than all, a Guinigi mother of his children ! 
 
 Alt this he kept closely locked within his own breast. 
 As the marchesa had intimated to him, at the time he 
 bought the palace, that she would never permit him to cross
 
 152 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 her threshold, he was debarred from taking thexisual social 
 steps to accomplish his resolve. Not that he in the least 
 desired to see her, save for that overbearing disposition 
 which impelled him to combat all opposition. With great 
 difficulty, and after having expended various sums in bribes 
 among the ill-paid servants of the marchesa, he had learned 
 the habits of her household. 
 
 Enrica, he found, had a servant, formerly her nurse, who 
 never left her. Teresa, this servant, was cautiously ap 
 proached. She was informed that Count Nobili was dis 
 tractedly in love with the signorina, and addressed himself 
 to her for help. Teresa, ignorant, well-meaning, and brim 
 ming over with that mere animal fondness for her foster- 
 child uneducated women share with brute creatures, was 
 proud of becoming the medium of what she considered an 
 advantageous marriage for Enrica. The secluded life she 
 led, the selfish indifference with which her aunt treated her, 
 had long moved Teresa's passionate southern nature to a 
 high pitch of indignation. Up to this time no man had 
 been permitted to enter Casa Guinigi, save those who 
 formed the marchesa's whist-party. 
 
 " How, then," reasoned Teresa, shrewdly, " was the si 
 gnorina to marry at all ? Surely it was right to help her to 
 a husband. Here was one, rich, handsome, and devoted, 
 one who would give the eyes out of his head for the signo 
 rina." Was such an opportunity to be lost ? Certainly 
 not. 
 
 So Teresa took Nobili's bribes (bribes are as common 
 in Italy as in the East), putting them to fructify in the 
 National Bank with an easy conscience. Was she not 
 emancipating her foster-child from that old devil, her aunt? 
 Had she not seen Nobili himself when he sent for her? 
 seen him, face to face, inside his palace glittering liko para 
 dise ? And had he not given her his word, with his hand 
 upon his heart (also given her a pair of solid gold ear-rings,
 
 COUNT NOBILI. 153 
 
 which she wore on Sundays), that to marry Enrica was the 
 one hope of his life ? Seeing all this, Teresa was, as I have 
 said, perfectly satisfied. 
 
 When Nobili had done all this, impelled by mixed feel 
 ings of wounded pride, obstinacy, and defiance, he had 
 never, let it be noted, seen Enrica. But after a meeting 
 had been arranged by Teresa one morning at early mass in 
 the cathedral, near a dark and unfrequented altar in the 
 transept an arrangement, be it observed, unknown to 
 Enrica all his feelings changed. From the moment he 
 saw her he loved her with all the fervor of his ardent na 
 ture ; from that moment he knew that he had never loved 
 before. The mystery of their stolen meetings, the sweet 
 flavor of this forbidden fruit and what man does not love 
 forbidden fruit better than labeled pleasures? the inno 
 cent frankness with which Enrica confessed her love, her 
 unbounded faith in him all served to heighten his passion. 
 He gloried he reveled in her confidence. Never, never, 
 he swore a thousand times, should she have cause to repent 
 it. In the possession of Enrica's love, all other desires, 
 aims, ambitions, had up to the night of the Orsetti ball 
 vanished. Up to that night, for her sake, he had grown 
 solitary, silent nay, even patient and subtle. He had 
 clean forgotten his feud with the Marchesa Guinigi, or 
 only remembered it as a possible obstacle to his union 
 with Enrica ; otherwise the marchesa was absolutely indif 
 ferent to him. Up to the night of the Orsetti ball the 
 whole world was indifferent to him. But now ! 
 
 Nobili, sitting very still, his face shaded by his hand, 
 had finished his cigar. While smoking it he had decided 
 what he would say to Enrica. Again he took up his pen. 
 This time he dropped it in the ink, and wrote as follows : 
 
 " AMORE : I have treasured all the love you gave me 
 when last we met. I know that love witnesses for me also
 
 154 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 in your own heart. Beyond all earthly things you are dear 
 to me. Come to me, O my Enrica come to me ; never 
 let us part. I must have you, you only. I must gaze 
 upon you hour by hour ; I must hang upon that dear voice. 
 I must feel that angel-presence ever beside me. When 
 will you meet me ? 1 implore you to answer. After our 
 next meeting I am resolved to claim you, by force or by 
 free-will, to be my wife. To wait longer, O my Enrica, 
 is good neither for you nor for me. My love ! my love ! 
 you must be mine mine mine! Come to me come 
 quickly. Your adoring 
 
 "MAEIO NOBILI."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. 
 
 CESARE TREXTA is dressed with unusual care. His 
 linen is spotless ; liis white hair, as fine as silk, is carefully 
 combed ; his chin is well shaven. He wears a glossy white 
 hat, and carries his gold-headed cane in his hand. Not 
 that he condescends to use that cane as he mounts the 
 marble staircase of the Universo Hotel (once the Palazzo 
 Buffero) a little stiffly, on his way to keep his appointment 
 with Count Marescotti ; oh, no although the cavaliere is 
 well past eighty, he intends to live much longer; he re 
 serves that cane, therefore, to assist him in his old age. 
 Now he does not want it. 
 
 It is quite clear that Trenta is come on a mission of 
 great importance ; his sleek air, and the solemnly official 
 expression of his^lump rosy face, say so. His glassy blue 
 eyes are without their pleasant twinkle, and his, lips, tight 
 ly drawn over his teeth, lack their usual benignant smile. 
 Even his fat white hand dimples itself on the top of his 
 cane, so tightly does he clutch it. He has learned below 
 that Count Marescotti lives at No. 4 on the second story ; 
 at the door of No. 4 he raps softly. A voice from within 
 asks, " Who is there ? " 
 
 " I," replies Trenta, and he enters. 
 
 The count, who is seated at a table near the window,
 
 156 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 rises. His tall figure is enveloped in a dark dressing- 
 gown, that folds about him like a toga. He has all the 
 aspect of a man roused out of deep thought^ his black 
 hair stands straight up in disordered curls all over his 
 head he had evidently been digging both his hands into 
 it his eyes are wild and abstracted. Taken as he is now, 
 unawares, that expression of mingled sternness and sweet 
 ness in which he so much resembles Castruccio Castracani 
 is very striking. From the manner he fixes his eyes upon 
 Trenta it is clear he does not at once recognize him. The 
 cavaliere returns his stare with a look of blank dismay. 
 
 " Ob, carissimo ! " the count exclaims at last, his coun 
 tenance changing to its usual expression he holds out 
 both hands to grasp those of the cavaliere "how I re 
 joice to see you 1 Excuse my absence ; I had forgotten our 
 appointment at the moment. That book " and he points 
 to an open volume lying on a table covered with letters, 
 manuscripts, and piles of printed sheets tossed together in 
 wild confusion " that book must plead my excuse ; it has 
 riveted me. The wrongs of persecuted Italy are so elo 
 quently pleaded ! Have you read it, my dear cavaliere ? 
 If not, allow me to present you with a copy." 
 
 Trenta made a motion with his hand, as if putting both 
 the book and the subject from him with a certain disgust: 
 he shakes his head. 
 
 " I have not read it, and I do not wiSh to read it," he 
 replies, curtly. 
 
 The poor cavaliere feels that this is a bad beginning ; 
 but he quickly consoles himself he was of a hopeful tem 
 perament, and saw life serenely and altogether in rose- 
 color by remembering that the count is habitually absent, 
 also that he habitually uses strong language, and that he 
 had probably not been so absorbed by the wrongs of Italy 
 as he pretends. 
 
 " I fear you have forgotten our appointment, count,"
 
 THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. 157 
 
 recommences the cavaliere, finding that Marescotti is silent, 
 and that his eyes have wandered off .to the pages of the 
 open book. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all, my dear Trenta. On the con 
 trary, had you not come, I was about to send for you. I 
 have a very important matter to communicate to you." 
 
 The cavaliere's face now breaks out all over into smiles. 
 " Send for me," he repeats to .himself. " Good, good ! I 
 understand." He scats himself with great deliberation in 
 a large, well-stuffed arm-chair, near the table, at which 
 Marescotti still continues standing. He places his cane 
 across his knees, folds his hands together, then looks up in 
 the other's face. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear count," he answers aloud, " we 
 have much to say to each other much to say on a most 
 interesting subject." And he gives the count what he in 
 tends to be a very meaning glance. 
 
 " Interesting 1 " exclaims the count, his whole counte 
 nance lighting up " enthralling, overwhelming ! a mat 
 ter to me of life or death ! " 
 
 As he speaks he turns aside, and begins to stride up 
 and down the room, as was his wont when much moved. 
 
 " He ! he ! my dear count, pray be calm." And Trenta 
 gives a little laugh, and feebly winks. "We hope it is a 
 matter of life, not of death no not of deatli^ surely." 
 
 " Of death," replied the count, solemnly, and his mobile 
 eyes flash out, and a dark frown gathers on his brow " of 
 death, I repeat. Do you take me for a trifler ? I stake 
 my life on the die." 
 
 Trenta felt considerably puzzled. Before he begins, he 
 is anxious to assure himself that the nature of his errand 
 had at least distinctly dawned upon the count's mind, if 
 it had not (as he hoped) been fully understood by him. 
 Should he let Marescotti speak first ; or should he, Trenta, 
 address him formally ? In order to decide, he again scans
 
 158 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 the count's face closely. But, after doing so, lie is obliged 
 to confess that Marescotti is impenetrable. Now he no 
 longer strode up and down the room, but he has seated 
 himself opposite the cavaliere, and again his speaking eyes 
 have wandered off toward the book which he has been 
 reading. It is evident he is mentally resuming the same 
 train of thought Trenta's entrance had interrupted. Trenta 
 feels therefore that he must begin. He has prepared him 
 self for some transcendentalism on the subject of marriage ; 
 but with a man who is so much in love as Count Marescotti, 
 and who was about to send for him and to tell him so, there 
 can be no great difficulty; nor can it matter much who 
 opens the conversation. The cavaliere takes a spotless hand 
 kerchief from his pocket, uses it, replaces it, then coughs. 
 
 " Count," he begins, in a tone of conscious importance, 
 " when I proposed this meeting, it was to make you a 
 proposal calculated to exercise the utmost influence over 
 your future life, and the life of another," he adds, in a 
 lower tone. " You appear to have anticipated me by de 
 siring to send for me. You are, of course, aware of my 
 errand ? " 
 
 As he asks this question, there is, spite of himself, a 
 slight tremor in his voice, and the usual ruddiness of his 
 cheeks pales a little. 
 
 " How very mysterious ! " exclaims the count, throwing 
 himself back in his chair. " You look like a benevolent 
 conspirator, cavaliere ! Surely, my dear old friend, you are 
 not about to change your opinions, and to become a disci 
 ple of freedom ? " 
 
 " Change my opinions ! At my age, count ! Che, che ! " 
 Trenta waves his hand impatiently. " When a man ar 
 rives at my age, he does not change his opinions no, 
 count, no ; it is, if you will permit me to say so, it is your 
 self in whom the change is to be wrought yourself 
 only-"
 
 TIIE UNIVERSO HOTEL. 159 
 
 The count, who is still leaning back in his chair in an 
 attitude of polite attention, starts violently, sits straight 
 upright, and fixes his eyes upon Trenta. 
 
 " What do you mean, cavaliere ? After a life devoted 
 to my country, you cannot imagine I should change ? The 
 very idea is offensive to me." 
 
 " No, no, my dear count, you misapprehend me," re 
 joins Trenta, soothingly. (He perceived the mistake into 
 which the word " change " had led Count Marescotti, and 
 dreaded exciting his too susceptible feelings.) " It is no 
 change of that kind I allude to; the change I mean is in 
 the nature of a reward for the life of sacrifice you have 
 led a reward, a consolation to your fervid spirit. It is 
 to bring you into an atmosphere of peace, happiness, and 
 love. To reconcile you perhaps, as a son, erring, but 
 repentant, with that Holy Mother Church to which you 
 still belong. This is the change I am come to offer you." 
 
 As the cavaliere proceeds, the count's expressive eyes 
 follow every word he utters with a look of amazement. 
 He is about to reply, but Trenta places his finger on his 
 lips. 
 
 " Let me continue," he says, smiling blandly. " When 
 I have done, you shall answer. In one word, count, it is 
 marriage I am come to propose to you." 
 
 The count suddenly rises from his seat, then he hur 
 riedly reseats himself. A look of pain comes into his face. 
 
 " Permit me to proceed," urges the cavaliere, watching 
 him anxiously. " I presume you mean to marry ?" 
 
 Marescotti was silent. Trenta's naturally piping voice 
 grows shriller as he proceeds, from a certain sense of agi 
 tation. 
 
 " As the common friend of both parties, I am come to 
 propose a marriage to you, Count Marescotti." 
 
 " And who may the lady be ? " asks the count, drawing 
 back with a sudden air of reserve. " Who is it that would
 
 160 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 consent to leave home and friends, perhaps country, to 
 share the lot of a fugitive patriot ? " 
 
 " Come, come, count, this will not do," answers Trenta, 
 smiling, a certain twinkle returning to his blue eyes. 
 " You are a perfectly free agent. If you are a fugitive, it 
 is because you like change. You bear a great name you 
 are rich, singularly handsome an ardent admirer of beauty 
 in art and Nature. Now, ardor on one side excites ardor 
 on the other," 
 
 While he is speaking, Trenta had mentally decided 
 that Marescotti was the most impracticable man he had 
 ever encountered in the various phases of his court career. 
 
 " A fugitive," he repeats, almost with a sneer. " No, 
 no, count, this will not do with me." The cavaliere pauses 
 and clears his throat. 
 
 " You have not yet answered me," says the count, 
 speaking low, a certain suppressed eagerness penetrating 
 the assumed indifference of his manner. " Who is the 
 lady?" 
 
 " Who is the lady ? " echoes the cavaliere. " Did you 
 not tell me just now you were about to send for me ? " 
 Trenta speaks fast, a flush overspreads his cheeks. " Who 
 is the lady ? You astonish me ! Per Bacco ! There can 
 be but one lady in question between you and me that 
 lady is Enrica Guinigi." His voice drops. There is a 
 dead silence. 
 
 " That the marriage is suitable in all respects," Trenta 
 continues, reassured by the silence "I need not tell you; 
 else I, Cesare Trenta, would not be here as the embassa- 
 dor." 
 
 Again the stout little cavaliere stops to take breath, 
 under evident agitation ; then he draws himself up, and 
 turns his face toward the count. As Trenta proceeds, 
 Marescotti's brow is overclouded with thought a haggard 
 expression now spreads over his features. His eyes are
 
 THE TTNIVERSO HOTEL. 161 
 
 turned downward on the floor, else the cavaliere might 
 have seen that their brilliancy is dimmed by rising tears. 
 With his elbow resting on the arm of the chair on which 
 he sits, the count passes his other hand from time to time 
 slowly to and fro across his forehead, pushing back the dis 
 ordered curls that fall upon it. 
 
 " To restore and to continue an illustrious race to 
 unite yourself with a lovely girl just bursting into woman 
 hood." Trenta's voice quivers as he says this. " Ah ! love 
 ly indeed, in mind as well as body," he adds, half aloud. 
 " This is a privilege you, Count Marescotti, can appreciate 
 above all other men. That you do appreciate it you have 
 already made evident. There is no need for me to speak 
 about Enrica herself; you have already judged her. You 
 have, before my eyes, approached her with the looks and 
 the language of passionate admiration. It is not given to 
 all men to be so fascinating. I have seen it with delight. 
 I love her ' his voice broke and shook with emotion " I 
 love her as if she were my own child." 
 
 All the enthusiasm of which the old chamberlain is 
 capable passes into his face as he speaks of Enrica. At 
 that moment he really did look as young as he was contin 
 ually telling every one that he felt. 
 
 " Count Marescotti," he continues, a solemn tone in his 
 voice as he slowly pronounces the words, raising his head 
 at the same time, and gazing fixedly into the other's face 
 " Count Marescotti, I am come here to propose a marriage 
 between you and Enrica Guinigi. The marchesa empow 
 ers me to say that she constitutes Enrica her sole heiress, 
 not only of the great Guinigi name, but of the remaining 
 Guinigi palace, with the portrait of our Castruccio, the 
 heirlooms, the castle of Corellia, and lands of " 
 
 " Stop, stop, my dear Trenta ! " cries the count, holding 
 up both his hands in remonstrance ; " you overwhelm me. 
 I require no such inducements ; they horrify me. Enrica
 
 162 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Guinigi is sufficient in herself so bright a jewel requires 
 no golden settings." 
 
 At these words the cavaliere beams all over. He rubs 
 his fat hands together, then gently claps them. 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo, count ! I see you appreciate her. 
 Per Dio ! you make me feel young again ! I never was so 
 happy in my life ! I should like to dance ! I will dance 
 by-and-by at the wedding. We will open the state-rooms. 
 There is not a grander suite in all Italy. It is superb. I 
 will dance a quadrille with the marchesa. Bagatella ! I 
 shall insist on it. I will execute a solo in the figure of the 
 pastorelle. I will show Baldassare and all the young men 
 the finish of the old style. People did steps then they 
 did not jump like wild horses nor knock each other down. 
 No then dancing was practised as a fine art." 
 
 Suddenly the brisk old cavaliere stops. The expression 
 of Marescotti's large, earnest eyes, fixed on him wonder- 
 in gly, recalls him to himself. 
 
 " Excuse me, my dear friend ; when you are my age, 
 you will better understand an old man's feelings. We are 
 losing time. Now get your hat, and come with me at once 
 to Casa Guinigi ; the marchesa expects you. We will set 
 tle the day of the betrothal. My sweet Enrica, how I long 
 to see you ! " 
 
 While he is speaking Trenta rises and strikes his cane 
 on the ground with a triumphant air ; then he holds out 
 both his hands toward the count. 
 
 " Shake hands with me, my dear Marescotti. I congrat 
 ulate you with my whole soul I congratulate you ! She 
 will be your salvation, the dear, blue-eyed little angel ? " 
 
 In the tumult of his excitement Trenta had taken every 
 thing for granted. His thoughts had flown off to Enrica. 
 His benevolent heart throbbed with joy at the thought of 
 her emancipation from the thralldom of her home. A vision 
 of the dark-haired, pale-faced Marescotti, and the little
 
 THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. 163 
 
 blond head, with its shower of golden curls, kneeling to 
 gether before the altar in the sunshine, danced before his 
 eyes. Marescotti would become a Christian a firm pillar 
 of the Church ; he would rear up children who would wor 
 ship God and the Holy Father ; he would restore the glory 
 of the Guinigi ! 
 
 From this roseate dream the poor cavaliere was abruptly 
 roused. His outstretched hand had not been taken by 
 Marescotti. It dropped to his side. Trenta looked up 
 sharply. His countenance suddenly fell ; a purple flush 
 covered it from chin to forehead, penetrating even the very 
 roots of his snowy hair. His cane dropped with a loud 
 thud, and rolled away along the uncarpeted floor. He 
 thrust both his hands into his pockets, and stood motion 
 less, with his eyes wide open, like a man stunned. 
 
 " Dio buono ! Dio buono ! " he muttered, " the man is 
 mad ! the man is mad ! " Then, after a few minutes of 
 absolute silence, he asked, in a husky voice, " Marescotti, 
 what does this mean ? " 
 
 The count had turned away toward the window. At 
 the sound of the cavaliere's husky voice, he moved and 
 faced him. In the space of a few moments he had greatly 
 changed. Suddenly he had grown worn and weary-looking. 
 His eyes were sunk into his head ; dark circles had formed 
 round them. His bloodless cheeks, transparent with the 
 pallor of perfect health, were blanched ; the corners of his 
 mouth worked convulsively. 
 
 "Does the lady does Enrica Guinigi know of this 
 proposal ? " he asked, in a voice so sad that the cavaliere's 
 indignation against him cooled considerably. 
 
 " Good God ! " exclaimed Trenta, " such a question is an 
 insult to me and to my errand. Can you imagine that I, 
 all my life chamberlain to his highness the Duke of Lucca, 
 am capable of compromising a lady ? " 
 
 " Thank God ! " ejaculated the count, emphatically, clasp-
 
 164 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 ing his hands together, and raising his eyes " thank God ! 
 Forgive me for asking." His whole voice and manner had 
 changed as rapidly as his aspect. There was a sense of 
 suffering, a quiet resignation about him, so utterly unlike 
 his usual excitable manner that Trenta was puzzled beyond 
 expression so puzzled, indeed, that he was speechless. 
 Besides, a veteran in etiquette, he felt that it was to him 
 self an explanation was due. Marescottl had been about 
 to send for him. Now he was there, Marescotti had heard 
 his proposal, it was for Marescotti to answer. 
 
 That the count felt this also was apparent. There was 
 something solemn in his manner as he turned away from 
 the window and slowly advanced toward the cavaliere. 
 Trenta was still standing immovable on the same spot 
 where he had muttered in the first moment of amazement, 
 " He is mad ! " 
 
 " My dear old friend," said the count, speaking with 
 evident effort in a dull, sad voice, "there is some mistake. 
 It was not to speak about any lady that I was about to send 
 for you." 
 
 " Not about a lady ! " cried Trenta, aghast. " Mercy 
 of God ! " 
 
 " Let that pass," interrupted the count, waving his hand. 
 " You have asked me for an explanation an explanation 
 you shall have." Pie sighed deeply, then proceeded the 
 crvaliere following every word he uttered with open mouth 
 and wildly-staring eyes : " Of the lady I can say no more 
 than that, on my honor as a gentleman, to me she ap 
 proaches nearer the divine than any woman I have ever 
 seen nay, than any woman I have ever dreamed of." 
 
 A flash of fire lit up the depths of the count's dark eyes, 
 and there was a tone of melting tenderness in his rich voice 
 as he spoke of Enrica. Then he relapsed into his former 
 weary manner the manner of a man pronouncing his own 
 death-warrant.
 
 TIIE UNI VERSO HOTEL. 1G5 
 
 " Of the unspeakable honor you have done me, as has 
 also the excellent Marchesa Guinigi it does not become 
 me to speak. Believe me, I feel it profoundly." And the 
 count laid his hand upon his heart and bent his grand 
 head. Trenta, with formal politeness, returned the silent 
 salute. 
 
 " But" and here the count's voice faltered, and there 
 was a dimness in his eyes, round which the black circles 
 had deepened " but it is an honor I must decline." 
 
 Trenta, still rooted to the same spot, listened to each 
 word that fell from the count's lips with a look of anguish. 
 
 " Sit down, cavaliere sit down," continued Marescotti, 
 seeing his distress. He put his arm round Trenta's burly, 
 well-filled figure, and drew him down gently into the 
 depths of the arm-chair. " Listen, cavaliere listen to what 
 I have to say before you altogether condemn me. The 
 sacrifice I am making costs me more than I can express. 
 You hold before my eyes what is to me more precious than 
 life ; you tempt me with what every sense within me 
 heart, soul, manliness urges me to clutch ; yet I dare not 
 accept it." 
 
 He paused; so profound a sigh escaped him that it 
 almost formed itself into a groan. 
 
 " I don't understand all this," said Trenta, reddening 
 with indignation. He had been by degrees collecting his 
 scattered senses. " I don't understand it at all. You have, 
 count, placed me in a most awkward position ; I feel it very 
 much. You speak of a mistake a misapprehension. I 
 beg to say there has been none on my part ; I am not in 
 the habit of making mistakes." It will be seen that the 
 cavaliere's temper was rising with the sense of the intoler 
 able injury Count Marescotti was inflicting on himself and 
 all concerned. " I have undertaken a very serious respon 
 sibility ; I have failed, you tell me. What am I to say to 
 the marchesa?"
 
 1G6 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 His shrill voice rose into an angry cry. Altogether, it 
 was more than he could bear. For a moment, the injury 
 to Enrica was forgotten in his own personal sense of 
 wrong. It was too galling to fail in an official embassy 
 Trenta, who always acted upon mature reflection, abhorred 
 failure. 
 
 " Tell her," answered the count, raising his voice, his 
 eyes kindling as he spoke " tell her I am here in Lucca 
 on a sacred mission. I confide it to her honor. A man 
 sworn to a mission cannot marry. As in the kingdom of 
 heaven they neither marry nor are given in marriage, so 
 I, the anointed priest of the people, dare not marry ; it 
 would be sacrilege." His powerful voice rang through the 
 room ; he raised his hands aloft, as if invoking some unseen 
 power to whom he belonged. " When you, cavaliere, en 
 tered this room, I was about to confide my position to you. 
 I am at Lucca Lucca, once the foster-mother of progress, 
 and, I pray Heaven, to become so again ! I am at Lucca 
 to found a mission of freedom." A sudden gesture told 
 him how much Trenta was taken aback at this announce 
 ment. " We differ in our opinions as widely as the poles," 
 continued the count, warming to his subject, " but you are 
 my old friend I felt you would not betray me. Now, 
 after what has passed, as a man of honor, I am bound to 
 confide in you. O Italy ! my country ! " exclaimed the 
 count, clasping his hands, and throwing back his head in a 
 frenzy of enthusiasm, " what sacrifice is too great for thee ? 
 Youth, hope, love nay, life itself all all I devote to 
 thee ! " 
 
 As he was speaking, a ray of sunlight penetrated 
 through the closed windows. It struck like a fiery arrow 
 across the darkened room, and fell full upon the count's up 
 turned face, lighting up every line of his noble countenance. 
 There was a solemn passion in his eyes, a rapt fervor in 
 his gaze, that silenced even the justly-irritated Trenta.
 
 THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. 1G7 
 
 Nevertheless the cavaliere was not a man to be put off 
 by mere words, however imposing they might be. He re 
 turned, therefore, to the charge perseveringly. 
 
 " You speak of a mission, Count Marescotti ; what is 
 the nature of this mission ? Nothing political, I hope ? " 
 
 He stopped abruptly. The count's eyelids dropped 
 over his eyes as he met Trenta's inquiring glance. Then 
 he bowed his head in acquiescence. 
 
 "Another revolution may do much for Italy," he an 
 swered, in a low tone. 
 
 " For the love of God," ejaculated Trenta, stung to the 
 quick by what he looked upon at that particular moment 
 as in itself an aggravation of his wrongs, " don't remind 
 me of your politics, or I shall instantly leave the room. 
 Domine Dio ! it is too much. You have just escaped by 
 the veriest good luck (good luck, by-the-way, you did not 
 in the least deserve) a life-long imprisonment at Rome. 
 You had a mission there, too, I believe." 
 
 This was spoken in as bitter a sneer as the cavaliere's 
 kindly nature permitted. 
 
 " Now pray be satisfied. If you and I are not to part 
 this very instant, don't let me realize you as the 'Red 
 count.' That is a character I cannot tolerate." 
 
 Trenta, so seldom roused to anger, shook all over with 
 rage. " I believe sincerely that it is such so-called patriots 
 as yourself, with their devilish missions, that will ruin us 
 all)' 
 
 " It is because }*ou are ignorant of the grandeur of our 
 cause, it is because you do not understand our principles, 
 that you misjudge us," responded the count, raising his 
 eyes upon Trenta, and speaking with a lofty disregard of 
 his hot words. " Permit me to unfold to you something 
 of our philosophy, a philosophy which will resuscitate our 
 country, and place her again in her ancient position, as in 
 tellectual monitress of Europe. You must not, cavaliere,
 
 168 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 judge either of my mission or of my creed by the yelping 
 of the miserable curs that dog the heels of all great enter 
 prises. There is the penetralia, the esoteric belief, in all 
 great systems of national belief." 
 
 The count spoke with emphasis, yet in grave and meas 
 ured accents ; but his lustrous eyes, and the wild confusion 
 of those black locks, that waved, as it were, sympathetic to 
 his humor, showed that his mind was engrossed with 
 thoughts of overwhelming interest. 
 
 The cavaliere, after his last indignant outburst, had sub 
 sided into the depths of the arm-chair in which Marescotti 
 had placed him ; it was so large as almost to swallow up 
 the whole of his stout little person. With his hands joined, 
 his dimpled fingers interlaced and pointing upward, he 
 patiently awaited what the count might say. He felt pain 
 fully conscious that he had failed in his errand. This irri 
 tated him exceedingly. He had not entered that room 
 No. 4, at the Universe Hotel in order to listen to the 
 elaboration of Count Marescotti's mission, but in order to 
 set certain marriage-bells ringing. These marriage-bells 
 were, it seemed, to be forever mute. Still, having de 
 manded an explanation of what he conceived to be the 
 count's most incomprehensible conduct, he was bound, he 
 felt, in common courtesy, to listen to all he had to say. 
 
 Now Trenta never in his life was wanting in the very 
 flower of courtesy ; he would much sooner have shot him 
 self than be guilty of an ill-bred word. So, under protest, 
 therefore a protest more distinctly written in the general 
 puckering up of his round, plump face, and a certain sulky 
 swell about his usually smiling mouth it was clear he 
 meant to listen, cost him what it might. Besides, when 
 he had heard what the count had to say, it was clearly his 
 duty to reason with him. Who could tell that he might 
 not yield to such a process ? He avowed that he was deeply 
 enamored of Enrica a man in love is already half van-
 
 THE UNIVERSO HOTEL. 169 
 
 quished. Why should Marescotti throw away his chance 
 of happiness for a phantasy a mere dream ? There was 
 no real obstacle. He was versatile and visionary, but the 
 very soul of honor. How, if he Trenta could bring 
 Marescotti to see how much it would be to Enrica's advan 
 tage that he should transplant her from a dreary home, to 
 become a wife beside him ? 
 
 Decidedly it was still possible that he, Cesare Trenta, 
 who had arranged satisfactorily so many most difficult royal 
 complications, might yet bring Marescotti to reason, Who 
 could tell that he might not yet be spared the humiliation 
 of returning to impart his failure to the marchesa ? A re 
 turn, be it said, the good Trenta dreaded not a little, re 
 membering the characteristics of his dear friend, and the 
 responsibility of success which he had so confidently taken 
 upon himself before he started.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A NEW PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 THERE had been an interval of silence, during which 
 the count paced up and down the spacious room medita 
 tively, each step sounding distinctly on the stone floor. 
 The rugged look of conscious power upon his face, the far 
 away glance in his sombre eyes, showed that his mind was 
 working upon what he was about to say. Presently he 
 ceased to walk, reseated himself opposite the cavalierc, and 
 fixed a half-absent gaze upon him. 
 
 Trenta, who would cheerfully have undergone any 
 amount of suffering rather than listen to the abominations 
 he felt were coming, sat with half-closed eyes, gathered into 
 the corner of the arm-chair, the very picture of patient 
 martyrdom. 
 
 The count contemplated him for a moment. As he did 
 so an expression, half cynical, half melancholy, passed over 
 his countenance, and a faint smile lurked about the corners 
 of his mouth. Then in a voice so full and sweet that the 
 ear eagerly drank in the sound, like the harmony of a ca 
 dence, he began : 
 
 " The Roman Catholic Church," he said, "styles itself 
 divinely constituted. It claims to be supreme arbiter in 
 religion and morals ; supreme even in measuring intellect-
 
 A NEW PHILOSOPHY. 171 
 
 ual progress; absolute in its jurisdiction over the state, 
 and solely responsible to itself as to what the limit of 
 that jurisdiction shall be. It calls itself supreme and abso 
 lute, because infallible infallible because divine. Thus 
 the vicious circle is complete. Now entire obedience neces 
 sarily comes into collision with every species of freedom 
 nay, it is in itself antagonistic to freedom freedom of 
 thought, freedom of action specially antagonistic to na 
 tional freedom." 
 
 "The supremacy of the pope (the Holy Father)," put 
 in Trenta, meekly ; he crossed himself several times in 
 rapid succession, looking afterward as if it had been a 
 great consolation to him. 
 
 " The supremacy of the pope," repeated the count, 
 firmly, the shadow of a smile parting his lips, "is eternal. 
 It is based as firmly in the next world as it is in this. It 
 constitutes a condition of complete tyranny both in time 
 and in eternity. Now I," and the count's voice rose, 
 and his eyes glowed, " I both in my public and private 
 capacity (call me Antichrist if you please)." A visible 
 shudder passed over the poor cavaliere ; his eyes closed 
 altogether, and his lips moved. (He was repeating an 
 Ave Maria Sanctissima). " I abhor, I renounce this slav 
 ery ! I rebel against it ! I will have none of it. Who 
 shall control the immortality of thought ? a Pius, a Gre 
 gory ? Ignorant dreamers, perjured priests ! never ! " 
 
 As he spoke, the count raised his right arm, and circled 
 it in the air. In imagination he was waving the flag of 
 liberty over a prostrate world. 
 
 " But, alas ! this slavery is riveted by the grasp of cen 
 turies ; it requires measures as firm and uncompromising as 
 its own to dislodge it. Now the pope " Trenta did not 
 this time attempt to correct Marescotti " the pope is the 
 oretically of no nation, but in reality he is of all nations ; 
 and he is surrounded by a court of celibate priests, also
 
 172 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 without nation. Observe,- cavaliere this absolute domin 
 ion is attained by celibates only men with no family ties 
 no household influences." (This was spoken, as it 
 were, en parenth&se, as a comment on the earlier portion 
 of the conversation that had taken place between them.) 
 " Each of these celibate priests is the pope's courtier his 
 courtier and his slave ; his slave because he is subject to a 
 higher law than the law of his own conscience, and the 
 law of his own country. "Without home or family, nation 
 ality or worldly interest, the priest is a living machine, to 
 be used in whatever direction his tyrant dictates. Every 
 priest, therefore, be he cardinal or deacon, moves and acts 
 the slave of an abstract idea; an idea incompatible with 
 patriotism, humanity, or freedom." 
 
 An audible and deep groan escaped from the suffering 
 cavaliere as the count's voice ceased. 
 
 " Now, Cavaliere Trenta, mark the application." As 
 the count proceeded with his argument, his dark eyes, lit 
 up with the enthusiasm of his own oratory, riveted them 
 selves on the arm-chair. (It could not properly be said 
 that his eyes riveted themselves on Trenta, for he was 
 stooping down, his face covered with his hands, altogether 
 insensible to any possible appeal that might be addressed 
 to him.) "I, Manfred! Marescotti, consecrated priest of 
 the people " and the count drew himself up to the full 
 height of his lofty figure " I am as devoted to my cause 
 God is my witness " and he raised his right hand as 
 though to seal a solemn pledge of truth " as that conse 
 crated renegade, the pope ! My followers and their name 
 is legion believe in me as implicitly as do the tonsured 
 dastards of the Vatican." 
 
 Another ill-suppressed groan escaped from Trenta, and 
 for a moment interrupted the count's oration. The miser 
 able cavaliere ! He had, indeed, invoked an explanation, 
 and, cost him what it might, he must abide it. But he be-
 
 A NEW PHILOSOPHY. 173 
 
 gan to think that the explanation had gone too far. He 
 was sitting there listening to blasphemies. He was actu 
 ally imperiling his own soul. He was horrified as he re 
 flected that he might not obtain absolution when he con 
 fessed the awful language which was addressed to him. 
 Such a risk was really greater than his submission to eti 
 quette exacted. There were bound seven to that, the aged 
 chamberlain told himself. 
 
 Gracious heavens ! for him, an unquestioning papalino, 
 a sincere believer in papal infallibility and the temporal 
 power to hear the Holy Father called a renegade, and 
 his faithful servants stigmatized as dastards ! It was mon 
 strous ! 
 
 He secretly resolved that, once escaped from No. 4 
 at the Universe Hotel and he wondered that a thunder 
 bolt had not already struck the count dead where he stood 
 he would never allow himself to have any further inter 
 course whatever with him. 
 
 " I have been elected," continued the count, speaking 
 in the same emphatic manner, and in the same distinct and 
 harmonious voice, utterly careless or unobservant of the 
 conflict of feelings under which the cavaliere was struggling 
 " head pope, if you please, cavaliere, so to call me." 
 (" God forbid ! " muttered Trenta.) " It makes my analogy 
 the clearer I have been elected by thousands of devoted 
 followers. But my followers are not slaves, nor am I a 
 tyrant. I have accepted the glorious title of Priest of the 
 People, and nothing nothing" the count repeated, vehe 
 mently, " shall tempt me from my duty. I am here at Lucca 
 to establish a mission to plant in this fertile soil the 
 sacred banner of freedom red as the first streaks of light 
 that lace the eastern heavens ; red as the life-blood from 
 which we draw our being. I am here, under the protec 
 tion of this glorious banner, to combat the tyranny upon 
 which the church and the throne are based. Instead of the
 
 174 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 fetters of the past, binding ^mankind in loathsome trammels 
 of ignorance instead of the darkness that broods over a 
 subjugated world of terrors that rend agonized souls with 
 horrible tortures I bring peace, freedom, light, progress. 
 To the base ideal of perpetual tyranny both here and 
 hereafter I oppose the pure ideal of absolute freedom 
 freedom to each separate soul to work out for itself its own 
 innate convictions freedom to form its independent des 
 tiny. Freedom in state, freedom in church, freedom in re 
 ligion, literature, commerce, government freedom as bound 
 less as the sunshine that fructifies the teeming earth ! Free 
 dom of thought necessitates freedom in government. As 
 the soul wings itself toward the light of simple truth, so 
 should the body politic aspire to perfect freedom. This 
 can only be found in a pure republic ; a republic where 
 all men are equal where each man lives for the other in liv 
 ing for himself where brother cleaves to brother as his own 
 flesh family is knit to family one, yet many one, yet of 
 all nations ! " 
 
 " Communism, in fact ! " burst forth the cavaliere. His 
 piping voice, now hoarse with rage, quivered. " You are 
 here to form a communistic association ! God help us ! " 
 
 " I care not what you call it," cried the count, with a 
 rising passion. " My faith, my hope, is the ideal of free 
 dom as opposed to the abstraction of hierarchical super 
 stition and monarchic tyranny. What are popes, kings, 
 princes, and potentates, to me who deem all men equal ? 
 It is by a republic alone that we can regenerate our be 
 loved, our unfortunate Italy, now tossed between a de 
 bauched monarch a traitor, who yielded Savoy an effete 
 Parliament a pack of lawyers who represent nothing but 
 their own interests, and a pope the recreant of Gaeta ! 
 The sooner our ideas are circulated, the sooner they will 
 permeate among the masses. Already the harvest has been 
 great elsewhere. I am here to sow, to reap, and to gather.
 
 A NEW PHILOSOPHY. 175 
 
 For this end mark me, cavaliere, I entreat you I am 
 here, for none other." 
 
 Here the triumphant patriot became suddenly embar 
 rassed. He stopped, hesitated, stopped again, took breath, 
 and sighed ; then turned full upon Trenta, in order to ob 
 tain some response to the appeal he had addressed to him. 
 But again Trenta, sullenly silent, had buried himself in the 
 depths of the arm-chair, and was, so to say, invisible. 
 
 " For this end " (a mournful cadence came into the 
 count's voice when he at length proceeded) " I am ready 
 to sacrifice my life. My life ! what is that ? I am ready 
 to sacrifice my love ay, my love the love of the only 
 woman who fulfills the longings of my poetic soul." 
 
 The count ceased speaking. The fair Enrica, with her 
 tender smile, and patient, chastened loveliness Enrica, as 
 he had imagined her, the type of the young Madonna, was 
 before him. No, Enrica could never be his ; no child of 
 his would ever be encircled by those soft, womanly arms ! 
 With a strong effort to shake off the feeling which so 
 deeply moved him, the count continued : 
 
 " In the boundless realms of ideal philosophy " his 
 noble features were at this moment lit up into the living 
 image of that hero he so much resembled " man grapples 
 hand to hand with the unseen. There are no limits to his 
 glorious aspirations. He is as God himself. He, too, be 
 comes a Creator ; and a new and purer world forms beneath 
 his hand." 
 
 " Have you done ? " asked Trenta, looking up out of 
 the arm-chair. He was so thoroughly overcome, so sub 
 dued, he could have wept. From the very commencement 
 of the count's explanation, he had felt that it was not 
 given to him to combat his opinions. If he could, he was 
 not sure that he would have ventured to do so. "Let 
 pitch alone," says the proverb. 
 
 Now Trenta, of a most cleanly nature, morally and
 
 176 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 physically abhorred pitch, especially such pitch as this. 
 He had long looked upon Count Marescotti as an atheist, 
 a visionary but he had never conceived him capable of 
 establishing an organized system of rebellion and commu 
 nism. At Lucca, too ! It was horrible ! By some means 
 such an incendiary must be got rid of. Next to the foul 
 Fiend himself established in the city, he could conceive 
 nothing more awful ! It was a Providence that Marescotti 
 could not marry Enrica ! He should tell the marchesa so. 
 Such sophistry might have perverted Enrica also. It was 
 more than probable that, instead of reforming him, she 
 might have fallen a victim to his wickedness. This reflec 
 tion was infinitely comforting to the much-enduring ca- 
 valiere. It lightened also much of his apprehension in 
 approaching the marchesa, as the bearer of the count's re 
 fusal. 
 
 To Trenta's question as to " whether he had done," 
 Marescotti had promptly replied with easy courtesy, " Cer 
 tainly, if you desire it. But, my dear cavaliere," he went 
 on to say, speaking in his usual manner, "you will now 
 understand why, cost me what it may, I cannot marry. 
 Never, never, I confess, have I been so fiercely tempted ! 
 But the pang is past 1 " And he swept his hand over his 
 brow. "Marriage with me is impossible. You will un 
 derstand this." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I quite agree with you, count," put in Tren- 
 ta sideways, as it were. He was rejoiced to find he had 
 any common standing-point left with Marescotti. " I agree 
 with you marriage is quite impossible. I hope, too," he 
 added, recovering himself a little, with a faint twinkle in 
 his eye, " you will find your mission at Lucca equally im 
 possible. San Riccardo grant it!" And the old man 
 crossed himself, and secretly fingered an image of the Vir 
 gin he wore about his neck. 
 
 " Putting aside the sacred office with which I am in-
 
 A NEW PHILOSOPHY. 177 
 
 vested," resumed the count, without noticing Trenta's ob 
 servation, " no wife could sympathize with rne. It would 
 be a case of Byron over again. What agony it would be 
 to me to see the exquisite Enrica unable to understand 
 me I A poet, a mystic, I am only fit to live alone. My 
 path " and a far-away look came into his eyes " my path 
 lies alone upon the mountains alone ! alone ! " he added 
 sorrowfully, and a tear trembled on his eyelid. 
 
 "Then why, may I ask you," retorted Trenta, with 
 energy, raising himself upright in the arm-chair, " why did 
 you mislead me by such passionate language to Enrica ? 
 Recall the Guinigi Tower, your attitude your glances I 
 must say, Count Marescotti, I consider your conduct unpar 
 donable quite unpardonable." 
 
 Trenta's face and forehead were scarlet, his steely blue 
 eyes were rounded to their utmost width, and, as far as 
 such mild eyes could, they glared at the count. 
 
 " You have entirely misled me. As to your political 
 opinions, I have, thank God, nothing to do with them ; that 
 is your affair. But in this matter of Enrica you have un 
 justifiably misled me. I shall not forgive you in a hurry, I 
 can tell you." There was a rustling of anger all over the 
 cavaliere, as the leaves of the forest-trees rustle before the 
 breath of the coming tempest. 
 
 " My admiration for women," replied the count, " has 
 hitherto been purely aesthetic. You, cavaliere, cannot un 
 derstand the discrepancies of an artistic nature. Women 
 have been to me heretofore as beautiful abstractions. I 
 have adored them as I adore the works of the great masters. 
 I would as soon have thought of plucking a virgin from the 
 canvas a Venus from her pedestal, as of appropriating one 
 of them. Enrica Guinigi " there was a tender inflection 
 in Count Marescotti's voice whenever he named her, an in 
 voluntary bending of the head that was infinitely touching 
 " Enrica Guinigi is an exception. I could have loved her
 
 178 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 ah ! she is worthy of all love ! Her soul is as rare as 
 her person. I read in the depths of her plaintive eyes the 
 trust of a child and the fortitude of a heroine. If I dared 
 to give these thoughts utterance, it was because I knew she 
 loved another ! " 
 
 " Loved another ? " screamed Trenta, losing all self-con 
 trol and tottering to his feet. " Loved another ? " he re 
 peated, every feature working convulsively. " What do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 Marescotti rose also. Was it possible that Trenta could 
 be in ignorance, he asked himself, hurriedly, as he stared 
 at the aged chamberlain, trembling from head to foot. 
 
 " Loved another ? You are mad, Count Marescotti, I 
 alwa} r s said so mad ! mad ! " Trenta gasped for breath. 
 He was hardly able to articulate. 
 
 The count bowed to him ironically. 
 
 " Calm yourself, cavaliere," he said, haughtily, measur 
 ing from head to foot the plump little cavaliere, who stood 
 before him literally panting with rage. " There is no need 
 for violence. You and the marchesa must have known of 
 this. I shuddered, when I thought that Enrica might have 
 been driven into acquiescence with your proposal against 
 her will. I love her too much to have permitted it." 
 
 The cavaliere could with difficulty bring himself to allow 
 Marescotti to finish. He was too furious to take in the full 
 sense of what he said. His throat was parched. 
 
 " You must answer to me for this ! " Trenta could barely 
 articulate. His voice was dry and hoarse. " You must 
 you shall. You have refused Enrica, now you insult her. 
 I demand I demand satisfaction. No excuse no excuse ! " 
 he shouted. And seeing that Marescotti drew back toward 
 the window, the cavaliere pressed closer upon him, stamped 
 his foot upon the floor, and raised his clinched fist as near 
 to the count's face as his height permitted. 
 
 Had the official sword hung at Trenta's side, he would
 
 A NEW PHILOSOPHY. 179 
 
 undoubtedly have drawn it at that moment and attacked 
 him. In the defense of Enrica he forgot his age he forgot 
 every thing. His very voice had changed into a manly 
 barytone. In the absence of his sword, Trenta was evi 
 dently about to strike Marescotti. As he advanced, the 
 other retreated. 
 
 A hot flush overspread the count's face for an instant, 
 then it faded out, and grew pale and rigid. He remem 
 bered the cavaliere's great age, and checked himself. To 
 avoid him, the count retreated to the farthest limit of the 
 room, hastily seized a chair, and barricaded himself behind 
 it. " I will not fight you, Cavaliere Trenta," he answered, 
 speaking with calmness. 
 
 " Ah, coward ! " screamed Trenta, " would you dishonor 
 me?" 
 
 " Cavaliere Trenta, this is folly," said the count, crossing 
 his arms on his breast. " Strike me if you please," he 
 added, seeing that Trenta still threatened him. " Strike 
 me ; I shall not return it. On my honor as a gentleman, 
 what I have said is true. Had you, cavaliere, been a 
 younger man, you must have heard it in the city, at the 
 club, the theatre ; it is known everywhere." 
 
 " What is known ? " asked Trenta, hoarsely, standing 
 suddenly motionless, the flush of rage dying out of his 
 countenance, and a look of helpless suffering taking its 
 place. 
 
 " That Count Nobili loves Enrica Guinigi," answered 
 Marescotti, abruptly. 
 
 Like a shot Baldassare's words rose to Trent a's remem 
 brance. The poor old chamberlain turned very white. He 
 quivered like a leaf, and clung to the table for support. 
 
 " Pardon me, oh ! pardon me a thousand times, if I have 
 pained you," exclaimed the count ; he left the place where 
 he was standing, threw his arms round Trenta, and placed 
 him with careful tenderness on a seat. His generous heart
 
 180 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 upbraided him bitterly for having allowed himself for an 
 instant to be heated by the cavaliere's reproaches. " How 
 could I possibly imagine you did not know all this ? " he 
 asked, in the gentlest voice. 
 
 Trenta groaned. 
 
 " Take me home, take me home," he murmured, faintly. 
 " Gran Dio ! the marchesa ! the marchesa 1 " He clasped 
 his hands, then let them fall upon his knees. 
 
 "But what real obstacle can there be to a marriage 
 with Count Nobili ? " 
 
 "T cannot speak," answered the cavalisre, almost in- 
 audibly, trying to rise. " Every obstacle." And he sank 
 back helplessly on the chair. 
 
 Count Marescotti took a silver flask from a drawer, and 
 offered him a cordial. Trenta swallowed it with the sub- 
 missiveness of a child. The count picked up his cane, and 
 placed it in his hand. The cavaliere mechanically grasped 
 it, rose, and moved feebly toward the door. 
 
 " Let me go," he said, faintly, addressing Marescotti, 
 who urged him to remain. " Let me go. I must inform 
 the marchesa. I must see Enrica. Ah 1 if you knew all ! " 
 he whispered, looking piteously at the count. " My poor 
 Enrica ! my pretty lamb ! Who can have led her astray ? 
 How can it have happened ? I must go go at once. I 
 am better now. Yes give me your arm, count, I am a 
 little weak. I thank you it supports me." 
 
 The door of No. 4 was at last opened. The cavaliere 
 descended the stairs very slowly, supported by Marescotti, 
 whose looks expressed the deepest compassion. A fiacre 
 was called from the piazza. 
 
 " The Palazzo Trenta," said Count Marescotti to the 
 driver, handing in the cavaliere. 
 
 " No, no," he faintly interrupted, " not there. To Casa 
 Guinigi. I must instantly see the marchesa," whispered 
 Trenta in the count's ear.
 
 A NEW PHILOSOPHY. 181 
 
 The fiacre containing the unhappy chamberlain drove 
 from the door, and plunged into a dark street toward the 
 cathedral. 
 
 Count Marescotti stood for some minutes in the door 
 way, gazing after it. The full blaze of a hot September 
 sun played round his uncovered head, lighting it up as with 
 a glory. Then he turned, and, slowly reascending the 
 stairs to No. 4, opened his door, and locked it behind him.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 THE MAKCIIESA'S PASSION. 
 
 THE Marchesa Guinigi dined early. She had just fin 
 ished when a knock at the door of her squalid sitting-room 
 on the second story, with the pea-green walls and shabby 
 furniture, aroused her from what was the nearest approach 
 to a nap in which she ever indulged. In direct opposition 
 to Italian habits, she maintained that sleeping in the day 
 was not only lazy, but pernicious to health. As the mar- 
 chesa did not permit herself to be lulled by the morphitic 
 influences of those long, dreary days of an Italian summer, 
 which must perforce be passed in closed and darkened 
 chambers, and in a stifling atmosphere, she resolutely set 
 her face against any one in her palace enjoying this national 
 luxury. 
 
 At the hottest moment of the twenty-four hours, and in 
 the dog-days, when the rays of a scalding sun pour down 
 upon roof and wall and tower like molten lead, searching 
 out each crack and cranny with cruel persistence, the mar- 
 chesa was wont stealthily to descend into the very bowels, 
 as it were, of that great body corporate, the Guinigi Palace 
 to see with her own eyes if her orders were obeyed. 
 With hard words, and threats of instant dismissal, she 
 aroused her sleeping household. No refuge could hide an
 
 THE MARCHESA'S PASSION. 183 
 
 offender no hole, however dark, could conceal so much as 
 a kitchen-boy. 
 
 The marchesa's eye penetrated everywhere. From 
 garret to cellar she knew the dimensions of every cupboard 
 the capacity of each nook the measure of the very walls. 
 Woe to the unlucky sleeper ! his slumbers from that hour 
 were numbered ; she watched him as if he had committed 
 a crime. 
 
 When the marchesa, as I have said, was aroused by a 
 knock, she sat up stiffly, and rubbed her eyes before she 
 would say, " Enter." When she spoke the word, the door 
 slowly opened, and Cavaliere Trenta stood before her. 
 Never had he presented himself in such an abject condition ; 
 he was panting for breath ; he leaned heavily on his gold- 
 headed cane ; his snowy hair hung in disorder about his 
 forehead, deep wrinkles had gathered on his face ; his eyes 
 were sunk in their sockets, and his white lips twitched 
 nervously, showing his teeth. 
 
 " Cristo 1 " exclaimed the marchesa, fixing her keen eyes 
 upon him, " }'ou are going to have a fit ! " 
 
 Trenta shook his head slowly. 
 
 The marchesa pulled a chair to her side. The cavaliere 
 sank into it with a sigh of exhaustion, put his hand into 
 his pocket, drew out his handkerchief, placed it before his 
 eyes, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 " Trenta Cesarino ! " and the marchesa rose, laid her 
 long, white fingers on his shoulder it was a cruel hand, 
 spite of its symmetry and aristocratic whiteness " what 
 does this mean ? Speak, speak ! I hate mystification. I 
 order you to speak!" she added, imperiously. "Have 
 you seen Count Marescotti ? " 
 
 Trenta nodded. 
 
 " What does he say ? Is the marriage arranged ? " 
 
 Trenta shook his head. If his life had depended upon 
 it he could not have uttered a single word at that moment.
 
 184 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 His sobs choked him. Tears ran down his aged cheeks, 
 moistening the wrinkles and furrows now so apparent. He 
 was iti such a piteous condition that even the marchesa was 
 softened as she looked at him. 
 
 " If all this is because the marriage with Count Mare, 
 scotti has failed, you are a fool, Trenta ! a fool, do you 
 hear?" And she leaned over him, tightened her hand 
 upon his shoulder, and actually shook him. 
 
 Trenta submitted passively. 
 
 " On the whole, I am very glad of it. Do you hear? 
 You talked me over, Cesarino ; I have repented it ever 
 since. Count Marescotti is not the man I should have 
 selected for raising up heirs to the Guinigi. Now don't 
 irritate me," she continued, with a disdainful glance at 
 the cavaliere. " Have done with this folly. Do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Enrica, Enrical" groaned Trenta, who, always accus 
 tomed to obey her, began wiping his eyes they would, 
 however, keep overflowing " O marchesa ! how can I 
 tell you?" 
 
 " Tell me what ? " demanded the marchesa, sternly. 
 
 Her breath came short and quick, her thin face grew 
 set and rigid. Like a veteran war-horse, she scented the 
 battle from afar ! 
 
 " Ah ! if you only knew all ! " And a great spasm 
 passed over the cavaliere's frame. " You must prepare 
 yourself for the worst." 
 
 The marchesa laughed a short, contemptuous laugh 
 and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Enrica, Enrica what can she do ? a child ! She 
 cannot compromise me, or my name." 
 
 " Enrica has compromised both," cried Trenta, roused 
 at last from his paroxysm of grief. "Enrica has more 
 than compromised it ; she has compromised all the Guinigi 
 that ever lived you, the palace, herself every one. En-
 
 THE MARCHESA'S PASSION. 185 
 
 rica has a lover ! " The marchesa bounded from her chair ; 
 her face turned livid in the waning light; 
 
 " Who told you this ? " she asked, in a strange, hollow 
 voice, without turning her eyes or moving a muscle of her 
 face. 
 
 " Count Marescotti," answered Trenta, meekly. 
 
 He positively cowered beneath the pent-up wrath of 
 the marchesa. 
 
 " Who is the man ? " 
 
 " Nobili." 
 
 " What ! Count Nobili ?" 
 
 "Yes, Count Nobili." 
 
 With a great effort she commanded herself, and contin 
 ued interrogating Trenta. 
 
 " How did Marescotti hear it ? " 
 
 " From common report. It is known all over Lucca." 
 
 " Was this the reason that Count Marescotti declined 
 to marry my niece ? " 
 
 The marchesa spoke in the same strange tone, but she 
 fixed her eyes savagely on Trenta, so as to be able to con 
 vince herself how far he might dare to equivocate. 
 
 " That was a principal reason," replied the cavaliere, in 
 a faltering voice ; " but there were others." 
 
 " What are the others to me ? The dishonor of my 
 niece is sufficient." 
 
 There was a desperate composure about the marchesa, 
 more terrible than passion. 
 
 " Her dishonor ! God and all the saints forbid ! " re 
 torted Trenta, clasping his hands. "Marescotti did not 
 speak of dishonor." 
 
 "But I speak of dishonor!" slirieked the marchesa, 
 and the pent-up rage within her flashed out over her face 
 like a tongue of fire. " Dishonor ! the vilest, basest dis 
 honor ! What do I care " and she stamped her foot loud 
 ly on the brick floor " what do I care what Nobili has
 
 186 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 done to her ? By that one fact of loving him she has soiled 
 this sacred roof." The marchesa's eyes wandered wildly 
 round the room. " She has soiled the name I bear. I will 
 cast her forth into the street to beg to starve ! " 
 
 And as the words fell from her lips she stretched out 
 her long arm and bony finger as in a withering curse. 
 
 " But, ha ! ha ! " and her terrible voice echoed through 
 the empty room " I forgot. Count Nobili loves her ; he 
 will keep her in luxury, too and in a Guinigi palace ! " 
 She hissed out these last words. " She has learned her 
 way there already. Let her go go instantly," the mar 
 chesa's hand was on the bell. " Let her go, the soft-voiced 
 viper ! " 
 
 The transport of fury which possessed the marchesa 
 had had the effect of completely recalling Trenta to him 
 self. For his great age, Trenta possessed extraordinary 
 recuperative powers, both of body and mind. Not only 
 had he so far recovered while the marchesa had been speak 
 ing as to arrange his hair and his features, and to smoothe 
 the creases of his official coat into something of their 
 habitual punctilious neatness, but he had had time to re 
 flect. Unless he could turn the marchesa from her dread 
 ful purpose, Enrica (still under all circumstances his be 
 loved child) would infallibly be turned into the street by 
 her remorseless aunt. 
 
 At the moment that the marchesa had laid her hand 
 upon the bell, Trenta darted forward and tore it from her 
 hand. 
 
 " For the love of the Virgin, pause before you commit 
 so horrible an act ! " 
 
 So sudden had been his movement, so unwonted his 
 energy, that the marchesa was checked in the very climax 
 of her passion. 
 
 " If you have no mercy on a child that you have reared 
 at your side," exclaimed Trenta, laying his hand on hers,
 
 TUB MARCHESA'S PASSION. 18? 
 
 " spare yourself, your name, your house, such a scandal ! 
 Is it for this that you cherish the name of the great Paolo 
 Guinigi, whose acts were acts of clemency and wisdom ? 
 Is it for this you honor the memory of Castruccio Castra- 
 cani, who was called the ' father of the people ? ' Bethink 
 you, marchesa, that they lived under this very roof. You 
 dare not no, not even you dare not tarnish their mem 
 ories ! Call Enrica here. It is the barest justice that the 
 accused should be heard. Ask her what she has done? 
 Ask her what has passed ? How she has met Count Nobili ? 
 Until an hour ago I could have sworn she did not even 
 know him." 
 
 " Ay, ay," burst out the marchesa, " so could I. How 
 did she come to know him ? " 
 
 " That is precisely what we must learn," continued 
 Trenta, eagerly seizing on the slightest abatement of the 
 marchesa's wrath. " That is what we must ask her. Mar 
 chesa, in common decency, you cannot put your own niece 
 out of your house without seeing her and hearing her ex 
 planation." 
 
 " You may call her, if you please," answered the mar 
 chesa, with a look of dogged rage ; " but I warn you, 
 Cesare Trenta, if she avows her love for Nobili in my 
 presence, I shall esteem that in itself the foulest crime she 
 can commit. If she avows it, she leaves my house to-night. 
 Let her die ! I care not what becomes of her ! "
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 ENRICA'S TKIAL. 
 
 THE Cavaliere Trenta, without an instant's delay, 
 seized the bell and rang it. The broken-down retainer, in 
 his suit of well-worn livery, shuffled in through the ante 
 room. 
 
 " What did the excellency command ? " he asked in a 
 dreary voice, as the marchesa did not address him. 
 
 " Tell the signorina that the Marchesa Guinigi desires 
 her presence immediately," answered the cavaliere, prompt 
 ly. He would not give her an opportunity of speaking. 
 
 " Her excellency shall be obeyed," replied the servant, 
 still addressing himself to the marchesa. He bowed, then 
 glided noiselessly from the room. 
 
 A door is heard to open, then to shut ; a bell is rung ; 
 there is a muttered conversation in the anteroom, and the 
 sound of receding footsteps ; then a side-door in the corner 
 of the sitting-room near the window opens ; there is the 
 slight rustle of a summer dress, and Enrica stands before 
 them. 
 
 It is the same hour of sunset as when she had sat there 
 three days before, knitting beside the open casement, with 
 the twisted marble colonnettes and delicate tracery. The 
 same subtile fragrance of the magnolia rises upward from 
 the waxy leaves of the tall flowering trees growing beneath
 
 ENRICA'S TRIAL. 189 
 
 in the Moorish garden. The low rays of the setting sun 
 flit upon her flaxen hair, defining each delicate curl, and 
 sharply marking the outline of her slight girlish figure ; the 
 slender waist, the small hands. Even the little foot is 
 visible under the folds of her light dress. 
 
 Enrica's face is in shadow, but, as she raises it and 
 sees the cavaliere seated beside her aunt, a quiet smile plays 
 about her mouth, and a gleam of pleasure rises in her eyes. 
 
 What is it that makes youth in Italy so fresh and beau 
 tiful so lithe, erect, and strong ? What gives that lustre 
 to the eye, that ripple to the hair, that faultless mould to 
 the features, that mellowness to the skin like the ruddy 
 rind of the pomegranate those rounded limbs that move 
 with sovereign ease that step, as of gods treading the 
 earth ? Is it the color of the golden skies ? Is it a philter 
 brewed by the burning sunshine ? or is it found in the deep 
 shadows that brood in the radiance of the starry night ? Is 
 it in those sounds of music ever floating in the air ? or in 
 the solemn silence of the primeval chestnut-woods ? Does 
 it come in the crackling of the mountain-storm in the ter 
 ror of the earthquake ? Does it breathe from the azure 
 seas that belt the classic land or in the rippling cadence 
 of untrodden streams amid lonely mountains ? Whence 
 comes it ? how ? where ? I cannot tell. 
 
 The marchesa is seated on her accustomed seat ; her 
 face is shaded by her hand. So stern, so solemn, is her 
 attitude that her chair seems suddenly turned into a judg 
 ment-seat. 
 
 The cavaliere has risen at Enrica's entrance. Not dar 
 ing to display his feelings in the presence of the marchesa, 
 he thrusts his hands into his pockets, and stands behind 
 her, his head partly turned away, leaning against the edge 
 of the marble mantel-piece. There is such absolute silence 
 in the room that the ticking of a clock is distinctly heard. 
 It is the deadly pause before the slaughter of the battle.
 
 190 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 "You sent for me, my aunt?" Enrica speaks in a 
 timid voice, not moving from the spot where she has en 
 tered, near the open window. " What is your pleasure ? " 
 
 " My pleasure !" the marchesa catches up and echoes 
 the words with a horrible jeer. (She had been collecting 
 her forces for attack ; she had lashed herself into a trans 
 port of fury. Her smooth, snake-like head was reared erect; 
 her upright figure, too thin to be majestic, stiffened. 
 Thunder and lightning were in her eyes as she turned them 
 on Enrica.) " You dare to ask me my pleasure ! You shall 
 hear it, lost, miserable girl ! Leave this house go to your 
 lover 1 Let it be the motto of his low-born race that a No- 
 bili dishonored a Guinigi. Go I wish you were dead ! " 
 and she points with her finger toward the door. 
 
 Every word that fell from the marchesa sounded like a 
 curse. As she speaks, the smiles fade out of Enrica's face 
 as the lurid sunlight fades before the rising tempest. She 
 grasps a chair for support. Her bosom heaves under the 
 folds of her thin white dress. Her eyes, which had fixed 
 themselves on her aunt, fall with an agonized expression 
 on the floor. Thus she stands, speechless, motionless, pas 
 sive ; stunned, as it were, by the shock of the words. 
 
 Then a low cry of pain escapes her, a cry like the com 
 plaint of a dumb animal the bleat of a lamb under the 
 butcher's knife. 
 
 " Have I not reared you as my own child ? " cries the 
 marchesa too excited to remain silent in the presence of 
 her victim. " Have you ever left my side ? Yet under my 
 ancestral roof you have dared to degrade yourself. Out 
 upon you ! Go, go or with my own hand I shall drive 
 you into the street ! " 
 
 She starts up, and is rushing upon Enrica, who stands 
 motionless before her, when Trenta steps forward, puts his 
 hand firmly on the marchesa's arm, and draws her back. 
 
 " You have called Enrica here," he whispers, " to ques-
 
 ENRICA'S TRIAL. 191 
 
 tion her. Do so do so. Look, she is so overcome she 
 cannot speak," and he points to Enrica, who is now trem 
 bling like an aspen-leaf, her fair head bowed upon her 
 bosom, the big tears trickling down her white cheeks. 
 
 When the marchesa, checked by Trerita, has ceased 
 speaking, Enrica raises her heavy eyelids and turns her 
 eyes, swimming in tears, upon her aunt. Then she clasps 
 her hands the small fingers knitting themselves together 
 with a grasp of agony and wrings them. Her lips move, 
 but no sound comes from them. Something there is so 
 pitiful in this mute appeal she looks so slight and frail in 
 the background of the fading sunlight there is such a 
 depth of unspoken pathos in every line of her young face 
 that the marchesa pauses ; she pauses ere putting into ex 
 ecution her resolve of turning Enrica herself, with her own 
 hands, from the palace. 
 
 A new sentiment has also within the last few minutes 
 arisen within her a sentiment of curiosity. The marchesa 
 is a woman ; in many respects a thorough woman. The 
 first flash of fury once passed, she feels an intense longing 
 to know how all this had come about. What had passed ? 
 How had Enrica met Nobili ? Whether any of her house 
 hold had betrayed her? On whom her just vengeance 
 shall fall ? 
 
 Each moment that passes as the quick thoughts rattle 
 through her brain, it seems to her more and more imperative 
 that she should inform herself what had really happened 
 under her roof ! 
 
 At this moment Enrica speaks in a low voice. 
 
 " O my aunt ! I have done nothing ! Indeed, indeed," 
 and a great sob breaks in and cuts her speech. " I have 
 done nothing." 
 
 " What 1 " cries the marchesa, her fury again roused by 
 such a daring assertion. " What do you call nothing ? Do 
 you deny that you love Nobili ? "
 
 192 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " No, my aunt. I love him I love him." 
 
 The mention of Nobili's name gave Enrica courage. 
 With that name the sunlit days of meeting came back 
 again. A gleam of their divine refraction swam before 
 her. Nobili is he not strong, and brave, and true? Is 
 he not near at hand? Oh, if he only knew her need ! oh, 
 if he could only rush to her bear her in his arms away 
 away to untrodden lands of love and bliss where she 
 could hide her head upon his breast and be at peace ! 
 
 All this gave her courage. She passes her hand over 
 her face and brushes the tears away. Her blue eyes, that 
 shine out now like a rent in a cloudy sky, are meekly but 
 fearlessly cast upon her aunt. 
 
 " You dare to tell me you love him you dare to avow 
 it in my presence, degraded girl ! have you no pride no 
 decency ? " 
 
 " I have done nothing," Enrica answers in the same 
 voice, " of which I am ashamed. From the first moment 
 I saw him I loved him. I loved him oh ! how I loved 
 him ! " She repeats this softly, as if speaking to herself. 
 An inner light shines over her whole countenance. " And 
 Nobili loves me. I know it." Her voice sounds sweet and 
 firm. "He is mine ! " 
 
 " Fool, you think so ; you are but one of many ! " The 
 marchesa, incensed beyond endurance at her firmness, raises 
 her head with the action of a snake about to spring upon 
 its prey. " Dare you deny that you are his mistress ? " 
 
 (Could the marchesa have seen the cavaliere standing 
 behind her, at that moment, and how those eyes of his 
 were riveted on Enrica with a look in which hope, thank 
 fulness, pity, and joy, crossed and combated together 
 mercy on us ! she would have turned and struck him !) 
 
 The shock of the words overcame Enrica. She fixes 
 her eyes on her aunt as if not understanding their mean 
 ing. Then a deep blush covers her from head to foot ; she
 
 ENRICA'S TRIAL. 193 
 
 trembles and presses both her hands to her bosom as if in 
 pain. 
 
 " Spare her, spare her ! " is heard in less audible sounds 
 from Trenta to the marchesa. The marchesa tosses her 
 head defiantly. 
 
 " I am to be Count Nobili's wife," Enrica says at last, 
 in a faltering voice. " The Holy Mother is my witness, I 
 have done nothing wrong. I have met him in the cathe 
 dral, and at the door of the Moorish garden. He has writ, 
 ten to me, and I have answered." 
 
 " Doubtless ; and you have met him alone ? " asked the 
 marchesa, with a savage sneer. 
 
 " Never, my aunt ; Teresa was always with me." 
 
 " Teresa, curse her ! She shall leave the house as naked 
 as she came into it. How many other of my servants did 
 you corrupt ? " 
 
 " Not one ; it was known to her and to me only." 
 
 " And why not to me, your guardiati ? why not to me ? " 
 And the marchesa advances step by step toward Enrica, 
 as the bitter consciousness of having been hoodwinked 
 by such a child fills her with fresh rage. " You have de 
 ceived me I who have fed and clothed and nourished you 
 I who, but for this, would have endowed you with all I 
 have, bequeathed to you a name greater than that of kings ! 
 Answer me this, Enrica. Leave off wringing your hands 
 and turning up your eyes. Answer me ! " 
 
 " My aunt, I was afraid." 
 
 " Afraid ! " and the marchesa laughs a loud and scornful 
 laugh ; " you were not afraid to meet this man in secret." 
 
 " No. Fear him ! what had I to fear ? Nobili loves 
 me." 
 
 The word was spoken. Now she had courage to meet 
 
 the marchesa's gaze unmoved, spite of the menace of her 
 
 look and attitude. Enrica's conscience acquitted"her of any 
 
 wrong save the wrong of concealment. " Had you asked 
 
 9
 
 194 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 me," she adds, more timidly, " I should have spoken. You 
 have asked me now, and I have told you." 
 
 The very spirit of truth spoke in Enrica. Not even 
 the marchesa could doubt her. Enrica had not disgraced 
 the name she bore. She believed her ; but there was a 
 sting behind sharper to her than death. That sting re 
 mained. Enrica had confessed her love for the man she 
 hated 1 
 
 As to the cavaliere, the difficulty he experienced at 
 this moment in controlling his feelings amounted to posi 
 tive agony. His Enrica is safe ! San Riccardo be thanked ! 
 She is safe she is pure 1 Except his eyes, which glowed 
 with the secret ecstasy he felt, he appeared outwardly 
 as impassive as a stone. The marchesa turned and re 
 seated herself. There is, spite of her violence, an in 
 describable majesty about her as she sits erect and firm 
 upon her chair in judgment on her niece. Right or wrong, 
 the marchesa is a woman born to command. 
 
 " It is not for me," she says, with lofty composure, " to 
 reason with a love-sick girl, whose mind runs to the tune of 
 her lover's name. Of all living men I abhor Count Nobili. 
 To love him, in my eyes, is a crime yes, a crime," she re 
 peats, raising her voice, seeing that Enrica is about to 
 speak. "I know him he is a vain, purse-proud reprobate. 
 He has come and planted himself like a mushroom within 
 our ancient walls. Nor did this content him he has had 
 the presumption to lodge himself in a Guinigi palace. The 
 blood in his veins is as mud. That he cannot help, nor do 
 I reproach him for it ; but he has forced himself into our 
 class he has mingled his name with the old names of the 
 city ; he has dared to speak live act as if he were 
 one of us. You, Enrica, are the last of the Guinigi. I had 
 hoped that a child I had reared at my side would have 
 learned and reflected my will would have repaid me for 
 years of care by her obedience."
 
 ENRICA'S TRIAL. 195 
 
 " O my aunt ! " exclaims Enrica, sinking on h^er knees, 
 " forgive me forgive me ! I am ungrateful." 
 
 " Rise," cries the marchesa, sternly, not in the least 
 touched by this outburst of natural feeling. " I care not 
 for words your acts show you have defied me. The pro 
 ject which for years I have silently nursed in my bosom, 
 waiting for the fitting time to disclose it to you the pro 
 ject of building up through you the great Guinigi name." 
 
 The marchesa pauses ; she gasps, as if for breath. A 
 quick flush steals over her white face, and for a moment 
 she leans back in her chair, unable to proceed. Then she 
 presses her hand to her forehead, on which the perspiration 
 had risen in beads. 
 
 " Alas ! I did not know it ! " Enrica is now sobbing 
 bitterly. " Why oh ! why, did you not trust me ? " 
 
 In a strange, weary-sounding voice the marchesa con 
 tinues : 
 
 " Let us not speak of it. Enrica" she turns her gray 
 eyes full upon her, as she stands motionless in front of the 
 pillared casement " Enrica, you must choose. Renounce 
 Nobili, or prepare to enter a convent. His wife you can 
 never be." 
 
 As a shot that strikes a brightly-plumaged bird full in 
 its softly-feathered breast, so did these dreadful words 
 strike Enrica. There is a faint, low cry, she has fallen 
 upon the floor ! 
 
 The marchesa did not move, but, looking at her where 
 she lay, she slowly shook her head. Not so the cavaliere. 
 He rushed forward, and raised her tenderly in his arms. 
 The tears streamed down his aged cheeks. 
 
 "Take her away!" cried the marchesa; "take her 
 away ! She has broken my heart ! "
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 WHEN Cavaliere Trenta returned, after he had led away 
 Enrica, and consigned her to Teresa, he was very grave. 
 As he crossed the room toward the marchesa, he moved 
 feebly, and leaned heavily on his stick. Then he drew a 
 chair opposite to her, sat down, heaved a deep sigh, and 
 raised his eyes to her face. 
 
 The marchesa had not moved. She did not move now, 
 but sat the picture of hard, haughty despair a despair 
 that would gnaw body and soul, yet give no sigh. But 
 the cavaliere was now too much absorbed by Enrica's suffer 
 ings to affect even to take much heed of the marchesa. 
 
 " This is a very serious business," he began, abruptly. 
 " You may have to answer for that girl's life. I shall be 
 the first to witness against you." 
 
 Never in her life had the marchesa heard Cesare Trenta 
 deliver himself of such a decided censure upon her conduct. 
 His wheedling, coaxing manner was all gone. He was 
 neither the courtier nor the counselor. He neither insinu 
 ated nor suggested, but spoke bluntly out bold words, and 
 those upon a subject she esteemed essentially her own. 
 Even in the depth of her despondency it made a certain 
 impression upon her. 
 
 She roused herself and glared at him, but there was no
 
 WHAT CAME OF IT. 197 
 
 shrinking in his face.' Trenta's clear round eyes, so honest 
 and loyal in their expression, seemed to pierce her through 
 and through. She fancied, too, that he contemplated her 
 with a sort of horror. 
 
 " You have accused Enrica," he continued ; " she has 
 cleared herself. You cannot doubt her. Why do you con 
 tinue to torture her ? " 
 
 " That is my affair," answered the marchesa, doggedly. 
 " She has deceived me, and defied me. She has outraged 
 the usages of society. Is not that enough ?" 
 
 " You have brought her up to fear you," interrupted 
 Trenta. " Had she not feared you, she would never have 
 deceived you." 
 
 " What is that to you ? How dare you question me? " 
 cried the marchesa, the glitter of passion lighting up her 
 eyes. " Is it not enough that by this deception she has 
 foiled me in the whole purpose of my life ? I have given 
 her the choice. Resign Nobili, or a convent." 
 
 Saying this, she closed her lips tightly. Trenta, in the 
 heat of his enthusiasm for Enrica, had gone too far. He 
 felt it ; he hastened to rectify his error. 
 
 " Every thing that concerns you and your family, Mar 
 chesa Guinigi, is a subject of overwhelming interest to 
 me." 
 
 Now the cavaliere spoke in his blandest manner. The 
 smoothness of the courtier seemed to unknit the wrinkles 
 on his face. The look of displeasure melted out of his eyes, 
 the roughness fled from his voice. 
 
 "Remember, marchesa, I am your oldest friend. A 
 crisis has arrived ; a scandal may ensue. You must now 
 decide." 
 
 " I have decided," returned the marchesa ; " that de 
 cision you have heard." And again her lips closed her 
 metically. 
 
 " But permit me. There are many considerations that
 
 198 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 will doubtless present themselves to you as necessary in 
 gredients of this decision. If Enrica goes into religion, the 
 Guinigi race is doomed. Why should you, with your own 
 hand, destroy the work of your life ? If Enrica will not 
 consent to renounce her engagement to Count Nobili, why 
 should she not marry him ? There is no real obstacle other 
 than your will." 
 
 No sooner were these daring words uttered, than the 
 cavaliere positively trembled. The marchesa listened to 
 them in ominous silence. Such a possibility had never pre 
 sented itself for a instant to her imagination. She turned 
 slowly round, pressed her hands tightly on her knees, and 
 darkly eyed him. 
 
 " You think that I should consent to such a marriage ? " 
 she asked in a deep voice, a mocking smile upon her lips. 
 
 " I think, marchesa, that you should sacrifice every 
 thing yes every thing." And Trenta, feeling himself 
 on safe ground, repeated the word with an audacity that 
 would have surprised those who only knew him in the 
 polite details of ordinary life. " I think that you should 
 sacrifice every thing to the interests of your house." 
 
 This was hitting the marchesa home. She felt it and 
 winced ; but her resolution was unshaken. 
 
 " Did I not know that you are descended from a line as 
 ancient, though not so illustrious as my own, I should 
 think I was listening to a Jew peddler of Leghorn," she re 
 plied, with insolent cynicism. 
 
 The cavaliere felt deeply offended, but had the pres 
 ence of mind to affect a smile, as though what she had said 
 was an excellent joke. 
 
 "Nobili shall never mix his blood with the Guinigi I 
 swear it ! Rather let our name die out from the land." 
 
 She raised both her hands in the twilight to ratify the 
 imprecation she had hurled upon her race. Her voice died 
 away into the corner of the darkening room ; her thoughts
 
 WHAT CAME OF IT. 199 
 
 wandered. She sat in spirit upon the seigneurial throne, 
 below, in the presence-chamber. Should Nobili sit there, 
 on that hallowed seat of her ancestors? the old Lombard 
 palace call him master, living gather his bones with their 
 ashes, dead ? Never ! Better far moulder into ruin as 
 they had mouldered. Had she not already permitted her 
 self to be too much influenced ? She had offered Enrica in 
 marriage to Count Marescotti, and he had refused her re 
 fused her niece ! 
 
 Suddenly she shook off the incubus of these thoughts 
 and turned toward Trenta. He had been watching her 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I can never forgive Enrica," she said. " She may not 
 have disgraced herself that matters little but she has 
 disgraced me. She must enter a convent ; until then I 
 will allow her to remain in my house." 
 
 " Exactly," burst in Trenta, again betrayed into undue 
 warmth by this concession. 
 
 The cavalicre was old ; he had seen that life revolves 
 itself strangely in a circle, from which we may diverge, 
 but from which we seldom disentangle ourselves. Desper 
 ate resolves are taken, tragedies are planned, but Fate or 
 Providence intervenes. The old balance pendulates again 
 the foot falls into the familiar step. Death comes to cut 
 the Gordian knot. The grave-sod covers all that is left, 
 and the worm feeds on the busy brain. 
 
 As a man of the world, Trenta was a profound believer 
 in the chapter of accidents. 
 
 " I will not put Enrica out of my house," resumed the 
 marchesa, gazing at him suspiciously. (Trenta seemed, 
 she thought, wonderfully interested in Enrica's fate. She 
 had noticed this interest once before. She did not like it. 
 What was Enrica to him ? Trenta was her friend.) " But 
 she shall remain on one condition only Nobili's name 
 must never be mentioned. You can inform her of this,
 
 200 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 as you have taken already so much upon yourself. Do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," answered the chamberlain with 
 alacrity. " You shall be obeyed. I will answer for it 
 excellent marchesa, you are right, always right " and he 
 stooped down and gently took her thin fingers in his fat 
 hands, and touched them with his lips. 
 
 " I will cause no scandal," she continued, withdrawing 
 her hand. " Once in a convent, Enrica can harm no one." 
 
 " No, certainly not," responded Trenta, " and the fam 
 ily will become extinct. This palace and its precious heir 
 looms will be sold." 
 
 The marchesa put out her hand with silent horror. 
 
 " It is the case with so many of our great families," con 
 tinued the impassable Trenta. " Now, on the other hand, 
 Enrica may possibly change her mind ; Nobili may change 
 his mind. Circumstances quite unforeseen may occur who 
 can answer for circumstances ? " 
 
 The marchesa listened silently. This was always a 
 good sign ; she was too obstinate to confess herself con 
 vinced. But, spite of her prejudices, her natural shrewd 
 ness forbade her to reject absolutely the voice of reason. 
 
 " I shall not treat Enrica cruelly," was her reply, " nor 
 will I cause a scandal, but I can never forgive her. By 
 this act of loving Nobili she has separated herself from me 
 irrevocably. Let her renounce him ; she has her choice 
 mine is already made." 
 
 The cavaliere listened in silence. Much had been 
 gained, in his opinion, by this partial concession. The 
 subject had been broached, the hated name mentioned, 
 the possibility of the marriage mooted. He rose with a 
 cheerful smile to take his leave. 
 
 " Marchesa, it is late permit me to salute you ; you 
 must require repose." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, sighing deeply. " It seems to
 
 WHAT CAME OF IT. 201 
 
 me a year since I entered this room. I must leave Lucca. 
 Enrica cannot, after what has passed, remain here. Thanks 
 to her, I, in the solitude of my own palace, am become the 
 common town-talk. Cesare, I shall leave Lucca to-morrow 
 for my villa of Corellia. Good-night." 
 
 The cavaliere again kissed her hand and departed. 
 
 " If that weathercock of a thousand colors, that idiot, 
 Marescotti," muttered the cavaliere, as he descended the 
 stairs, " could only be got to give up his impious mission, 
 and marry the dear child, all might yet be right. He has 
 an eye and a tongue that would charm a woman into any 
 thing. Alas ! alas ! what a pasticcio ! made by herself 
 made by herself and her lawsuits about the defunct Guinigi 
 damn them ! " 
 
 It was seldom that the cavaliere used bad words ex 
 cuse him.
 
 PAET III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A LONELY TOWN. 
 
 THE road from Lucca to Corellia lies at the foot of 
 lofty mountains, over-mantled by chestnut-forests, and cleft 
 asunder by the river Serchio the broad, willful Serchio, 
 sprung from the flanks of virgin fastnesses. In its course 
 a thousand valleys open up, scoring the banks. Each val 
 ley has its tributary stream, down which, even in the dog- 
 days, cool breezes rustle. The lower hills lying warm 
 toward the south, and the broad glassy lands by the river, 
 are trellised with vines. Some fling their branches in wild 
 festoons on mulberry or aspen trees. Some trained in long 
 arbors are held up by pillars of unbarked wood ; others 
 trail upon the earth in delicious luxuriance. The white 
 and purple grapes peep from the already shriveled leaves, 
 or hang in rich masses on the brown earth. 
 
 It is the vintage. The peasants, busy as bees, swarm 
 on the hill-sides ; the women pluck the fruit ; the men bear 
 it away in wooden measures. While they work, they sing 
 those wild Tuscan melodies that linger in the air like long- 
 drawn sighs. The donkeys, too, climb up and down, sad 
 dled with wooden panniers, crammed with grapes. These 
 grapes are shot into large tubs, and placed in a shady out-
 
 A LONELY TOWX 203 
 
 house. Some black-eyed boy will dance merrily on these 
 tubs, by-and-by, with his naked feet, and squeeze out the 
 juice. This juice is then covered and left to ferment, then 
 bottled into flasks, covered with wicker-work, corked with 
 tow, and finally stowed away in caves among the rocks. 
 
 The marchesa's lumbering coach, drawn by three horses 
 harnessed abreast (another horse, smaller than the rest, put 
 in tandem in front), creaks along the road by the river-side, 
 on its high wheels. She sits within, a stony look upon her 
 hard white face. Enrica, pale and silent, is beside her. 
 No word has passed between them since they left Lucca 
 two hours ago. They pass groups of peasants, their la 
 bors over for the day turning out of the vineyards upon 
 the high-road. The donkeys are driven on in front. They 
 are braying .for joy ; their faces are turned homeward. 
 Boys run at their heels, and spur them on with sticks and 
 stones. The women Jag behind talking their white head 
 gear and gold ear-rings catching the low sunshine that 
 strikes through rents of parting mountains. Every man 
 takes off his hat to the marchesa ; every woman wishes her 
 good-day. 
 
 It is only the boys who do not fear her. They have no 
 caps to raise ; when the carriage has passed, they leave the 
 donkeys and hang on behind like a swarm of bees. The 
 driver is quite aware of this, and his long whip, which he 
 has cracked at intervals all the way from Lucca would 
 reach the grinning, white-toothed little vagabonds well; 
 but he the driver grins too, and spares them. 
 
 Together they all mount the zigzag mountain-pass, that 
 turns short off from the right bank of the valley of the 
 Serchio, toward Corellia. The peasants sing choruses as 
 they trudge upward, taking short cuts among the trees at 
 the angles of the zigzag. The evening lights come and 
 go among the chestnut-trees and on the soft, short grass. 
 Here a fierce flick of sunshine shoots across the road ; there
 
 204 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 deep gloom darkens an angle into which the coach plunges, 
 the peasants, grouped on the top of a bank overhead, 
 standing out darkly in the yellow glow. 
 
 It is a lonely pass in the very bosom of the Apennines, 
 midway between Lucca and Modena. In winter the road 
 is clogged with snow ; nothing can pass. Now, there is 
 no sound but the singing of water-falls, and the trickle of 
 water-courses, the chirrup of the cicala, not yet gone to its 
 rest and the murmur of the hot breezes rustling in the 
 distant forest. 
 
 No sound save when sudden thunder-pelts wake awful 
 echoes among the great brotherhood of mountain-tops 
 when torrents burst forth, pouring downward, flooding the 
 narrow garden ledges, and tearing away the patches of 
 corn and vineyard, the people's food. Before behind 
 around arise peaks of purple Apennines, cresting up 
 ward into the blue sky an earthen sea dashed into sudden 
 breakers, then struck motionless. In front, in solitary 
 state, rises the lofty summit of La Pagna, casting off its 
 giant mountain-fellows right and left, which fade away into 
 a golden haze toward Modena. 
 
 High up overhead, crowning a precipitous rock, .stands 
 Corellia, a knot of browned, sun-baked houses, flat-roofed, 
 open-galleried, many-storied, nestling round a ruined cas 
 tle, athwart whose rents the ardent sunshine darts. This 
 ruined castle and the tower of an ancient Lombard church, 
 heavily arched and galleried with stone, gleaming out upon 
 a surface of faded brickwork, form the outline of the lit 
 tle town. It is inclosed by solid walls, and entered by an 
 archway so low that the marchesa's driver has to dismount 
 as he passes through. The heavy old carriage rumbles in 
 with a hollow noise ; the horses' hoofs strike upon the 
 rough stones with a harsh, loud sound. 
 
 Tke whole town of Corellia belongs to the marchesa. 
 It is an ancient fief of the Guinigi. Legend says that
 
 A LONELY TOWN. 205 
 
 Castruccio Castracani was born here. This is enough for 
 the marchesa. As in the palace of Lucca, she still even 
 at lonely Corellia lives as it were under the shadow of 
 that great ancestral name. 
 
 Lonely Corellia ! Yes, it is lonely ! The church bells, 
 high up in the Lombard tower sound loudly the matins 
 and the eventide. They sound louder still on the saints' 
 days and festivals. With the festivals pass summer and 
 winter, both dreary to the poor. Children are born, and 
 marriage-flutes wake the echoes of the mountain solitudes 
 and mothers weep, hearing them, remembering their 
 young days and present pinching want. The aged groan, 
 for joy to them comes like a fresh pang ! 
 
 The marchesa's carriage passes through Corellia at a 
 foot's pace. The driver has no choice. It is most difficult 
 to drive at all the street is so narrow, and the door-steps 
 of the houses jut out so into the narrow space. The 
 horses, too, hired at Lucca, twenty miles away, are tired, 
 poor beasts, and reeking with the heat. They can hardly 
 keep their feet upon the rugged, slippery stones that pave 
 the dirty alley. As the marchesa passes slowly by, wan- 
 facednvomen colored handkerchiefs gathered in folds upon 
 their heads, knitting or spinning flax cut from the little 
 field without upon the mountain-side put down the black, 
 curly-headed urchins that cling to their laps rise from 
 where they are resting on the door-step, and salute the 
 marchesa with an awe-struck stare. She, in no mood for 
 condescension, answers them with a frown. Why have 
 these wan-faced mothers, with scarcely bread to eat, children 
 between their knees? Why has God given her none? 
 Again the impious thought rises within her which tempted 
 her when standing before the marriage-bed in 1he nuptial 
 chamber. "God is my enemy." "He has smitten me 
 with a curse." "Why have I no child?" "No child, 
 nothing but her " and she flashes a savage glance at En-
 
 206 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 rica, who has sunk backward, covering her tear-stained 
 face with a black veil, to avoid the peering eyes of the 
 Corellia townsfolk " nothing but her. Born to disgrace 
 me. Would she were dead ! Then all would end, and I 
 should go down the last Guinigi to an honored grave." 
 
 The sick, too, are sitting at the doorways as the mar- 
 chesa passes by. The mark of fever is on many an ashy 
 cheek. These sick have been carried from their beds to 
 breathe such air as evening brings. Air ! There is no air 
 from heaven in these foul streets. No sweet breath circu 
 lates ; no summer scents of grasses and flowers reach the 
 lonely town hung up so high. The summer sun scorches. 
 The icy winds of winter, sweeping down from Alpine ridges, 
 whistle round the walls. Within are chilly, desolate 
 hearths, on which np fire is kindled. These sick, as the 
 carriage passes, turn their weary eyes, and lift up their 
 wasted hands in mute salutations to that dreaded mistress 
 who is lord of all the great marchesa. Will they not lie 
 in the marchesa's ground when their hour comes ? Alas 1 
 how soon their weakness tells them very soon ! Will 
 they not be carried in an open bier up those long flights of 
 steps all hers cut in the rocky sides of overlappingj-ocks, 
 to the cemetery, darkly shaded by waving cypresses ? The 
 ground is hers, the rocks, the steps, the stones, the very 
 flowers that brown, skinny hands will sprinkle on their bier 
 all hers. From birth to bridal, and the marriage-bed (so 
 fruitful to the poor), from bridal to death, all hers. The 
 land they live on, and the graves they fill, all but a 
 shadow of her greatness ! 
 
 At the corner of the squalid, ill-smelling street through 
 which she is now passing, is the town fountain. This foun 
 tain, once a willful mountain-torrent, now cruelly captured 
 and borne hither by municipal force, splashes downward 
 through a sculptured circle cut in a marble slab, into a cov 
 ered trough below. Here bold-eyed maidens are gathered,
 
 A LONELY TOWN. 207 
 
 who poise copper vessels on their dark heads maidens who 
 can chat, and laugh, and romp, on holidays, and with flushed 
 faces dance wild tarantellas (fingers for castanets), where 
 the old tale of love is told in many a subtile step, and shuf 
 fle, rush, escape, and feint, ending in certain capture ! Be 
 side the maidens linger some mountain lads. Now their 
 work is over, they loll against the wall, pipe in mouth, or 
 lie stretched on a plot of grass that grows green under the 
 spray of the fountain. In a dark angle, a little behind from 
 these, there is a shrine hollowed out of the city wall. 
 Within the shrine an image of the Holy Mother of the 
 Seven Sorrows stands, her arms outstretched, her bosom 
 pierced by seven gilded arrows. The shrine is protected 
 by an iron grating. Bunches of pale hill-side blossoms, 
 ferns, and a few blades of corn, are thrust in between the 
 bars. Some lie at the Virgin's feet offerings from those 
 who have nothing 'else to give. A little group (but these 
 are old, and bowed by grief and want) kneel beside the 
 shrine in the quiet evening-tide. 
 
 The rumble of a carriage, so strange a sound in lonely 
 Corellia, rouses all. From year to year, no wheels pass 
 through the town save the marchesa's. Ere she appears, 
 all know who it must be. The kneelers at the shrine start 
 up and hobble forward to stare and wonder at that strange 
 world whence she comes, so far away at Lucca. The 
 maidens courtesy and smile ; the lads jump up, and range 
 themselves respectfully against the wall ; yet in their hearts 
 neither care for her neither the maidens nor the lads no 
 one cares for the marchesa. They are all looking out for 
 Enrica. Why does the signorina lie back in the carriage a 
 mass of clothes ? The maidens would like to see how those 
 clothes are made, to cut their poor garments something like 
 them. The lads would like to let their eyes rest on her 
 golden hair. Why does the Signorina Enrica not nod and 
 smile to those she knows, as is her wont ? Has that old
 
 208 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 tyrant, her aunt these young ones are bold, and dare to 
 whisper what others think; they have no care, and, like the 
 lilies of the field, live in the wild, free air has that old ty 
 rant, her aunt, bewitched her ? 
 
 Now the carriage has emerged from the dark alley, and 
 entered the dirty but somewhat less dark piazza the mar 
 ket-place of Corellia. The old . Lombard church of Santa 
 Barbara, with its big bells in the arched tower, hanging 
 plainly to be seen, opens into the piazza by a flight of steps 
 and a sculptured doorway. The Municipio, too, calling it 
 self a, palace (heaven save the mark !), with its list of births, 
 deaths, and marriages, posted on a black-board outside the 
 door, to be seen of all, adorns it. The Cafe of the Tricolor, 
 and such shops as Corellia boasts of, are there opposite. 
 Men, smoking, and drinking native wine, are lounging 
 about. Ser Giacomo, the notary, spectacles on nose, sits 
 at a table in a corner, reading aloud to a select audience a 
 weekly broad-sheet published at Lucca, news of men and 
 things not of the mountain-tops. Every soul starts up as 
 they hear wheels approaching. If a bomb had burst in the 
 piazza the panic could not be greater. They know it is the 
 marchesa. They know that now the marchesa is come she 
 will grind and harry them, and seize her share of grapes, 
 and corn, and olives, to the uttermost farthing. Silvestro, 
 her steward, a timid, pitiful man, can be got over by soft 
 words, and the sight of want and misery. Not so the mar 
 chesa. They know that now she is come she will call the 
 Town Council, fine them, pursue them for rent, cite them to 
 the High Court of Barga, imprison them if they cannot pay. 
 They know her, and they curse her. The ill-news of her 
 arrival runs from lip to lip. Checco, the butcher, who sells 
 his meat cut into dark, indescribably-shaped scraps, more 
 fit for dogs than men, first sees the carriage turn into the 
 piazza. He passes the word on to Oreste, the barber round 
 the corner. Oreste, who, with his brother Pilade, both
 
 A LONELY TOWN. 209 
 
 wearing snow-white aprons, are squaring themselves at 
 their open doorway, over which hangs a copper basin, 
 shaped like Manbrino's helmet, looking for customers 
 Oreste and Pilade turn pale. Then Oreste tells the baker, 
 Pietro, who, naked as Nature made him, has run out from 
 his oven to the open door, for a breath of air. The bewil 
 dered clerk at the Municipio, who sits and writes, and 
 sleeps by turns, all day, in a low room beside a desk, taking 
 notes for the sindaco (mayor) from all who come (he is so 
 tired, that clerk, he would hear the last trumpet sound un 
 moved), even he hears the news, and starts up. 
 
 Now the carriage stops. It has drawn up in the cen 
 tre of the piazza. It is the marchesa's custom. She puts 
 her head out of the window, and takes a long, grave look 
 all round. These are her vassals. They fear her. She 
 knows it, and she glories in it. Every head is uncovered, 
 every eye turned upon her. It is obviously some one's 
 duty to salute her and to welcome her to her domain. She 
 has stopped for this purpose. It is always done. No one, 
 however, stirs. Ser Giacomo, the notary, bows low beside 
 the table where he has been caught reading the Lucca 
 broad-sheet ; but Ser Giacomo does not stir. How he wishes 
 he had staid at home ! 
 
 He has not the courage to move one step toward her. 
 Something must be done, so Ser Giacomo he runs and 
 fetches the sindaco from inside the recesses of the cafe, 
 where he is playing dominoes under a lighted lamp. The 
 sindaco must give the marchesa a formal welcome. The sin 
 daco, a saddler by trade a snuffy little man, with a face 
 drawn and yellow as parchment, wearing his working-clothes 
 advances to the carriage with a step as cautious as a 
 cat. 
 
 " I trust the illustrious lady is well," he says timidly, 
 bowing low and trying to smile. Mr. Sindaco is frightened^ 
 but he can be proud enough to his fellow-townsfolk, and
 
 210 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 he is downright cruel to that poor lad his clerk, at the 
 Municipal Palace. 
 
 The marchesa, with a cold, distant air, that would in 
 stantly check any approach to familiarity if anyone were 
 bold enough to be familiar answers gravely, " That she is 
 thankful to say she is in her usual health." 
 
 The sindaco although better off than many, painfully 
 conscious of long arrears of unpaid rent waxing a little 
 bolder at the sound of his own voice and his well-chosen 
 phrases, continues : 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, Signora Marchesa." The sindaco 
 further observes, " That he hopes for the illustrious lady's 
 indulgence and good-will." 
 
 His smile has faded now ; his voice trembles. If his 
 skin were not so yellow, he would be white all over, for the 
 marchesa's looks are not encouraging. The sindaco dreads 
 a summons to the High Court of Barga, where the pro 
 vincial prisons are with which he may be soon better ac 
 quainted, he fears. 
 
 In reply, the marchesa who perfectly understands all 
 this in a general way scowls, and fixes her rigid eyes upon 
 him. 
 
 " Signore Sindaco, I cannot stop to listen to any griev 
 ance now ; I will promise no indulgence. I must pay my 
 bills. You must pay me, Signore Sindaco ; that is but fair." 
 
 The poor little snuffy mayor bows a dolorous acquies 
 cence. He is hopeless, but polite like a true Italian, who 
 would thank the hangman as he fastens the rope round his 
 neck. But the marchesa's words strike /terror into all who 
 hear them. All owe her long arrears of rent, and much be 
 sides. Why oh ! why did the cruel lady come to Co- 
 rellia ? 
 
 Having announced her intentions in a clear, metallic 
 voice, the marchesa draws her head back into the coach. 
 
 " Send Silvestro to me," she adds, addressing the sin-
 
 A LONELY TOWN. 211 
 
 daco. " Silvestro will inform me of all I want to know." 
 (Silvestro is her steward.) 
 
 " Is the noble young Lady Enrica unwell ? " asks the 
 perservering sindaco, gazing earnestly through the window. 
 
 He knows his doom. He has nothing to hope from the 
 marchesa's clemency, so he may as well gratify his burning 
 curiosity by a question about the much-beloved Enrica, 
 who must certainly have been ill-used by her aunt to keep 
 so much out of sight. 
 
 " The people of Corcllia would also offer their respect 
 ful homage to her," bravely adds Mr. Sindaco, tempting 
 his fate. " The Lady Enrica is much esteemed here in the 
 town." 
 
 As he speaks the sindaco gazes in w r ouder at the muffled 
 figure in the corner. Can this be- she ? Why does she not 
 move forward and answer? and show her pretty face, 
 and approve the people's greeting ? 
 
 " My niece has a headache ; leave her alone," answers 
 the marchesa, curtly. " Do not speak to her, Mr. Sindaco. 
 She will visit Corellia another day ; meanwhile, adieu." 
 
 The marchesa waves her hand majestically, and signs 
 for him to retire. This the sindaco does with an inward 
 groan at the thought of what is coming on him. 
 
 Poor Enrica, feeling as if a curse were on her, cutting 
 her off from all her former life, shrinks back deeper into the 
 corner of the carriage, draws the black veil closer about her 
 face, and sobs aloud. The marchesa turns her head away. 
 The driver cracks his long whip over the steaming horses, 
 which move feebly forward with a jerk. Thus the coach 
 slowly traverses the whole length of the piazza, the wheels 
 rumbling themselves into silence out in a long street lead 
 ing to another gate on the farther side of the town. 
 
 Not another word more is said that night among the 
 townsfolk ; but there is not a man at Corellia who does 
 not curse the marchesa in his heart. Ser Giacomo, the
 
 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 notary, folds up his newspaper in dead silence, puts it into 
 his pocket, and departs. The lights in the dark cqf&, which 
 burn sometimes all day when it is cloudy, are extinguished. 
 The domino-players disappear. Oreste and Pilade shut up 
 their shop despondingly. The baker Pietro comes out no 
 more to cool at the door. Anyway, there must be bakers, 
 he reflects, to bake the bread ; so Pietro retreats, comforted, 
 to his oven, and works frantically all night. He is safe, 
 Pietro hopes, though he has paid no rent for two whole 
 years, and has sold some of the corn which ought to have 
 gone to the marchesa. 
 
 Meanwhile the heavy carriage, with its huge leather 
 hood and double rumble, swaying dangerously to and fro, 
 descends a steep and rugged road embowered in forest, 
 leading to a narrow ledge upon the summit of a line of 
 cliffs. On the very edge of these cliffs, formed of a dark- 
 red basaltic stone, the marchesa's villa stands. A deep, 
 dark precipice drops down beneath. Opposite is a range 
 of mountains, fair and forest-spread on the lower flanks, 
 rising above into wild crags, and broken, blackened peaks, 
 that mock the soft blue radiance of the evening sky.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. 
 
 
 
 SILVESTBO, the steward, is a man " full of conscience," 
 as people say, deeply sensible of his responsibilities, and 
 more in dread of the marchesa than of the Church. It is 
 this dread that makes him so emaciated hesitate when he 
 speaks, and bend his back and shoulders into a constant 
 cringe. But for this dread, Silvestro would forgive the 
 poor people more. He sees such pinching misery every 
 day lives in it suffers from it; how can he ask those for 
 jnoney who have none ? It is like forcing blood out of a 
 stone. He is not the man to do it. Silvestro lives at 
 hand ; he hears the rattle of the hail that burns the grapes 
 up to a cinder the terrible din of the thunder before the 
 forked lightning strikes the cattle ; he sees with his own 
 eyes the griping want of bread in the savage winter-time ; 
 his own eyes behold the little lambs, dead of hunger, lying 
 by the road-side. "Worse still, he sees other lambs human 
 lambs with Christian souls fade and pine and shrink into 
 a little grave, from failing of mother's milk, dried up for 
 want of proper food. He sees, too, the aged die before God 
 calls them, failing through* lack of nourishment a little 
 wine, perhaps, or a mouthful of soup ; the young and 
 strong grow old with ceaseless striving. Poor Silvestro ! 
 he sees too much. He cannot be severe. He is born
 
 214 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 merciful. Silvestro is honest as the day, but he hides 
 things from the marchesa ; he is honest, but he cannot 
 no, he cannot grind and vex the poor, as she would have 
 him do. Yet she has no one to take his place in that God- 
 forgotten town so they pull on, man and mistress a 
 truly ill-matched pair pull on, year after year. It is a 
 weary life for him when the great lady comes up for her 
 villeggiatura Silvestro, divided, cleft in twain, so to say, 
 as he is, between his awe and respect for the marchesa and 
 her will, and his terrible sympathy for all suffering creat 
 ures, man or beast. 
 
 As to the marchesa, she despises Silvestro too pro 
 foundly to notice his changing moods. It is not her habit 
 to look for any thing but obedience absolute obedience 
 from those beneath her. A thousand times she has told 
 herself such a fool would ruin her; but, up to this pres 
 ent time, she has borne with him, partly from .convenience, 
 and partly because she fears to get a rogue in his place. 
 She does not guess how carefully Silvestro has hid the 
 truth from her; she would not give him credit for the 
 power of concealing any thing. 
 
 The sindaco having sent a boy up to Silvestro's house 
 with the marchesa's message, " that he is to attend her," 
 the steward comes hurrying down through the terraces 
 cut in the steep ground behind the villa broad, stately 
 terraces, with balustrades, and big empty vases, and statues, 
 and grand old lemon-trees set about. Great flights of 
 marble steps cross and recross, rest on a marble stage, 
 and then recross again. Here and there a pointed cypress- 
 tree towers upward like a green pyramid in a desert of 
 azure sky. Bright-leaved autumn flowers lie in masses on 
 the rich brown earth, and dainty streamlets come rushing 
 downward in little sculptured troughs. 
 
 What a dismal sigh Silvestro gave when he got the 
 marchesa's message, and knew that she had arrived ! How
 
 WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. 215 
 
 he wrung his hands and looked hopelessly upward to heav 
 en with vacant, colorless eyes, the big heat-drops gather 
 ing on his bald, wrinkled forehead ! He has so much to 
 tell her ! It must be told too ; he can hide the truth no 
 longer. She will be sure to ask to see the accounts. 
 Alas ! alas ! what will his mistress say ? For a moment 
 Silvestro gazes wistfully at the mountains all around with 
 a vacant stare. Oh, that the mountains would cover him ! 
 Anyway, there are caves and holes, he thinks, where the 
 marchesa's wrath would never reach him ; caves and holes 
 where he might live hidden for years, cared for by those 
 who love him. Shall he flee, and never see his mistress's 
 dark, dreadful eyes again ? Folly ! 
 
 Silvestro rouses himself. He resolves to meet his fate 
 like a man, whatever that may be. He will not forsake 
 his duty. So Silvestro comes hurrying down by the ter 
 races, upon which the shadows fall, to the house a gray 
 mediaeval tower, machicolated and turreted the only re 
 mains of a strong fortress that in feudal times guarded 
 these passes from Modena into Tuscany. To this gray 
 tower is attached a large modern dwelling a villa painted 
 of a dull-yellow color, with an overlapping roof, the walls 
 pierced full of windows. The tower, villa, and the line of 
 cliffs on which they stand, face east and west ; on one side 
 the forest and Corellia crowning a rocky height, on the 
 other side mountains, with a deep abyss at the foot of the 
 cliffs, yawning between. It is the marchesa's pleasure to 
 inhabit the old tower rather than the pleasant villa, with 
 its big windows and large, cheerful rooms. , 
 
 Being tall and spare, Silvestro stoops under the low, 
 arched doorway, heavily clamped with iron and nails, lead 
 ing into the tower ; then he mounts very slowly a winding 
 stair of stone to the second story. The sound of his foot 
 steps brings a whole pack of dogs rushing out upon the 
 gravel.
 
 216 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 (On the gravel before the house there is a fountain 
 springing up out of a marble basin full of gold-fish. Pots 
 are set round the edge with the sweetest-smelling flowers 
 tuberoses, heliotropes, and gardenias.) The dogs, bark 
 ing loudly, run round the basin and upset some of the 
 pots. One noble mastiff, with long white hair and strong 
 straight limbs -the leader of the pack pursues Silvestro 
 up the dark, tiring stairs. When the mastiff has reached 
 him and smelt at him he stands still, wags his tail, and 
 thrusts his nose into Silvestro's hand. 
 
 " Poor Argo ! " says the steward, meekly. " Don't bark 
 at me ; I cannot bear it now." 
 
 Argo gives a friendly sniff, and leaves him. 
 
 At a door on the right, Silvestro stops short, to collect 
 his thoughts and his breath. He has not seen his mistress 
 for a year. His soul sinks at the thought of what he must 
 tell her now. " Can she punish me ? " he asks himself, 
 vaguely. Perhaps. He must bear it if she does. He has 
 done all he can. Consoled by this reflection, he knocks. 
 A well-known voice answers, " Come in." Silvestro's clam 
 my hand is on the lock a worm-eaten door creaks on its 
 hinges he enters. 
 
 The marchesa nods to Silvestro Avithout specking. She 
 is seated before a high desk of carved walnut-wood, facing 
 the door. The desk is covered with papers. A file of pa 
 pers is in her hand ; others lie upon her lap. All round 
 there are cupboards, shelves, and drawers, piled with papers 
 and documents, most of them yellow with age. These con 
 sist of old leases, contracts, copies of various lawsuits with 
 her tenants, appeals to Barga, mortgages, accounts. The 
 room is low, and rounded to the shape of the tower. Na 
 ked joists and rafters of black wood support the ceiling. 
 The light comes in through some loop-holes, high up, cut in 
 the thickness of the wall. Some tall, high-backed chairs, 
 covered with strips of faded satin, stand near the chimney.
 
 WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. 217 
 
 A wooden bedstead, without curtains, is partly concealed 
 behind a painted screen, covered with gods and goddesses, 
 much consumed and discolored from the damp. As the 
 room had felt a little chilly from want of use, a large fire of 
 unbarked wood had been kindled. The fire blazes fiercely 
 on the flat stones within an open hearth, unguarded by a 
 grate. 
 
 Having nodded to Silvestro, the marchesa takes no fur 
 ther notice of him. From time to time she flings a loose 
 paper from those lying before her over her shoulder tow 
 ard the fire, which is at her back. Of these papers some 
 reach the fire ;' others, but half consumed, fall back upon 
 the floor. The flames of the wood-fire leap out and seize 
 the papers now one by one now as they lie in little 
 heaps. The flames leap up ; the burning papers crumple 
 along the floor, in little streaks of fire, catching others that 
 lie, still farther on in the room, still unconsumed. Ere 
 these papers have sunk into ashes, a fresh supply, thrown 
 over her shoulder by the marchesa, have caught the flames. 
 All the space behind her chair is covered with smouldering 
 papers. A stack of wood, placed near to replenish the fire, 
 has caught, and is smouldering also. The fire, too, on the 
 hearth is burning fiercely; it crackles up the wide open 
 chimney in a mass of smoke and sparks. 
 
 The marchesa is far too much absorbed to notice this. 
 Silvestro, standing near the door the high desk and the 
 marchcsa's tall figure between him and the hearth does not 
 perceive it either. Still the marchesa bends over her pa 
 pers, reading some and throwing others over her shoulders 
 into the flames behind. 
 
 Silvestro, who had grown hot and cold twenty times in 
 a minute, standing before her, his book under his arm 
 thinking she had forgotten him addresses her at last. 
 
 " How does madama feel ? " Silvestro asks most hum 
 bly, turning his lack-lustre eyes upon her. 
 10
 
 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 "Well," is the marchesa's brief reply. She signs to 
 him to lay his book upon her desk. She takes it in her 
 hand. She turns over the pages, following line after line 
 with the tip of her long, white forefinger. 
 
 " There seems very little, Silvestro," she says, running 
 her eyes up and down each page as she turns it slowly over. 
 Her brow knits until her dark eyebrows almost meet " very 
 little. Has the corn brought in so small a sum, and the 
 olives, and the grapes ? " 
 
 " Madama," begins Silvestro, and he bends his head and 
 shoulders, and squeezes his skinny hands together, in a 
 desperate effort to obliterate himself altogether, if possible, 
 in the face of such mishaps " madama will condescend to 
 remember the late spring frosts. There is no corn any 
 where. Upon the lowlands the frost was most severe ; in 
 April, too, when the grain was forward. The olives bore 
 a little last season, but Corellia is a cold place too cold 
 for olives ; the trees, too, are very old. This year there 
 will be no crop at all. As for the grapes " 
 
 " Accidente to the grapes ! " interrupts the marchesa, 
 reddening. " The grapes always fail. Every thing fails 
 under you." 
 
 Silvestro shrinks back in terror at the sound of her harsh 
 voice. Oh, that those purple mountains around would 
 cover him ! The moment of her wrath is come. What will 
 she say to him ? 
 
 " I wish I had not an acre of vineyard," the marchesa 
 continues. " Disease, or hail, or drought, or rain, it is al 
 ways the same the grapes always fail." 
 
 " The peasants are starving, madama," Silvestro takes 
 courage to say, but his voice is low and muffled. 
 
 " They have chestnuts," she answers quickly, " let them 
 live on chestnuts." 
 
 Silvestro starts violently. He draws back a step or two 
 nearer the door.
 
 WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. 219 
 
 "Let the gracious madama consider, many have not 
 even a patch of chestnuts. There is great misery, madama 
 indeed, there is great misery," Silvestro goes on to say. 
 He must speak now or never. " Madama" and he holds 
 up his bony hands " you will have no rent at all from the 
 peasants. They must be kept all the winter." 
 
 " Silvestro, you are a fool," cries the marchesa, eying 
 him contemptuously, as she would do a troublesome child 
 " a fool ; pray how am I to keep the peasants, and pay 
 the taxes ? I must live." 
 
 " Doubtless, excellent madama." Silvestro was infi 
 nitely relieved at the calmness with which the marchesa 
 received his announcement. He could not have believed 
 it. He feels most grateful to her. " But, if madama will 
 speak to Fra Pacifico, he will tell her how bitter the dis 
 tress must be this winter. The Town Council" Silves 
 tro, deceived by her apparent calmness, has made a mis 
 take in naming the Town Council. It is too late. The 
 words have been spoken. Knowing his mistress's temper, 
 Silvestro imperceptibly glides toward the door as he men 
 tions that body " The Town Council has decreed " His 
 words die away in his throat at her aspect. 
 
 " Santo dei Santi ! " she screams, boiling over with rage, 
 " I forbid you to talk to me of the Town Council ! " 
 
 Silvestro's hand is upon the lock to insure escape. 
 
 " Madama consider," pleads Silvestro, wellnigh desper 
 ate. " The Town Council might appeal to Barga," Silves 
 tro almost whispers now. 
 
 " Let them let them ; it is just what I should like. 
 Let them appeal. I will fight them at law, and beat them 
 in full court the ruffians ! " She gives a short, scornful 
 laugh. " Yes, we will fight it out at Barga." 
 
 Suddenly the marchesa stops. Her eyes have now 
 reached the balance-sheet on the last page. She draws a 
 long breath.
 
 220 TIIE ITALIANS. 
 
 "Why, there is nothing!" she exclaims, placing her 
 forefinger on the total, then raising her head and fixing 
 her eyes on Silvestro " nothing ! " 
 
 Silvestro shrinks, as it were, into himself. He silently 
 bows his head in terrified acquiescence. 
 
 " A thousand francs ! How am I to live on a thousand 
 francs ! " 
 
 Silvestro shakes from head to foot. One hand slides 
 from the lock ; he joins it to the other, clasps them both 
 together, and sways himself to and fro as a man in bodily 
 anguish. 
 
 At the sight of the balance-sheet a kind of horror has 
 come over the marchesa. So intense is this feeling, she 
 absolutely forgets to abuse Silvestro. All she desires is 
 to get rid of him before she has betrayed her alarm. 
 
 "I shall call a council," she says, collecting herself; 
 " I shall take the chair. I shall find funds to meet these 
 wants. Give the sindaco and Ser Giaccmo notice of this, 
 Silvestro, immediately." 
 
 The steward stares at his mistress in mute amazement. 
 He inclines his head, and turns to go ; better ask her no 
 questions and escape. 
 
 " Silvestro ! " the marchesa calls after him imperious 
 ly " come here." (She is resolved that he, a menial, shall 
 see no change in her.) " At this season the woods are full 
 of game. I will have no poachers, mind. Let notices be 
 posted up at the town-gate and at the church-door do 
 you hear ? No one shall carry a gun within my woods." 
 
 Silvestro's lips form to two single words, and these 
 come very faint : " The poor ! " Then he holds himself 
 together, terrified. 
 
 " The poor ! " retorts the marchesa, defiantly " the 
 poor ! For shame, Silvestro ! They shall not overrun my 
 woods and break through my vineyards they shall not ! 
 You hear ? " Her shrill voice rings round the low room.
 
 WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. 221 
 
 " No poachers no trespassers, remember that ; I shall tell 
 Adamo the same. Now go, and, as you pass, tell Fra Pa- 
 cifico I want him to-morrow." (" He must help me with 
 Enrica," was her thought.) 
 
 "When Silvestro was gone, a haggard look came over 
 the marchesa's pale face. One by one she turned over the 
 leaves of the rental lying before her, glanced at them, then 
 laid the book down upon the desk. She leaned back in 
 her chair, crossed her arms, and fell into a fit of museing 
 the burning papers on the hearth, and those also smoulder 
 ing on the floor, lighting up every grain in the wood-work 
 of the cupboards at her back. 
 
 This was ruin absolute ruin ! The broad lands that 
 spread wellnigh for forty miles in the mountains and along 
 the river Serchio the feudal tower in which she sat, over 
 which still floated, on festivals, the banner of the Guinigi 
 (crosses of gold on a red field borne at the Crusades) ; 
 the stately palace at Lucca its precious heirlooms 
 strangers must have it all ! 
 
 She had so fortified herself against all signs of outward 
 emotion, other than she chose to show, that even in soli 
 tude she was composed ; but the veins swelled in her fore 
 head, and she turned very white. Yet there had been a 
 way. " Enrica " her name escaped the marchesa's thin 
 lips unwittingly. " Enrica." The sound of her own voice 
 startled her. (Enrica was now alone, shut up by her aunt's 
 order in her little chamber on the third floor over her own. 
 On their arrival, the marchesa had sternly dismissed her 
 without a word.) 
 
 " Enrica." With that name rose up within her a thou 
 sand conflicting thoughts. She had severed herself from 
 Enrica. But for Cavaliere Trenta she would have driven 
 her from the palace. She had not cared whether Enrica 
 lived or died indeed, she had wished her dead. Yet En 
 rica could save the land the palace make the great name
 
 222 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 live ! Had she but known all this at Lucca ! Was it too 
 late ? Trenta had urged the marriage with Count Nobili. 
 But Trenta urged every marriage. Could she consent to 
 such a marriage ? Own herself ruined wrong ? Feel 
 Nobili's foot upon her neck ? Impossible ! Her obstinacy 
 was so great, that she could not bring herself to yield, 
 though all that made life dear was slipping from her grasp. 
 
 Yes yes, it was too late. The thing was done. She 
 must stand to her own words. Tortures would not have 
 wrung it from her but in the solitude of that bare room 
 the marchesa felt she had gone too far. The landmark of 
 her life, her pride, broke down ; her stout heart failed * 
 tears stood in her dark eyes. 
 
 At this moment the report of a gun was heard ringing 
 out from the mountains opposite. It echoed along the 
 cliffs and died away into the abyss below. The marchesa 
 was instanty leaning out of the lowest loop-hole, and calling 
 in a loud voice, "Adamo Adamo Angelo, where are 
 you?" (Adamo and Pipa his wife, and Angelo their son, 
 were her attendants.) 
 
 Adamo, a stout, big-limbed man, bull-necked with 
 large lazy eyes and a black beard as thick as horse-hair, a rifle 
 slung by a leather strap across his chest, answered out of 
 the shrubs now blackening in the twilight : " I am here, 
 padrona, command me." 
 
 " Adamo, who is shooting on my land ? " 
 
 " Padrona, I do not know." 
 
 " Where is Angelo ? " 
 
 " Here am I," answered a childish voice, and a ragged, 
 loose-limbed lad a shock of chestnut hair, out of which 
 the sun had taken all the color, hanging over his face, from 
 which his merry eyes twinkle leaped out on the gravel. 
 
 " You do not know, Adamo ? What does this mean ? 
 You ought to know. I am but just come back, and there 
 are strangers about already with guns. Is this the way
 
 WHAT SILVESTRO SAYS. 223 
 
 you serve me, Adamo ? and I pay you a crown a mouth. 
 You idle vagabond ! " 
 
 u Padrona," spoke Adamo in a deep voice " I am here 
 alcne this boy helps me but little." 
 
 " Alone, Adamo ! you dare to say alone, and you have 
 the dogs ? Hear how they bark they have heard the shot 
 too good dogs, good dogs, they are left me alone. 
 Why, Argo is stronger than three men ; Argo knocks over 
 any one, and he is trained to follow on the scent like a 
 bloodhound. Adamo, you are an idiot ! " Adamo hung 
 his head, either in shame or rage, but he dared not reply. 
 
 " Now take the dogs out with you instantly you hear, 
 Adamo ? Argo, and Ponto the bull-dog, and Tuzzi and 
 the others. Take them and go down at once to the bottom 
 of the cliffs. Search among the rocks everywhere. Creep 
 along the vines-terraces, and through the olive-grounds. 
 Be sure when you go down below the cliffs to search the 
 mouth of the chasm. Go at once. Set the dogs on all you 
 find. Argo will pin them. He is a brave dog. With 
 Argo you are stronger than any one you will meet. If 
 yon catch any men, take them at once to the municipal 
 ity. Wretches, they deserve it ! poaching in my woods ! 
 Listen before you go, tell Pipa to come to me soon." 
 
 Pipa's footsteps came clattering up the stairs to the 
 marchesa's room. The light of the lamp she carried for 
 it was already dark within the tower caught the spray 
 of the fountain outside as she passed the narrow slits that 
 served for windows. 
 
 " Pipa," said the marchesa, as she stood before her in 
 the doorway, a broad smile on her merry brown face, " set 
 that lamp on the desk here before me. So that will do. 
 Now go up-stairs and tell the Signorina Enrica that I bid 
 her ' Good-night,' and that I will see her to-morrow morn 
 ing after breakfast. Then you may go to bed, Pipa. I 
 am busy, and shall sit up late." Pipa curtesied in silence, 
 and closed the marchesa's door.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHAT CAME OF BURNING THE MARCUESA's PAPERS. 
 
 MIDXIGHT had struck from the church-clock at Corellia. 
 The strokes seemed to come slower by night than day, and 
 sounded hollower. Hours ago the last light had gone out. 
 The moon had set behind the cleft summits of La Pagna. 
 Distant thunder had died away among the rocks. The 
 night was close and still. The villa lay in deep shadow, 
 but the outline of the turrets of the tower were clearly 
 marked against the starry sky. All slept, or seemed to 
 sleep. 
 
 A thin blue vapor curls out from the marchesa's case 
 ment. This vapor, at first light as a fog-drift, winds itself 
 upward, and settles into a cloud, that hovers in the air. 
 Each moment the cloud rises higher and higher. Now it 
 has grown into a lurid canopy, that overhangs the tower. 
 A sudden glow from an arched loop-hole on the second 
 story shows every bar of iron across it. This is caught up 
 below in a broad flash across the basin of the fountain. 
 Within there is a crackling as of dry leaves a clinging, 
 heavy smell of heated air. Another and another flame 
 curls round the narrow loop-hole, twisting upward on the 
 solid wall. 
 
 At this instant there is a low growl, as from a kicked 
 dog. A door below is banared-to and locked. Then steps
 
 THE BURNED PAPERS. 225 
 
 are heard upon the gravel. It is Adamo. He had re 
 turned, as the marchesa bade him, and has come to tell her 
 he has searched everywhere down even to the reeds by 
 the river Serchio (where he had discharged his gun at a 
 water-hen), but had found no one, though all the way the 
 dogs had sniffed and whined. 
 
 Adamo catches sight of the crimson glare reflected upon 
 the fountain. He looks up at the tower he sees the flames. 
 A look of horror comes into his round black eyes. Then, 
 with a twitch, settling his gun firmly upon his shoulder, he 
 rushes to the unlocked door and flings it wide open. 
 
 "Pipa ! Wife ! Angelo ! " Adamo shouts down the stone 
 passage connecting the tower with the villa where they 
 slept. " Wake up ! The tower is on fire! Fire ! Fire ! " 
 
 As Adam opened his mouth, the rush of hot air, pent 
 upon the winding stair, drawn downward by the draught 
 from the open door, catches his breath. He staggers against 
 the wall. Then the strong man shook himself together 
 again he shouts, " Pipa ! Pipa ! rise ! " 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, putting his hand over 
 his mouth, Adamo charges up the stone stairs up to the 
 marchesa's door. Her room is on fire. 
 
 " I must save her ! I must save her ! I will think of 
 Pipa and the children afterward." 
 
 Each step Adamo takes upward, the heat grows fiercer, 
 the smoke that pours down denser. Twice he had slipped 
 and almost fallen, but he battles bravely with the heat and 
 blinding smoke, and keeps his footing. 
 
 Now Adamo is on the landing of the first floor Adamo 
 blinded, his head reeling but lifting his strong limbs, and 
 firm broad feet, he struggles upward. He has reached the 
 marchesa's door. The place is marked by a chink of fire 
 underneath. Adamo passes his hand over the panel ; it is 
 unconsumed, the fire drawing the other way out by the 
 window.
 
 226 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " O God ! if the door is bolted ! I shall drop if I am 
 not quick." Adamo's fingers were on the lock. " The 
 door is bolted 1 Blessed Virgin, help me ! " 
 
 He unslings his unloaded gun he had forgotten it till 
 then and, tightly seizing it in his strong hands, he flings 
 the butt end against the lock. The wood is old, the bolt 
 is loose. 
 
 " Holy Jesus ! It yields ! It opens ! " 
 
 Overcome by the rush of fiery air, again Adamo stag 
 gers. As he lifts his hands to raise the hair, which, moist 
 from heat, clings to his forehead, his fingers strike against 
 a medal of the Virgin he wore round his naked throat. 
 
 " Mother of God, help me ! " A desperate courage 
 seizes him ; he rushes in all before him swims in a red 
 mist. " Help me, Madonna !" comes to his parched lips. 
 " O God, where is the marchesa ? " 
 
 A puff of wind from the open door for an instant raised 
 the smoke and sparks ; in that instant Adamo sees a dark 
 heap lying on the floor close to the door. It is the mar 
 chesa. " Is she dead or alive ? " He cannot stop to tell. 
 He raises her. She lay within his arms. Her dark dress, 
 though not consumed, strikes hot against his chest. Not 
 an instant is to be lost. The fresh rush of air up the stairs 
 has fanned the flames. Every moment they are rising 
 higher. They redden on the dark rafters of the ceiling. 
 The sparks fly about in dazzling clouds. Adamo is on the 
 threshold. Outside it is now so dark that, spite of danger, he 
 has to pause and feel his way downward, or he might dash 
 his precious burden against the walls. In that pause a 
 piercing cry from above strikes upon his ear, but in the 
 crackling of the increasing flames and a fresh torrent of 
 smoke and burning sparks that burst out from the room, 
 Adamo's brain always of the dullest is deadened. He 
 forgets that cry. All his thought is to save his mistress. 
 Even Pipa and Angelo and little Gigi are forgotten.
 
 THE BURNED PAPERS. 227 
 
 Ere he reaches the level of the 6rst story, the alarm-bell 
 over his head clangs out a goodly peal. A bound of joy 
 within his honest heart gives him fresh courage. 
 
 " It is the Madonna 1 When I touched her image, I 
 knew that she would help me. Pipa has heard me. Pipa 
 has pulled the bell. She is safe ! And Angelo and little 
 Gigi, safe ! safe ! Brave Pipa ! How I love her ! " 
 
 Before a watch could tick twenty seconds, and while 
 Adamo's foot was still on the last round of the winding 
 stair, the church-bells of Corellia clash out in answer to the 
 alarm-bell 
 
 Now Adamo has reached the outer door. He stands 
 beneath the stars. His face and hands are black, his 
 hair is singed ; his woolen clothes are hot and burn upon 
 him. The cool night air makes his skin smart with pain. 
 Already Pipa's arms are round him. Angelo, too, has 
 caught him by the legs, then leaps into the air with a wild 
 hoot. Bewildered Pipa cannot speak. No more can 
 Adamo ; but Pipa's clinging arms say more than words. 
 Tenderly Adamo lays the marchesa down beside the foun 
 tain. He totters on a step or two, feeling suddenly giddy 
 and strangely weak. He stands still. The strain had 
 been too much for the simple soul, who led a quiet life 
 with Pipa and the children. Tears rise in his big black 
 eyes. Greatly ashamed, and wondering what has come to 
 him, he sinks upon the ground. Pipa, watching him, again 
 flings her arms about him ; but Adamo gave her a glance 
 so fierce, as he points to the marchesa lying helpless upon 
 the ground, it sent her quickly from him. With a smoth 
 ered sob Pipa turns away to help her. 
 
 (Ah ! cruel Pipa, and is your heart so full that you have 
 forgotten Enrica, left helpless in the tower? Yet so it 
 was. Enrica is forgotten. Cruel, cruel Pipa ! And stupid 
 Adamo, whose head turns round so fast he must hold on 
 by a tree not to fall again.)
 
 238 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Silvestro and Fra Pacifico now rushed out of the dark 
 ness ; Fra Pacifico aroused out of his first sleep. He had 
 not seen the marchesa since her arrival. He did not know 
 whether- Enrica had come with her from Lucca or not. 
 Seeing 1 Pipa busy about the fountain, the women, thought 
 Fra Pacifico, were safe ; so Fra Pacifico strode off on his 
 strong legs to see what could be done to quench the fire, 
 and save, if possible, the more combustible villa. Surely 
 the villa must be consumed ! The smoke now darkened 
 the heavens. The flames belted the thick tower-walls 
 as with a burning girdle. Showers of sparks and flames 
 rose out from each aperture with sudden bursts, revealing 
 every detail on the gray old walls ; moss and lichen, a trail 
 of ivy that had forced itself upward, long grass that floated 
 in the hot air; a crevice under the battlements where a 
 bird had built its nest. Then a swirl of smoke swooped 
 down and smothered all, while overhead the mighty com 
 pany of constellations looked calmly down in their cold 
 brightness ! 
 
 A crowd of men now came running down from Corellia, 
 roused by the church-bells. Pietro, the baker, still hard at 
 work, was the first to hear the bell, to dash into the street, 
 and shout, " Help ! help ! Fire ! fire ! At the villa ! " 
 
 Oreste and Pilade heard him. They came tumbling 
 out. Ser Giacomo roused the sindaco who in his turn 
 woke his clerk ; but when Mr. Sindaco was fairly off down 
 the hill, this much-injured and very weary youth turned 
 back and went to bed. 
 
 Some bore lighted torches, others copper buckets. Pie 
 tro, the butcher, brought the municipal ladder. These men 
 promptly formed a line down the hill, to carry the water 
 from the willful mountain-stream that fed the town fountain. 
 Fra Pacifico took the lead. (He had heard the alarm, and 
 had rung the churqh-bells himself.) No one cared for the 
 marchesa ; but a burning house was a fine sight, and where
 
 THE BURNED PAPERS. 229 
 
 Fra Pacifico went all Corellia followed. Adamo, recovered 
 now, was soon upon the ladder, receiving the buckets from 
 below. Pipa beside the fountain watched the marchesa, 
 sprinkling water on her face. "Surely her eyelids faintly 
 quiver ! " thinks Pipa. Pipa watched the marchesa speech 
 less watched her as birth and death are only watched ! 
 
 The marchesa's eyes had quivered; now they slowly 
 unclose. Pipa, who, next to the Virgin and the saints, 
 worshiped her mistress laughed wildly sobbed then 
 laughed again kissed her hand, her forehead then 
 pressed her in her arms. Supported by Pipa, the mar 
 chesa sat up she turned, and then she saw the mountains 
 of smoke bursting from the tower, forming into great 
 clouds that rose over the tree-tops, and shut out the stars. 
 The marchesa glanced quickly round with her keen, black 
 eyes she glanced as one searching for some thing she can 
 not find; then her lips parted, and one word fell faintly 
 from them : " Enrica ! " 
 
 Pipa caught the half-uttered name, she echoed it with 
 a scream. 
 
 " Ahi ! The signorina ! The Signorina Enrica ! " 
 
 Pipa shouted to Adamo on the ladder. 
 
 " Adamo ! Adamo ! where is the signorina ? " 
 
 Adamo's heart sank at her voice. On the instant he 
 recalled that cry he had heard upon the stairs. 
 
 " Where did you see her last ? " Adamo shouted back 
 to Pipa out of the din his big stupid eyes looking down 
 upon her face. " Up-stairs ? " 
 
 Pipa nodded. She could not speak, it was too horrible. 
 
 "Santo Dio! I did not know it!" He struck upon 
 his breast. "Assassin ! I have killed her ! Assassin ! 
 Beast ! what have I done ? " 
 
 Again the air rang with Pipa's shrill cries. The Co 
 rellia men, who with eager hands pass the buckets down 
 the hill, stop, and stare, and wonder. Fra Pacifico, \vho
 
 230 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 had eyes and ears for every one, turned, and ran forward to 
 where Pipa sat wringing her hands upon the ground, the 
 marchesa leaning against her. 
 
 " Is Enrica in the tower ? " asked Fra Pacifico. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " the marchesa answered feebly. " You 
 must save her ! " 
 
 " Then follow me ! " shouted the priest, swinging his 
 strong arms above his head. 
 
 Adamo leaped from the ladder. Others they were 
 among the very poorest stepped out and joined him and 
 the priest; but at the very entrance they were met and 
 buffeted by such a gust of fiery wind, such sparks and 
 choking smoke, that they all fell back aghast. Fra Pacifico 
 alone stood unmoved, his tall, burly figure dark against the 
 glare. At this instant a man wrapped in a cloak rushed 
 out of the wood, crossed the red circle reflected from the 
 fire, and dashed into the archway. 
 
 " Stop him ! stop him ! " shouted Adamo from behind. 
 
 " You go to certain death ! " cried Fra Pacifico, laying 
 his hand upon him. 
 
 " I am prepared to die," the other answered, and pushed 
 by him. 
 
 Twice he essayed to mount the stairs. Twice he was 
 driven back before them all. See ! He has covered his 
 head with his cloak. He has set his foot firmly upon the 
 stone steps. Up, up he mounts now he is gone ! With 
 out there was a breathless silence. " Who is he ? Can 
 he save her?" Words were not spoken, but every eye 
 asked this question. The men without are brave, ready to 
 face danger in dark alley by stream or river or on the 
 mountain-side. Danger is pastime to them, but each one 
 feels in his own heart he is glad not to go. Fra Pacifico 
 stands motionless, a sad stern look upon his swarthy face. 
 For the first time in his life he has not been foremost in 
 danger !
 
 THE BURNED PAPERS. 231 
 
 By this time, Fra Pacifico thinks, unless choked, the 
 stranger must be near the upper story. 
 
 The marchesa has now risen. She stands upright, her 
 eyes riveted on the tower. She knows there is a door that 
 opens from the top of the winding stair, on the highest 
 story, next Enrica's room, a door out on the battlements. 
 Will the stranger see it ? O God ! will he see it ? or is 
 the smoke too thick ? or has he fainted ere he reached so 
 high ? or, if he has reached her, is Enrica dead ? How 
 heavy the moments pass weighted with life or death 1 
 Look, look ! Surely something moves between the turrets 
 of the tower ! Yes, something moves. It rises a muffled 
 form between the turrets the figure of a man wrapped in 
 a cloak on the near side out of the smoke and flames. 
 Yes it is the stranger Enrica in his arms ! All is clear 
 ly seen, cut as it were against a crimson background. A 
 shout rises from every living man a deep, full shout as 
 out of bursting hearts that vent themselves. Out of the 
 shout the words ring out " The steps ! the steps ! There 
 to the right cut in the battlements 1 The steps 1 the 
 steps! close by the flagstaff! Pass the steps down to 
 the lower roof of the villa." (The wind set on the oth 
 er side, drawing the fire that way. The villa was not 
 touched.) 
 
 The stranger heard and bowed his head. He has found 
 the steps he has reached the lower roof of the villa he 
 is safe ! 
 
 No one below had moved. The hands by which the 
 water was passed were now laid upon the ladder. It was 
 shifted over to the other side against the villa walls. 
 Adamo and Fra Pacifico stand upon the lower rungs, to 
 steady it. The stranger throws his cloak below, the better 
 to descend. 
 
 " Who is he ? " That strong, well-knit frame, those 
 square shoulders, that curly chestnut hair, the pleasant
 
 232 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 smile upon his glowing face, proclaim him. It is Count 
 Nobili ! He has lands along the Serchio, between Barga 
 and Corellia, and was well known as a keen sportsman. 
 
 " Bravo 1 bravo ! Evviva ! Count Nobili evviva ! " 
 Caps were tossed into the air, hands were wildly clapped, 
 friendly arms are stretched out to bear him up when he de 
 scends. Adamo is wildly excited ; Adamo wants to mount 
 the ladder to help. The others pull him back. Fra Pa- 
 cifico stands ready to receive Enrica, a baffled look on his 
 face. It is the first time Fra Pacifico has stood by and seen 
 another do his work. 
 
 See, Count Nobili is on the ladder, Enrica in his arms ! 
 As his feet touch the ground, again the people shout : 
 " Bravo ! Count Nobili ! Evviva ! " Their hot southern 
 blood is roused by the sight of such noble daring. The 
 people press upon him they fold him in their arms they 
 kiss his hands, his cheeks, even his very feet. 
 
 Nobili's eyes flash. He, too, forgets all else, and, with 
 a glance that thrills Enrica from head to foot, he kisses 
 her before them all. The men circle round him. They shout 
 louder than before. 
 
 As the crowd parted, the dark figure of the marchesa, 
 standing near the fountain, was disclosed. Before she had 
 time to stir, Count Nobili had led Enrica to her. He knelt 
 upon the ground, and, kissing Enrica's hand, placed it with 
 in her own. Then he rose, and, with that grace natural to 
 him, bowed and stood aside, waiting for her to speak. 
 
 The marchesa neither moved nor did she speak. When 
 she felt the warm touch of Enrica's hand within her own, 
 it seemed to rouse her. She drew her toward her and 
 kissed her with more love than she had ever shown before. 
 
 " I thank you, Count Nobili," she said, in a strange, 
 cold voice. Even at that moment she could not bring her 
 self to look him in the face. " You have saved my niece's 
 life."
 
 THE BURNED PAPERS. 233 
 
 " Madame," replied Nobili, his sweet-toned voice trem 
 bling, " I have saved my own. Had Enrica perished, I 
 should not have lived." 
 
 In these few words the chivalric nature of the man spoke 
 out. The maichesa waved her hand. She was stately 
 even now. Nobili understood her gesture, and, stung to 
 the very soul, he drew back. 
 
 " Permit me," he said, haughtily, before he turned away, 
 " to add my help to those who are laboring to save your 
 house." 
 
 The marchesa bowed her head in acquiescence ; then, 
 with unsteady steps, she moved backward and seated her 
 self upon the ground. 
 
 Pipa, meanwhile, had flung her arms about Enrica, with 
 such an energy that she pinned her to the spot. Pipa 
 pressed her hands about Enrica, feeling every limb ; Pipa 
 turned Enrica's white face upward to the blaze ; she stroked 
 her long, fair hair that fell like a mantle round her. 
 
 " Blessed Mother ! " she sobbed, drawing her coarse fin 
 gers through the matted curls, " not a hair singed 1 Oh, 
 the noble count ! Oh, how I love him " 
 
 " No, dear Pipa," Enrica answered, softly, " I am not 
 hurt only frightened. The fire had but just reached the 
 door when he came. He was just in time." 
 
 " To think we had forgotten her ! " murmured Pipa, still 
 holding her tightly. 
 
 " Who remembered me first ? " asked Enrica, eagerly. 
 
 " The marchesa, signorina, the marchesa. She remem 
 bered you. The marchesa was brought down by Adamo. 
 Your name was the first word she uttered." 
 
 Enrica's blue eyes glistened. In an instant she had dis 
 engaged herself from Pipa, and was kneeling at the mar- 
 chesa's feet. 
 
 " Dear aunt, forgive me. Now that I am saved, forgive 
 me ! You must forgive me, and forgive him, too ! "
 
 234 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 These last words came faint and low. The marchesa 
 put her finger on her lip. 
 
 " Not now, Enrica, not now. To-morrow we will speak." 
 
 Meanwhile Count Nobili, Fra Pacifico, and the Corellia 
 men, strove what human strength could do to put the fire 
 out. Even the sindaco, forgetting the threats about his 
 rent, labored hard and willingly only Silvestro did nothing. 
 Silvestro seemed stunned ; he sat upon the ground staring, 
 and crying like a child. 
 
 To save the rooms within the tower was impossible. 
 Every plank of wood was burning. The ceilings had fallen 
 in ; only the blackened walls and stone stairs remained. 
 The villa was untouched the wind, setting the other way, 
 and the thick walls of the tower, had saved it. 
 
 Now every hand that could be spared was turned to 
 bring beds from the steward's for the marchesa and Enrica. 
 They had gone into Pipa's room until the villa was made 
 ready. Pipa told Adamo, and he told the others, that the 
 marchesa had not seen the burning papers, and the lighted 
 pile of wood, until the flames rose high behind her back. 
 She had rushed forward, and fallen. 
 
 When all was over, Count Nobili was carried up the 
 hill back to Corellia, in triumph, on the shoulders of Pietro 
 the baker, and Oreste, the strongest of the brothers. Every 
 soul of the poor townsfolk women as well as men who had 
 not gone down to help had risen, and was out. They 
 had put lights into their windows. They crowded the 
 doorways. The market-place was full, and the church- 
 porch. The fame of Nobili's courage had already reached 
 them. All bless him as he passes bless him louder when 
 Nobili, all aglow with happiness, empties his pockets of all 
 the coin he has, and promises more to-morrow. At this 
 the women lay hold of him, and dance round him. It was 
 long before he was released. At last Fra Pacifico carried 
 him off, almost by force, to sleep at the curato.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE. 
 
 FRA PACIFICO was a dark, burly man, with a large, 
 weather-beaten face, kind gray eyes under a pair of shaggy 
 eyebrows, a resolute nose, large, full-lipped mouth, and a 
 clean-shaven double chin, that rested comfortably upon his 
 priestly stock. He was no longer young, but he had a 
 frame like iron, and in his time he had possessed a force of 
 arm and muscle enough to fell an ox. His strength and 
 daring were acknowledged by all the mountain-folks from 
 Corellia to Barga, hardy fellows, and judges of what a man 
 can do. Moreover, Fra Pacifico was more than six feet 
 high and who does not respect a man of such inches? 
 In fair fight he had killed his man a brigand chief who 
 prowled about the mountains toward Carrara. His band 
 had fled and never returned. 
 
 Fra Pacifico had stood with his strong feet planted on 
 the earth, over the edge of a rocky precipice by which 
 the high-road passed and seized a furious horse dragging 
 a cart holding six poor souls below. Fra Pacifico had 
 found a shepherd of Corellia one of his flock struck 
 down by fever on a rocky peak some twenty miles distant, 
 and he had carried him on his back, and laid him on his 
 bed at home. Every one had some story to tell of his 
 prowess, coolness, and manly daring. When he walked
 
 236 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 along the streets, the ragged children as black with sun 
 and dirt as unfledged ravens sidled up to him, and, look 
 ing up into his gray eyes, ran between his firm-set legs, 
 plucked him by the cassock, and felt in his pockets for an 
 apple or a cake. Then the children held him tight until 
 he had raised them up and kissed them. 
 
 Spite of the labors of the previous night (no one had 
 worked harder), Fra Pacifico had risen with daybreak. His 
 office accustomed him to little sleep. There was no time 
 by day or night that he could call his own. If any one 
 was stricken with sickness in the night, or suddenly seized 
 for death in those pale hours when the day hovers, half- 
 born, over the slumbering earth, Fra Pacifico must rise 
 and wake his acolyte, the baker's boy, who, going late to 
 bed, was hard to rouse. Along with him he must grope 
 up and down slippery steps, and along dark alleys, bearing 
 the Host under a red umbrella, until he had placed it within 
 the dying lips. If a baby was weakly, or born before its 
 time, and, having given one look at this sorrowful world, 
 was about to lose its eyes on it forever, Fra Pacifico must 
 run out at any moment to christen it. 
 
 There was no doctor at Corellia, the people were too 
 poor ; so Fra Pacifico was called upon to do a doctor's duty. 
 He must draw the teeth of such as needed it ; bind up cuts 
 and sores ; set limbs ; and give such simple drugs as he 
 knew the nature of. He must draw up papers for those 
 who could not afford to pay the notary ; write letters for 
 those who could only make a cross ; hear and conceal every 
 secret that reached him in the confessional or on the death 
 bed. He must be at hand at any hour in the twenty-four 
 ready to counsel, soothe, command, and reprimand ; to 
 bless, to curse, and, if need be, to strike, when his right 
 eous anger rose ; to fetch and carry for all, and, poor 
 himself, to give out of his scanty store. These were his 
 priestly duties.
 
 WHAT A PRIEST SHOULD BE. 237 
 
 Fra Pacifico lived at the back of the old Lombard 
 church of Santa Barbara, in a house overlooking a damp 
 square, overgrown with moss and weeds. Between the 
 tower where the bells hung, and the body of the church, 
 an open loggia (balcony), roofed with wood and tiles, 
 rested on slender pillars. In the loggia, Fra Pacifico, 
 when at leisure, would sit and rest and read his breviary ; 
 sometimes smoke a solitary pipe stretching out his shape 
 ly legs in the luxury of doing nothing. Behind the loggia 
 were the priest's four rooms, bare even for the bareness of 
 that squalid place. He kept no servant, but it was counted 
 an honor to serve him, and the mothers of Corellia came 
 by turns to cook and wash for him. 
 
 Fra Pacifico, as I have said, had risen at daybreak. 
 Now he is searching to find a messenger to send to Lucca, 
 as the marchesa had desired, to summon Cavaliere Trenta. 
 That done, he takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks 
 the church-door. Here, kneeling at the altar, he celebrates 
 a private mass of thanksgiving for the marchesa and En- 
 rica. Then, with long strides, he descends the hill to see 
 what is doing at the villa.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 "SAY NOT TOO MUCH." 
 
 THE sun was streaming on mountain and forest before 
 Count Nobili woke from a deep sleep. As he cast his 
 drowsy eyes around upon the homely little room, the 
 coarsely-painted frescoes on the walls the gaudy cups and 
 plates arranged in a cupboard opposite the bed and on a 
 wax Gesu Bambino, placed in state upon the mantel-piece, 
 surrounded by a flock of blue sheep, browsing on purple 
 grass, he could not at first remember where he was. The 
 noises from the square below the clink of the donkeys' 
 hoofs upon the pavement as they struggled up the steep 
 alley laden with charcoal ; the screams of children the 
 clamor of women's voices moving to and fro with their 
 wooden shoes and the boom of the church-bells sound 
 ing overhead for morning mass came to him as in a 
 dream. 
 
 As he raised his hand to push back the hair which fell 
 over his eyes, a sharp twitch of pain for his hands were 
 scorched and blistered brought all that had happened 
 vividly before him. A warmth of joy and love glowed at 
 his heart. He had saved Enrica's life. Henceforth that 
 life was his. From that day they would never part. From 
 that day, forgetting all others, he would live for her alone. 
 
 He must see her instantly if possible, before his en-
 
 "SAY NOT TOO MUCH." 239 
 
 emy, her aunt, had risen see Enrica, and speak to her, 
 alone. Oh, the luxury of that ! How he longed to feast 
 his eyes upon the softness of her beauty ! To fill his ears 
 with the music of her voice ! To touch her little hand, and 
 scent the fragrance of her breath upon his cheek ! There 
 was no thought within Nobili but love and loyalty. At 
 that moment Enrica was the only woman in the world 
 whom he loved, or ever could love ! 
 
 He dressed himself in haste, opened the door, and 
 stepped out into the loggia. Not finding Fra Pacifico 
 there, or in the other rooms, he passed down the stone steps 
 into the little square, threading his way beyond as he best 
 could, through the tortuous little alleys toward the gate. 
 Most of the men had already gone to work ; but such as 
 lingered, or whose business kept them at home, rose as he 
 passed, and bared their heads to him. The mothers and the 
 girls stared at him and smiled ; troops of children followed 
 at his heels through the town, until he reached the gate. 
 
 "Without, the holiness of Nature was around. The 
 morning air blew upon him crisp and clear. The sky, blue 
 as a turquoise, was unbroken by a cloud. The trees were 
 bathed in gold. The chain of Apennines rose up before 
 him in lines of dreamy loveliness, like another world, mid 
 way toward heaven. A passing shower veiled the massive 
 summits toward Massa and Carrara, but the broad valley 
 of the Serchio, mapped out in smallest details, lay serenely 
 luminous below. Beyond the gate there was no certain 
 road. It broke into little tracts and rocky paths terracing 
 downward. Following these, streams ran bubbling, spar 
 kling like gems as they dashed against the stones. No 
 shadows rested upon the grass, cooled by the dew and car 
 peted by flowers. The woods danced in the October sun 
 shine. Painted butterflies and gnats circled in the warm 
 air ; green lizards gamboled among the rocks that cut the 
 turf. Flocks of autumn birds swooped round in rapid flight.
 
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 242 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 chesa must own this. Last night the old life died out as 
 the smoke from that old tower. To-day you have waked 
 to a new life with me." 
 
 Again Nobili's arms stole round her ; again he sealed 
 the sacrament of love with a fervid kiss. 
 
 Enrica trembled from head to foot a scared look came 
 over her. The rush of passionate joy, coming upon the ter 
 rors of the past night, was more than she could bear. No- 
 bili watched the change. 
 
 " Forgive me, love," he said, " I will be calmer. Lay 
 your dear head against me. We will sit together here 
 under the trees." 
 
 " Yes," said Enrica in a faltering voice ; " I have so much 
 to say." Then, suddenly recalling the blessing of his pres 
 ence, a smile stole about her bloodless lips. She gave a 
 happy sigh. " Yes, Nobili we can talk now without fear. 
 But I can talk only of you. I have no thought but you. I 
 never dreamed of such happiness as this ! O Nobili ! " 
 And she hid her face in the strong arm entwined about 
 her. 
 
 " Speak to me, Enrica ; I will listen to you forever." 
 
 Enrica clasped his hand, looked at it, sighed, pressed 
 it between both of hers, sighed again, then raised it to her 
 lips. 
 
 " Dear hand," she said, " how it is burnt ! But for this 
 hand, I should be nothing now but a little heap of ashes in 
 the tower. Nobili" her tone suddenly changed "No 
 bili, I will try to love life now that you have given it to 
 me." Her voice rang out like music, and her telltale eyes 
 caught his, with a glance as passionate as his own. " Count 
 Marescotti," she said, absently, as giving utterance to a pass 
 ing thought " Count Marescotti told me, only a week ago, 
 that I was born to be unhappy. He said he read it in my 
 eyes. I believed him then not now not now." 
 
 Why, she could not have explained, but, as the count's
 
 "SAY NOT TOO MUCH." 243 
 
 name passed her lips, Enrica was sorry she had mentioned 
 it. Nobili noted this. He gave an imperceptible start, and 
 drew back a little from her. 
 
 " Do you know Count Marescotti ? " Enrica asked him, 
 timidly. 
 
 " I know him by sight," was Nobili's reply. " He is a 
 mad fellow a republican. Why does he come to Lucca ? " 
 
 Enrica shook her head. 
 
 " I do not know," she answered, still confused. 
 
 " Where did you meet him, Enrica ? " 
 
 She blushed, and dropped her eyes. As she gave him 
 no answer, he asked another question, gazing down upon 
 her earnestly : 
 
 " How did Count Marescotti come to know what your 
 eyes said ? " 
 
 As Nobili spoke, his voice sounded changed. He waited 
 for an answer with a look as if he had been wronged. En- 
 rica's answer did not come immediately. She felt fright 
 ened. 
 
 " Oh ! why," she thought, " had she mentioned Mare- 
 scotti's name ? " Nobili was angry with her she was sure 
 he was angry with her. 
 
 " I met him at my aunt's one evening," she said at last, 
 gathering courage as she stole her little hand into one of 
 his, and knit her fingers tightly within his own. " We 
 went up into the Guinigi Tower together. There were 
 dear old Trenta and Baldassare Lena with us." 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied Nobili, coldly. " I did not know 
 that the Marchesa Guinigi ever received young men." 
 
 As Nobili said this he fixed his eyes upon Enrica's face. 
 What could he read there but assurance of the perfect in 
 nocence within ? Yet the name of Count Marescotti had 
 grated upon his ear like a discord clashing among sweet 
 sounds. He shook the feeling off, however, for the time. 
 Again he was her gracious lover.
 
 244 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Tell me, love," he said, drawing Enrica to him, " did 
 you hear my signal last night ? the shot I fired below, out 
 of the woods ? " 
 
 " Yes, I heard a shot. Something told me it must be 
 you. I thought I should have died when I heard my aunt 
 order Adamo to unloose those dreadful dogs. How did 
 you escape them ? " 
 
 " The cunning beasts ! They were upon my track. 
 How I did it in the darkness I cannot tell, but I managed 
 to scramble down the cliff and to reach the opposite moun 
 tain. The chasm was then between us. So the dogs lost 
 the scent upon the rocks, and missed me. I left Lucca al 
 most as soon as you. Trenta told me that the marchesa had 
 brought you here because you would not give me up. Dear 
 heart, how I grieved that I had brought suffering on you ! " 
 
 He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, then con 
 tinued : 
 
 " As long as it was day, I prowled about under the cliffs 
 in the shadow of the chasm. I watched the stars come 
 out. There was one star that shone brightly above the 
 tower; to me that star was j'ou, Enrica. I could have 
 knelt to it." 
 
 " Dear Nobili ! " murmured Enrica, softly. 
 
 " As I waited there, I saw a great red vapor gather over 
 the battlements. The alarm-bell sounded. I climbed up 
 through the wood, where the rocks are lower, and watched 
 among the shrubs. I saw the marchesa carried out in Ada- 
 mo's arms. I heard your name, dear love, passed from 
 mouth to mouth. I looked around you were not there. 
 I understood it all ; I rushed to save you." 
 
 Again Nobili wound his arms round Enrica and drew 
 her to him with passionate ardor. The thought of Count 
 Marescotti had faded out like a bad dream at daylight. 
 
 Enrica's blue eyes dimmed with tears. 
 
 " Oh, do not weep, Enrica ! " he cried. " Let the past
 
 "SAY NOT TOO MUCH." 245 
 
 go, love. Did the marchesa think that bolts and bars, and 
 Adamo, and watch-dogs, would keep Nobili from you ? " 
 He gave a merry laugh. " I shall not leave Corellia until 
 we are affianced. Fra Pacifico knows it I told him so 
 last night. Cavaliere Trenta is expected to-day from Luc 
 ca. Both will speak to your aunt. One may have done so 
 already, for what I know, for Fra Pacifico had left his house 
 before I rose. He must be here. Is this a time to weep, 
 Enrica ? " he asked her tenderly. How comely Nobili 
 looked ! What life and joy sparkled in his bright eyes 1 
 
 " I am very foolish I hope you will forgive me," was 
 Enrica's answer, spoken a little sadly. Her confidence in 
 herself was shaken, since Count Marescotti's name had 
 jarred between them. " Let us walk a little in the shade." 
 
 " Yes. Lean on me, dearest ; the morning is delicious. 
 But remember, Enrica, I will have smiles nothing but 
 smiles." 
 
 As Nobili bore her up on his strong arm, pacing up 
 and down among the flowering trees that, bowing in the 
 light breeze, shed gaudy petals at their feet Nobili looked 
 so strong, and resolute, and bold his eyes had such a 
 power in them as he gazed down proudly upon her that 
 the tears which trembled upon Enrica's eyelids disappeared. 
 Nobili's strength came to her as her own strength. She, 
 who had been so crushed and wounded, brought so near to 
 death, needed this to raise her up to life. And now it 
 came came as she gazed at him. 
 
 Yes, she would live live a new life with him. And 
 Nobili had done it done it unconsciously, as the sun un 
 folds the bosom of the rose, and from the delicate bud cre 
 ates the perfect flower. 
 
 Something Nobili understood of what was passing with 
 in her, but not all. He had yet to learn the treasures of 
 faith and love shut up in the bosom of that silent girl to 
 learn how much she loved him only him. (A new lesson
 
 246 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 for one who had trifled with so many, and given and taken 
 such facile oaths !) 
 
 Neither spoke, but wandered up and down in vague de 
 light. 
 
 Why was it that at this moment Nobili's thoughts 
 strayed to Lucca, and to Nera Boccarini ? Nera rose be 
 fore him, glowing and velvet-eyed, as on that night she had 
 so tempted him. He drove her image from him. Nera 
 was dead to him. Dead ? Fool ! And did he think that 
 any thing can die ? Do not our very thoughts rise up and 
 haunt us in some subtile consequence of after-life ? Noth 
 ing dies nothing is isolated. Each act of daily inter 
 course the merest trifle, as the gravest issue makes up 
 the chain of life. Link by link that chain draws on, 
 weighted with good or ill, and clings about us to the very 
 grave. 
 
 Thinking of Nera, Nobili's color changed a dark look 
 clouded his ready smile. Enrica asked, "What pains 
 you?" 
 
 " Nothing, love, nothing," Nobili answered vaguely, 
 " only I fear I am not worthy of you." 
 
 Enrica raised her eyes to his. Such a depth of tender 
 ness and purity beamed from them, that Nobili asked him 
 self with shame, how he could have forgotten her With 
 this blue-eyed angel by his side it seemed impossible, and 
 yet- 
 Pressing Enrica's hand more tightly, he placed it fondly 
 on his own. " So small, so true," he murmured, gazing at 
 it as it lay on his broad palm. 
 
 "Yes, Nobili, true to death," she answered, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 Still holding her hand, " Enrica," he said, solemnly, " I 
 swear to love you and no other, while I live. God is my 
 witness ! " 
 
 As he lifted up his head in the earnestness with which
 
 "SAY NOT TOO MUCH." 247 
 
 he spoke, the sunshine, streaming downward, shone full 
 upon his face. 
 
 Enrica trembled. " Oh ! do not say too much," she 
 cried, gazing up at him entranced. 
 
 With that sun-ray upon his face, Nobili seemed to her, 
 at that moment, more than mortal ! 
 
 " Angel ! " exclaimed Count Nobili, wrought up to sud 
 den passion, " can you doubt me ? " 
 
 Before Eurica could reply, a snake, warmed by the hot 
 sun, curled upward from the terraced wall behind them, 
 where it had basked, and glided swiftly between them. 
 Nobili's heel was on it ; in an instant he had crushed its 
 head. But there between them lay the quivering reptile, 
 its speckled scales catching the light. Enrica shrieked and 
 started back. 
 
 " O God ! what an evil omen ! " She said no more, 
 only her shifting color and uneasy eyes told what she felt. 
 
 "An evil omen, love !" and Nobili brushed away the 
 snake with his foot into the underwood, and laughed. 
 " Not so. It is an omen that I shall crush all who would 
 part us. That is how I read it." 
 
 Enrica shook her head. That snake crawling between 
 them was the first warning to her that she was still on 
 earth. Till then it had seemed to her that Nobili's pres 
 ence nust be like paradise. Now for a moment a terrible 
 doubt crept over her. Could happiness be sad ? It must 
 be so, for now she could not tell whether she was sad or 
 happy. 
 
 " Oh ! do not say too much, dear Nobili," she repeated 
 almost to herself, " or " Her voice dropped. She looked 
 toward the spot where the snake had fallen, and shuddered. 
 
 Nobili did not then reply, but, taking Enrica by the 
 hand, he led her up a flight of steps to a higher terrace, 
 where a cypress avenue threw long shadows across the 
 marble pavement.
 
 248 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " You arc mine," he whispered, " mine as by a mira 
 cle ! " 
 
 There was such rapture in his voice that heaven came 
 down into her heart, and every doubt was stilled. 
 
 At this moment Fra Pacifico's towering figure appeared 
 ascending a lower flight of steps toward them, coming from 
 the house. He trod with that firm, grand step churchmen 
 have in common with actors only the stage upon which 
 each treads is different. Behind Fra Pacifico was the 
 short, plump figure and the white hat of Cavaliere Trenta 
 (a dwarf beside the priest), his rosy face rosier than ever 
 from the rapid drive from Lucca. Trenta's kind eyes 
 twinkled under his white eyebrows as he spied Enrica 
 above, standing side by side with Nobili. How different 
 the dear child looked from that last time he had seen her 
 at Lucca ! 
 
 Enrica flew down the steps to meet him. She threw 
 her arms round his neck. Count Nobili followed her; he 
 shook hands with the cavaliere and Fra Pacifico. 
 
 " His reverence and I thought we should find you two 
 together," said Cavaliere Trenta, with a chuckle. " Count 
 Nobili, I wish you joy." 
 
 His voice faltered a little, and a spotless handkerchief 
 was drawn out and called into service. Nobili reddened, 
 then bowed with formal courtesy. 
 
 " It is all come right, I see." Trenta gave a sly glance 
 from one to the other, though the tears were in his eyes. 
 " I shall live to open the marriage-ball on the first floor of 
 the palace yet. Bagatella ! I would have tried to give the 
 dear child to you myself, had I known how much she loved 
 you but you have taken her. Well, well possession is 
 better than gift." 
 
 " She gave herself to me, cavaliere. Last night's work 
 only made the gift public," was Nobili's reply. 
 
 There was a tone of triumph in Nobili's voice as he said
 
 "SAY NOT TOO MUCH" 249 
 
 this. He stooped and pressed his lips to Enrica's hand. 
 Enrica stood by with downcast eyes a spray of pink ole 
 ander swaying from the terrace-wall in the light breeze 
 above her head, for background. 
 
 The old cavaliere nodded his head, round which the little 
 curls set faultlessly under his white hat. 
 
 "My dear Count Nobili, permit me to offer my advice. 
 You must settle this matter at once at once, I say ; " and 
 Trenta struck his stick upon the marble balustrade for 
 greater emphasis. 
 
 " I quite agree with you," put in Fra Pacifico in his 
 deep voice. " The impression made by your courage last 
 night must not be lost by delay. I never saw an act of 
 greater daring. Had you not come, I should have tried 
 to save Enrica, but I am past my prime ; I should have 
 failed." 
 
 " You cannot count on the marchesa's gratitude," con 
 tinued Trenta ; " an excellent lady, and my oldest friend, 
 but proud and capricious. You mnst take her like the 
 wind when it blows ha ! ha ! like the wind. I am come 
 here to help you both." 
 
 " Cavaliere," said Nobili, turning toward him (his va 
 grant eyes had wandered off to Enrica, so charming, with 
 the pink oleander and its dark-green leaves waving above 
 her blond head), " do me the favor to ask the Marchesa 
 Guinigi at what hour she will admit me to sign the mar 
 riage-contract. I have pressing business that calls me back 
 to Lucca to-day." 
 
 " So soon, dear Nobili ? " a soft voice whispered at his 
 ear, " so soon ? " And then there was a sigh. Surely her 
 paradise was very brief! Enrica had thought in her sim 
 plicity that, once met, they two never should part again, 
 but spend the live-long days together side by side among 
 the woods, lingering by flowing streams ; or in the rich 
 shade of purple vine-bowers ; or in mossy caves, shaded
 
 250 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 by tall ferns, hid on the mountain-side, and let time and 
 the world roll by. This was the life she dreamed of. Could 
 any grief be there ? 
 
 " Yes, love," Nobili answered to her question. " I 
 must return to Lucca to-night. I started on the instant, 
 as the cavaliere knows. Before I go, however, all must be 
 settled about our marriage, and the contract signed. I will 
 take no denial." 
 
 Nobili spoke with the determination that was in him. 
 Enrica's heart gave a bound. " The contract ! " She had 
 never thought of that. " The contract and the marriage ! " 
 " Both close at hand ! Then the life she dreamed of 
 must come true in very earnest ! " 
 
 The cavaliere looked doubtingly at Fra Pacifico. Fra 
 Pacifico shrugged his big shoulders, looked back again at 
 Cavaliere Trenta, and smiled rather grimly. There was 
 always a sense of suppressed power, moral and physical, 
 about Fra Pacifico. In conversation he had a way of leav 
 ing the burden of small talk to others, and of reserving 
 himself for special occasions ; but when he spoke he must 
 be listened to. 
 
 " Quick work, my dear count," was all the priest said 
 to Nobili in answer. " Do you think you can insure the 
 marchesa's consent ? " Now he addressed the cavaliere. 
 
 " Oh, my friend will be reasonable, no doubt. After 
 last night, she must consent." The cavaliere was always 
 ready to put the best construction upon every thing. " If 
 she raises any obstacles, I think I shall be able to remove 
 them." 
 
 " Consent ! " cried Nobili, fiercely echoing back the 
 word, " she must consent she will be mad to refuse." 
 
 " Well well we shall see. You, Count Nobili, have 
 done all to make it sure. The terms of the contract (I have 
 heard of them from Fra Pacifico) are princely." A look 
 from Count Nobili stopped Trenta from saying more.
 
 "SAY NOT TOO MUCH." 251 
 
 " Now, Enrica," and the cavaliere turned and took her 
 arm, " come in and give me some breakfast. An old man 
 of eighty must eat, if he means to dance at weddings." 
 
 " You, Nobili, must come with me," said Fra Pacifico, 
 laying his hand on the count's shoulder. " We will wait 
 the cavaliere's summons to return here over a bottle of the 
 marchesa's best vintage, and a cutlet cooked by Maria. 
 She is my best cook; I have one for every day in the 
 week." 
 
 So they parted Trenta with Enrica descending flight 
 after flight of steps, leading from terrace to terrace, down 
 to the villa ; Nobili mounting upward to the forest with 
 Fra Pacifico toward Corellia, to await the marchesa's an 
 swer.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE C ONTR ACT. 
 
 FRA. PACIFICO, with Adamo and Pipa, had labored ever 
 since daybreak to arrange the rooms at the villa before 
 the marchesa rose. Pipa had freely used the broom and 
 many pails of water. All the windows were thrown open, 
 and clouds of invisible incense from the flowers without 
 sweetened the fusty rooms. 
 
 The villa had not been inhabited for nearly fifty years. 
 It was scantily provided with furniture, but there were 
 chairs and tables and beds, and all the rough necessaries 
 of life. To make all straight, whole generations of beetles 
 had been swept away ; and patriarchal spiders, which clung 
 tenaciously to the damp spots on the walls. A scorpion 
 or two had been found, which, firmly resisting to quit the 
 chinks where they had grown and multiplied, had died by 
 decapitation. Fra Pacifico would not have owned it, but 
 he had discovered and killed a nest of black adders that lay 
 concealed, curled up in a curtain. 
 
 He had with his own hands, in the early morning, care 
 fully fashioned the spacious sala on the ground-floor to the 
 marchesa's liking. A huge sofa, with a faded amber cover, 
 had been drawn out of a recess, and so placed that the 
 light should fall at her back. She objected to the sunshine, 
 with true Italian perverseness. Some arm-chairs, once
 
 THE CONTRACT. 253 
 
 gilt, and still bearing a coronet, were placed in a semicircle 
 opposite. The windows of the sala, and two glass doors of 
 the same size and make, looked east and west ; toward the 
 terraces and the garden on one side, and over the cliffs and 
 the chasm to the opposite mountains on the other. The 
 walls were broken by doors of varnished pine-wood. These 
 doors led, on the right, to the chapel, Enrica's bedroom, 
 and many empty apartments ; on the left, to the mar- 
 chesa's suite of rooms, the offices, and the stone corridor 
 which communicated with the now ruined tower. High 
 up on the walls of the sala, two large and roughly-painted 
 frescoes decorated the empty spaces. A Dutch seaport on 
 one side, with sloping roofs and tall gables, bordering a 
 broad river, upon which ships sailed vaguely away into a 
 yellow haze. (Not more vaguely sailing, perhaps, than 
 many human ships, with life-sails set to catch the wind of 
 fortune ships which never make more way than these 
 painted emblems !) Opposite, a hunting-party of the olden 
 time picnicked in a forest-glade ; a brown and red palace 
 in the background, in front lords and ladies lounging on 
 the grass bundles of satin, velvet, powder, ribbons, feath 
 ers, shoulder-knots, ruffles, long-tailed coats, and trains. 
 
 A door to the left opened. There was a sound of 
 voices talking. 
 
 "My honored marchesa," the cavaliere was heard to 
 say in his most dulcet tones, " in the state of your affairs, 
 you cannot refuse. Why then delay? The day is pass 
 ing by ; Count Nobili is impatient. Let me implore you to 
 lose no more time." 
 
 While he was speaking the marchesa entered the sala, 
 passing close under the fresco of the vaguely-sailing ships 
 upon the wall. Can the marchesa tell whither she is drift 
 ing more than these? She glanced round approvingly, 
 then seated herself upon the sofa. Trenta obsequiously 
 placed a footstool at her feet, a cushion at her back. Even
 
 254 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 the tempered light, whioh had been carefully prepared for 
 her by closing the outer wooden shutters, could not con 
 ceal how sallow and worn she looked, nor the black circles 
 that had gathered round her eyes. Her dark dress hucg 
 about her as if she had suddenly grown thin ; her white 
 hands fell listlessly at her side. The marchesa knew that 
 she must consent to Count Nobili's conditions. She knew 
 she must consent this very day. But such a struggle as 
 this knowledge cost her, coming so close upon the agita 
 tion of the previous night, was nore than even her iron 
 nerves could bear. As she leaned back upon the sofa, 
 shading her eyes with her hand, as was her habit, she felt 
 she could not frame the words with which to answer the 
 cavaliere, were it to save her life. 
 
 As for the cavaliere, who had seated himself opposite, his 
 plump little person was so engulfed in an arm-chair, that 
 nothing but his snowy head was visible. This he waved 
 up and down reflectively, rattled his stick upon the floor, 
 and glanced indignantly from time to time at the marchesa. 
 Why would she not answer him ? 
 
 Meanwhile a little color had risen upon her cheeks. 
 She forced herself to sit erect, arranged the folds of her 
 dark dress, then, in a kind of stately silence, seemed to 
 lend herself to listen to what Trenta might have to urge, 
 as though it concerned her as little as that rose-leaf which 
 comes floating in from the open door and drops at her 
 feet. 
 
 " Well, marchesa, well what is your answer ? " asked 
 Trenta, much nettled at her assumed indifference. " Re 
 member that Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico have been 
 waiting for some hours." 
 
 "Let Nobili wait," answered the marchesa, a sudden 
 glare darting into her dark eyes ; " he is born to wait for 
 such as I." 
 
 " Still " Trenta was both tired and angry, but he
 
 THE CONTRACT 255 
 
 dared not show it ; only he rattled his stick louder on the 
 floor, and from time to time aimed a savage blow with it 
 against the carved legs of a neighboring table "still, 
 why do the thing ungraciously? The count's offers are 
 magnificent. Surely in the face of absolute ruin Fra 
 Pacific assures me " 
 
 "Let Fra Pacifico rnind his own business," was the 
 marchesa's answer. 
 
 " Nobili saved Enrica's life last night ; that cannot be 
 denied." 
 
 "Yes last night, last night; and I am to be forced 
 and fettered because I set myself on fire ! I wish I had 
 perished, and Enrica too ! " 
 
 A gesture of horror from the cavaliere recalled the mar 
 ch esa to a sense of what she had uttered. 
 
 " And do you deem it nothing, Cesare Trenta, after a 
 life spent in building up the ancient name I bear, that I 
 should be brought to sign a marriage-contract with a ped 
 dler's son ? " She trembled with passion. 
 
 " Yet it must be done," answered Trenta. 
 
 " Must be done ! Must be done ! I would rather die ! 
 Mark my words, Cesare. No good will come of this mar 
 riage. That young man is weak and dissolute. He is mad 
 with wealth, and the vulgar influence that comes with 
 wealth. As a man, he is unworthy of my niece, who, I 
 must confess, has the temper of an angel." 
 
 " I believe that you are wrong, marchesa ; Count Nobili 
 is much beloved in Lucca. Fra Pacifico has known him 
 from boyhood. He praises him greatly. I also like him." 
 
 " Like him ! Yes, Cesare, you are such an easy fool 
 you like every one. First Marescotti, then Nobili. Mare- 
 scotti was a gentleman, but this fellow " She left the 
 sentence incomplete. " Remember my words you are 
 deceived in him." 
 
 " At all events," retorted the cavaliere, " it is too late
 
 256 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 to discuss these matters now. Time presses. Enrica loves 
 him. He insists on marrying her. You have no money, 
 and cannot give her a portion. My respected marchesa, I 
 have often ventured to represent to you what those law 
 suits would entail 1 Per Bacco ! There must be an end 
 of all things may I call them in ? " 
 
 The poor old chamberlain was completely exhausted. 
 He had spent four hours in reasoning with his friend. The 
 marchesa turned her head away and shuddered ; she could 
 not bring herself to speak the word of bidding. The 
 cavaliere accepted this silence for consent. He struggled 
 out of the ponderous arm-chair, and went out into the gar 
 den. There (leaning over the balustrade of the lowest ter 
 race, under the willful branchesof a big nonia-tree, weighted 
 with fronds of scarlet trumpet-flowers, that hung out lazily 
 from the wall, to which the stem was nailed) Cavaliere 
 Trenta found Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico awaiting the 
 marchesa's summons. Behind them, at a respectful dis 
 tance, stood Ser Giacomo, the notary from Corellia. Stream 
 lets pure as crystal ran bubbling down beside them in mar 
 ble runnels ; statues of gods and goddesses balanced each 
 other, on pedestals, at the angles where the steps turned. 
 In front, on the gravel, a pair of peacocks strutted, spread 
 ing their gaudy tails in the sunshine. 
 
 As the four men entered the sala, they seemed to bring 
 the evening shadows with them. These suddenly slanted 
 across the floor like pointed arrows, darkening the places 
 where the sun had shone. Was it fancy, or did the spar 
 kling fountain at the door, as it fell backward into the 
 marble basin, murmur with a sound like human sighs ? 
 
 Count Nobili walked first. He was grave and pale. 
 Having made a formal obeisance to the marchesa, his quick 
 eye traveled round in search of Enrica. Not finding her, 
 it settled again upon her aunt. As Nobili entered, she 
 raised her smooth, snake-like head, and met his gaze in
 
 THE CONTRACT. 257 
 
 silence. She had scarcely bowed, in recognition of his 
 salute. Now, with the slightest possible inclination of her 
 head, she signed to him to take his place on one of the 
 chairs before her. 
 
 Fra Pacifico, his full, broad face perfectly unmoved, and 
 Cavaliere Trenta, who watched the scene nervously with 
 troubled, twinkling eyes, placed themselves on either side 
 of Count Nobili. Ser Giacomo had already slipped round 
 behind the sofa, and seated himself at a table placed 
 against the wall, the marriage-contract spread out before 
 him. There was an awkward pause. Then Count Nobili 
 rose, and, in that sweet-toned voice which had fallen like 
 a charm on many a woman's ear, addressed the marchesa. 
 
 " Marchesa Guinigi, hereditary Governess of Lucca, 
 and Countess of the Garfagnana, I am come to ask in mar 
 riage the hand of your niece, Enrica Guinigi. I desire no 
 portion with her. The lady herself is a portion more than 
 enough for me." 
 
 As Nobili ceased speaking, the ruddy color shot across 
 his brow and cheeks, and his eyes glistened. His generous 
 nature spoke in those few words. 
 
 " Count Nobili," replied the marchesa, carefully avoid 
 ing his eye, which eagerly sought hers " am I correct in 
 addressing you as Count Nobili? Pardon me if I am 
 wrong." Here she paused, and affected to hesitate. " Do 
 you bear any other name ? I am really quite ignorant of 
 the new titles." 
 
 This question was asked with outward courtesy, but 
 there was such a twang of scorn in the marchesa's tone, 
 such an expression of contempt upon her lip, that the old 
 chamberlain trembled on his chair. Even at this last mo 
 ment it was possible that her infernal pride might scatter 
 every thing to the winds. 
 
 " Call me Mario Nobili that will do," answered the 
 .count, reddening to the roots of his chestnut curls.
 
 258 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 The marchesa inclined her head, and smiled a sarcastic 
 smile, as if rejoicing to acquaint herself with a fact before 
 unknown. Then she resumed : 
 
 " Mario Nobili you saved my niece's life last night. 
 I am advised that I cannot refuse you her hand in mar 
 riage, although " 
 
 Such a black frown clouded Nobili's countenance under 
 the sting of her covert insults that Trenta hastily inter 
 posed. 
 
 "Permit me to remind you, Marchesa Guinigi, that, 
 subject to your approval, the conditions of the marriage 
 have been already arranged by me and Fra PaciSco, before 
 you consented to meet Count Nobili. The present inter 
 view is purely formal. We are met in order to sign the 
 marriage-contract. The notary, I see, is ready. The con 
 tract lies before him. May I be permitted to call in the 
 lady?" 
 
 "One moment, Cavaliere Trenta," interposed Nobili, 
 who was still standing, holding up his hand to stop him 
 " one moment. I must request permission to repeat my 
 self the terms of the contract to the Marchesa Guinigi be 
 fore I presume to receive the honor of her assent." 
 
 It was now the marchesa's turn to be discomfited. This 
 was the avowal of an open bargain between Count Nobili 
 and herself. A common exchange of value for value ; such 
 as low creatures barter for with each other in the exchange. 
 She felt this, and hated Nobili more keenly for having had 
 the wit to wound her. 
 
 "I bind myself, immediately on the signing of the con 
 tract, to discharge every mortgage, debt, and incumbrance 
 on these feudal lands of Corellia in the Garfagnana ; also 
 any debts in and about the Guinigi Palace and lands, within 
 and without the walls of Lucca. I take upon myself every 
 incumbrance," Nobili repeated emphatically, raising his 
 voice. " My purpose is fully noted in that contract, hastily
 
 THE CONTRACT. 259 
 
 drawn up at my desire. I also bestow on the marchesa's 
 niece the Guinigi Palace I bought at Lucca to the mar 
 chesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi, and her heirs forever; also a 
 dowry of fifty thousand francs a year, should she survive 
 me." 
 
 "What is it about gold that invests its possessor with 
 such instant power ? Is knowledge power ? or does 
 gold weigh more than brains ? I think so. Gold-pieces 
 and Genius weighed in scales would send poor Genius 
 kicking ! 
 
 From the moment Count Nobili had made apparent the 
 wealth which he possessed, he was master of the situation. 
 The marchesa's quick perception told her so. While he 
 was accepting all her debts, with the superb indifference 
 of a millionaire, she grew cold all over. 
 
 " Tell the notary," she said, endeavoring to maintain her 
 usual haughty manner, " to put down that, at my death, I 
 bequeath to my niece all of which I die possessed the 
 palace at Lucca, and the heirlooms, plate, jewels, armor, 
 and the picture of my great ancestor Castruccio Castracani, 
 to be kept hanging in the place where it now is, opposite 
 the seigneurial throne in the presence-chamber." 
 
 Here she paused. The hasty scratch of Ser Giacomo's 
 pen was heard upon the parchment. Spite of her efforts 
 to control her feelings, an ashy pallor spread over the mar 
 chesa's face. She grasped her two hands together so 
 tightly that the finger-tips grew crimson ; a nervous quiver 
 shook her from head to foot. Cavaliere Trenta, who read 
 the marchesa like a book, watched her in perfect agony. 
 What was going to happen ? Would she faint ? 
 
 " I also bequeath," continued the marchesa, rising from 
 her seat with solemn action, and speaking in a low, hushed 
 voice, her eyes fixed on the floor " I also bequeath the 
 great Guinigi name and our ancestral honors to my niece 
 to bear them after my death, together with her husband,
 
 260 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 then to pass to her eldest child. And may that great name 
 be honored ! " 
 
 The marchesa reseated herself, raised her thin white 
 hands, and threw up her eyes to heaven. The sacrifice 
 was made ! 
 
 " May I call in the lady ? " again asked the cavaliere, 
 addressing no one in particular. 
 
 " I will fetch her in," replied Fra Pacifico, rising from 
 his chair. " She is my spiritual daughter." 
 
 No one moved while Fra Pacifico was absent. Ser 
 Giacomo, the notary, dressed in his Sunday suit of black, 
 remained, pen in hand, staring at the wall. Never in his 
 humble life had he formed one of such a distinguished 
 company. All his life Ser Giacomo had heard of the Mar 
 chesa Guinigi as a most awful lady. If Fra Pacifico had 
 not caught him within his little office near the caf& } rather 
 than have faced her, Ser Giacomo would have run away. 
 
 The door opened, and Enrica stood upon the threshold. 
 There was an air of innocent triumph about her. She had 
 bound a blue ribbon in her golden curls, and placed a rose 
 in the band that encircled her slight waist. Enrica was, 
 in truth, but a common mortal, but she looked so fresh, and 
 bright, and young, with such tender, trusting eyes there 
 was such an aureole of purity about her, she might have 
 passed for a virgin saint. 
 
 As he caught sight of Enrica, the moody expression 
 on Count Nobili's face changed, and broke into a smile. In 
 her presence he forgot the marchesa. Was not such a 
 prize worthy of any battle ? "What did it signify to him if 
 Eurica were called Guinigi ? And as to those tumble 
 down palaces and heirlooms what of them ? He could 
 buy scores of old palaces any day if he chose. Quickly he 
 stepped forward to meet her as she entered. Fra Pacifico 
 rose, and with great solemnity signed them both with a 
 thrice-repeated cross, then he placed Enrica's hand in No-
 
 THE CONTRACT. 2G1 
 
 bill's. The count raised it to his lips, and kissed it fer 
 vently. 
 
 " My Enrica," he whispered, " this is a glorious day ! " 
 
 " Oh, it is heavenly ! " she answered back, softly. 
 
 The marchesa's white face darkened as she looked at 
 Enrica. How dared Enrica be so happy ? But she re 
 pressed the reproaches that rose to her lips, though her 
 heart swelled to bursting, and the veins in her forehead 
 distended with rage. 
 
 " Can Enrica be of my flesh and blood ? " exclaimed the 
 marchesa in a low voice to the cavaliere who now stood at 
 her side. " Fool ! she believes in her lover 1 It is a hor 
 rible sacrifice ! Mark my words a horrible sacrifice ! " 
 
 Nobili and Enrica had taken their places behind the 
 notary. The slanting shadows from the open door struck 
 upon them with deeper gloom, and the low murmur of the 
 fountain seemed now to form itself into a moan. 
 
 " Do I sign here ? " asked Count Nobili. 
 
 Ser Giacomo trembled like a leaf. 
 
 " Yes, excellency, you sign here," he stammered, point 
 ing to the precise spot ; but Ser Giacomo looked so terri 
 fied that Nobili, forgetting where he was, laughed out loud 
 and turned to Enrica, who laughed also. 
 
 " Stop that unseemly mirth," called out the marchesa 
 from the sofa; "it is most indecent. Let the act that 
 buries a great name at least be conducted with decorum." 
 
 " That great name shall not die," spoke the deep voice 
 of Fra Pacifico from the background ; " I call a blessing 
 upon it, and upon the present act. The name shall live. 
 When we are dead and rotting in our graves, a race shall 
 rise from them " and he pointed to Nobili and Enrica 
 " that shall recall the great legends of the past among the 
 citizens of Lucca." 
 
 Fearful of what the marchesa might be moved to reply 
 (even the marchesa, however, had a certain dread of Fra
 
 262 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Pacifico when he assumed the dignity of his priestly office), 
 Trenta hurried forward and offered his arm to lead her to 
 the table. She rose slowly to her feet, and cast her eyes 
 round at the group of happy faces about her ; all happy 
 save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of 
 sweat were standing. 
 
 " Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, 
 " fear not to sign the marriage-contract. Think of the 
 blessings it will bring to hundreds of miserable peasants, 
 who are suffering from your want of means to help them ! " 
 
 " Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able 
 to control herself, " I respect your office, but this is still 
 my house, and I order you to be silent. Where am I to 
 sign ? " she addressed herself to Ser Giacomo. 
 
 " Here, inadame," answered the almost inaudible voice 
 of the notary. 
 
 The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand 
 wrote her full name and titles. She took a malicious pleas 
 ure in spreading them out over the page. 
 
 Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after 
 her aunt's. Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. 
 Cavaliere Trenta and the priest were the witnesses. 
 
 " There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili 
 said, addressing her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact 
 day you may please to name ; but, madame " and with a 
 lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced nearer to 
 where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to 
 touch her " I beg you not to keep me waiting long." 
 
 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 Nobili to un 
 derstand that she would admit no shadow of familiarity ; 
 that her will had been forced, but that in all else she re 
 garded him with the same animosity as before. 
 
 Nobili had understood her action and her meaning.
 
 THE CONTRACT. 2G3 
 
 " 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 passing. 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 sculp 
 tured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both : one, her old 
 home ; the other, that was to be her home. She saw her 
 self go in here, cross the pillared court and mount upward. 
 It was neither day nor night, but all shone with crystal 
 brightness. Then Nobili'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 Nobili 
 spoke, he led her aside to one of the windows. " Now, 
 good-by," and his eyes gathered upon her with passionate 
 fondness ; " think of me day and night." 
 
 Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first en 
 tered, except to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her 
 head dropped on her breast. A dread a horror came sud 
 denly upon her. " O Nobili, 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 Nobili tore himself
 
 264 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 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 Nobili did not fail duly 
 to make his salutation to the marchesa. 
 
 The cavaliere and Fra Pacifico followed him out. Twi 
 light now darkened the garden. The fragrance of the flow 
 ers 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 com 
 ing night. 
 
 " Good-bj*," said Cavaliere Trenta to Nobili, in his thin 
 voice. " I deeply regret the marchesa's rudeness. She is 
 unhinged quite unhinged ; but her heart is excellent, be 
 lieve me, most excellent." 
 
 " Do not talk of the marchesa," exclaimed Nobili, as he 
 rapidly ascended flight after flight of the terraces. " Let 
 me forget her, or I shall never return to Corellia. Dio Sa- 
 grato ! " and Nobili clinched his fist. " The marchesa is 
 the most cursed thing God 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 spacious 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 Universe, 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 preten 
 sion, other than that both are of marble. One is the the- 
 12
 
 262 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Pacifico when he assumed the dignity of his priestly office), 
 Trenta hurried forward and offered his arm to lead her to 
 the table. She rose slowly to her feet, and cast her eyes 
 round at the group of happy faces about her ; all happy 
 save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of 
 sweat were standing. 
 
 " Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, 
 " fear not to sign the marriage-contract. Think of the 
 blessings it will bring to hundreds of miserable peasants, 
 who are suffering from your want of means to help them ! " 
 
 " Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able 
 to control herself, " I respect your office, but this is still 
 my house, and I order you to be silent. Where am I to 
 sign ? " she addressed herself to Ser Giacomo. 
 
 " Here, madame," answered the almost inaudible voice 
 of the notary. 
 
 The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand 
 wrote her full name and titles. She took a malicious pleas 
 ure in spreading them out over the page. 
 
 Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after 
 her aunt's. Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. 
 Cavaliere Trenta and the priest were the witnesses. 
 
 " There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili 
 said, addressing her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact 
 day you may please to name ; but, madame " and with a 
 lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced nearer to 
 where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to 
 touch her " I beg you not to keep me waiting long." 
 
 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 Nobili to un 
 derstand that she would admit no shadow of familiarity ; 
 that her will had been forced, but that in all else she re 
 garded him with the same animosity as before. 
 
 Nobili had understood her action and her meaning.
 
 THE CONTRACT. 2G3 
 
 " 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 passing. 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 sculp 
 tured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both : one, her old 
 home ; the other, that was to be her home. She saw her 
 self go in here, cross the pillared court and mount upward. 
 It was neither day nor night, but all shone with crystal 
 brightness. Then Nobili'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 Nobili 
 spoke, he led her aside to one of the windows. " Now, 
 good-by," and his eyes gathered upon her with passionate 
 fondness ; " think of me day and night." 
 
 Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first en 
 tered, except to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her 
 head dropped on her breast. A dread a horror came sud 
 denly upon her. " O Nobili, 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 Nobili tore himself
 
 262 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Pacifico when he assumed the dignity of his priestly office), 
 Trenta hurried forward and offered his arm to lead her to 
 the table. She rose slowly to her feet, and cast her eyes 
 round at the group of happy faces about her ; all happy 
 save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of 
 sweat were standing. 
 
 " Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, 
 " fear not to sign the marriage-contract. Think of the 
 blessings it will bring to hundreds of miserable peasants, 
 who are suffering from your want of means to help them ! " 
 
 " Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able 
 to control herself, " I respect your office, but this is still 
 my house, and I order you to be silent. Where am I to 
 sign ? " she addressed herself to Ser Giacomo. 
 
 " Here, madame," answered the almost inaudible voice 
 of the notary. 
 
 The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand 
 wrote her full name and titles. She took a malicious pleas 
 ure in spreading them out over the page. 
 
 Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after 
 her aunt's. Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. 
 Cavaliere Trenta and the priest were the witnesses. 
 
 " There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili 
 said, addressing her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact 
 day you may please to name ; but, madame " and with a 
 lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced nearer to 
 where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to 
 touch her " I beg j'ou not to keep me waiting long." 
 
 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 Nobili to un 
 derstand that she would admit no shadow of familiarity ; 
 that her will had been forced, but that in all else she re 
 garded him with the same animosity as before. 
 
 Nobili had understood her action and her meaning.
 
 THE CONTRACT. 203 
 
 " 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 passing. 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 sculp 
 tured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both : one, her old 
 home ; the other, that was to be her home. She saw her 
 self go in here, cross the pillared court and mount upward. 
 It was neither day nor night, but all shone with crystal 
 brightness. Then Nobili'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, Io6king defiance at everybody. 
 
 " I have borne it all for your sake, Enrica." As Nobili 
 spoke, he led her aside to one of the windows. " Now, 
 good-by," and his eyes gathered upon her with passionate 
 fondness ; " think of me day and night." 
 
 Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first en 
 tered, except to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her 
 head dropped on her breast. A dread a horror came sud 
 denly upon her. " O Nobili, 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 Nobili tore himself
 
 262 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Pacifico when he assumed the dignity of his priestly office), 
 Trenta hurried forward and offered his arm to lead her to 
 the table. She rose slowly to her feet, and cast her eyes 
 round at the group of happy faces about her ; all happy 
 save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of 
 sweat were standing. 
 
 " Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, 
 " fear not to sign the marriage-contract. Think of the 
 blessings it will bring to hundreds of miserable peasants, 
 who are suffering from your want of means to help them ! " 
 
 " Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able 
 to control herself, " I respect your office, but this is still 
 my house, and I order you to be silent. Where am I to 
 sign ? " she addressed herself to Ser Giacomo. 
 
 " Here, madame," answered the almost inaudible voice 
 of the notary. 
 
 The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand 
 wrote her full name and titles. She took a malicious pleas 
 ure in spreading them out over the page. 
 
 Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after 
 her aunt's. Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. 
 Cavaliere Trenta and the priest were the witnesses. 
 
 " There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili 
 said, addressing her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact 
 day you may please to name ; but, madame " and with a 
 lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced nearer to 
 where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to 
 touch her " I beg you not to keep me waiting long." 
 
 The marchesa drew back, and contemplated him with 
 a haughty stare. His manner and his request were both 
 alike oifensive to her. She would have Count Nobili to un 
 derstand that she would admit no shadow of familiarity ; 
 that her will had been forced, but that in all else she re 
 garded him with the same animosity as before. 
 
 Nobili had understood her action and her meaning.
 
 THE CONTRACT. 2G3 
 
 " 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 passing. 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 sculp 
 tured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both : one, her old 
 home ; the other, that was to be her home. She saw her 
 self go in here, cross the pillared court and mount upward. 
 It was neither day nor night, but all shone with crystal 
 brightness. Then Nobili'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 Nobili 
 spoke, he led her aside to one of the windows. " Now, 
 good-by," and his eyes gathered upon her with passionate 
 fondness ; " think of me day and night." 
 
 Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first en 
 tered, except to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her 
 head dropped on her breast. A dread a horror came sud 
 denly upon her. " O Nobili, 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 Nobili tore himself
 
 262 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Pacifico when he assumed the dignity of his priestly office), 
 Trenta hurried forward and offered his arm to lead her to 
 the table. She rose slowly to her feet, and cast her eyes 
 round at the group of happy faces about her ; all happy 
 save the poor notary, on whose forehead the big drops of 
 sweat were standing. 
 
 " Come, my daughter," said Fra Pacifico, advancing, 
 " fear not to sign the marriage-contract. Think of the 
 blessings it will bring to hundreds of miserable peasants, 
 who are suffering from your want of means to help them ! " 
 
 " Fra Pacifico," exclaimed the marchesa, scarcely able 
 to control herself, " I respect your office, but this is still 
 my house, and I order you to be silent. Where am I to 
 sign ? " she addressed herself to Ser Giacomo. 
 
 " Here, inadame," answered the almost inaudible voice 
 of the notary. 
 
 The marchesa took the pen, and in a large, firm hand 
 wrote her full name and titles. She took a malicious pleas 
 ure in spreading them out over the page. 
 
 Enrica signed her name, in delicate little letters, after 
 her aunt's. Count Nobili had already affixed his signature. 
 Cavaliere Trenta and the priest were the witnesses. 
 
 " There is one request I would make, marchesa," Nobili 
 said, addressing her. "I shall await in Lucca the exact 
 day you may please to name ; but, madame " and with a 
 lover's ardor strong within him, he advanced nearer to 
 where the marchesa stood, and raised his hand as if to 
 touch her " I beg j r ou not to keep me waiting long." 
 
 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 Nobili to un 
 derstand that she would admit no shadow of familiarity ; 
 that her will had been forced, but that in all else she re 
 garded him with the same animosity as before. 
 
 Nobili had understood her action and her meaning.
 
 THE CONTRACT. 2G3 
 
 " 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 passing. 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 sculp 
 tured arms of the Guinigi displayed on both : one, her old 
 home ; the other, that was to be her home. She saw her 
 self go in here, cross the pillared court and mount upward. 
 It was neither day nor night, but all shone with crystal 
 brightness. Then Nobili'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 Nobili 
 spoke, he led her aside to one of the windows. " Now, 
 good-by," and his eyes gathered upon her with passionate 
 fondness ; " think of me day and night." 
 
 Enrica had not uttered a single word since she first en 
 tered, except to Nobili. When he spoke of parting, her 
 head dropped on her breast. A dread a horror came sud 
 denly upon her. " O Nobili, 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 Nobili tore himself
 
 274 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 are undetected in New Itaty, where there is so much to 
 learn). Prince Ruspoli swings round this Avhip as he mounts 
 the steps of the club. The others, who are watching his 
 approach, are secretly devoured with envy. 
 
 " Wall, Pietrino wall, Beppo," said Ruspoli, shaking 
 hands with Orsetti and Malatesta, and nodding to Orazio, out 
 of whose sails he took the wind by force of stolid indiffer 
 ence (Baldassare he ignored, or mistook him for a waiter, 
 if he saw him at all), "you are all discussing the news, of 
 course. Lucca's lively to-day. You'll all do in time, even 
 to steeple-chases. We must run one down on the low 
 grounds in the spring. Dick, my English groom, is always 
 plaguing me about it." 
 
 Then Prince Ruspoli pulled himself together with a 
 jerk, as a man does stiff from the saddle, laid his hunting- 
 whip upon a table, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and 
 looked round. 
 
 " What news have you heard ? " asked Beppo Malatesta. 
 " There's such a lot." 
 
 " Wall, the news I have heard is, that Count Nobili is 
 engaged to marry the Marchesa Guinigi's little niece. 
 Dear little thing, they say like an English ' mees ' fair, 
 with red hair." 
 
 " Is that your style of beauty ? " lisped Orazio, looking 
 hard at him. But Ruspoli did not notice him. 
 
 " But that's not half," cried Malatesta. " You are an 
 innocent, Ruspoli. Let me baptize you with scandal." 
 
 " Don't, don't, I hate scandal," said Ruspoli, taking 
 one of his hands out of his pocket for a moment, and hold 
 ing it up in remonstrance. " There is nothing but scandal 
 in these small Italian towns. Take to hunting, that's the 
 cure. Nobili is to marry the little girl, that's certain. 
 He's to pay off all the marchesa's debts, that's certain too. 
 He's rich, she's poor. He wants blood, she has got it." 
 
 " I do not believe in this marriage," said Orazio, meas-
 
 THE CLUB AT LUCCA. 275 
 
 uring Prince Ruspoli as he stood erect, his slits of eyes 
 without a shadow of expression. "You remember the 
 ballroom, prince ? And the Boccarini family grouped 
 and Nobili crying in a corner? Nobili will marry the 
 Boccarini. She is a stunner." 
 
 After Orazio had ventured this observation about Nera 
 Boccarini, Prince Ruspoli brought his small, steely eyes to 
 bear upon him with a fixed stare. 
 
 Orazio affected total unconsciousness, but he quailed 
 inwardly. The others silently watched Ruspoli. He took 
 up his hunting-whip and whirled it in the air dangerously 
 near Orazio's head, eying him all the while as a dog eyes 
 a rat he means to crunch between his teeth. 
 
 " Whoever says that Count Nobili will marry the Boc- 
 cariui, is a liar ! " Prince Ruspoli spoke with perfect 
 composure, still whirling his whip. " I shall be happy to 
 explain my reason anywhere, out of the city, on the short 
 est notice." 
 
 Orazio started up. " Prince Ruspoli, do you call me a 
 liar ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," replied Ruspoli, quite unmoved, 
 making Orazio a mock bow. " Did you say whom Count 
 Nobili would marry ? If you did, will you favor me by re 
 peating it ? " 
 
 " I only report town-talk," Franchi answered, sullenly. 
 " I am not answerable for town-talk." 
 
 Ruspoli was a dead-shot ; Orazio only fought with 
 swords. 
 
 " Then I am satisfied," replied Ruspoli, quiet defiance 
 in his look and tone. " I accuse you, Signore Orazio Fran 
 chi, of nothing. I only warn you." 
 
 " I don't see why we should quarrel about Nobili's mar 
 riage. He will be here himself present!}', to explain which 
 of the ladies he prefers," observed the peaceable Orsetti. 
 
 " I don't know which lady Count Nobili prefers," re-
 
 276 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 torted Ruspoli, doggedly. " But I tell you the name of the 
 lady he is to marry. It is Enrica Guinigi." 
 
 " Why, there is Count Nobili ! " cried Baldassare, quite 
 loud " there, under the plane-trees." 
 
 " Bravo, Adonis ! " cried Beppo ; " your eyes are as 
 sharp as your feet are swift." 
 
 Nobili crossed the square ; he was coming toward the 
 club. Every face was turned, toward him. He had come 
 down to Lucca like one maddened by the breath of love. 
 All along the road he had felt drunk with happiness. To 
 him love was everywhere in the deep gloom of the moun 
 tain-forests, in the flowing river, diamonded with light un 
 der the pale moonbeams ; in the splendor of the starry sky, 
 in midnight dreams of bliss, and in the awakening of glori 
 ous morning. The two old palaces were full of love the 
 Moorish garden ; the magnolias that overtopped the wall, 
 and the soft, creamy perfume that wafted from them ; the 
 very street through which he should lead her home ; every 
 one he saw ; all he said, thought, or did it was all love 
 and Enrica ! 
 
 Now, having with lover's haste made good progress 
 with all he had to do, Nobili has come down to the club to 
 meet his friends, and to receive their congratulations. 
 Every hand is stretched out toward him. Even Ruspoli, 
 spite of obvious jealousy, liked him. Nobili's face is lit up 
 with its sunniest smile. Having shaken hands with him, 
 an ominous silence ensues. Orsetti and Malatesta sudden 
 ly find that their cigars want relighting, and turn aside. 
 Orazio seats himself at a distance, and scowls at Prince 
 Ruspoli. Nobili gives a quick glance round. An instant 
 tells him that something is wrong. 
 
 Prince Ruspoli breaks the awkward silence. He walks 
 up, looks at Nobili with immovable gravity, then slaps 
 him on the shoulder. 
 
 " I congratulate you, Nobili. I hear you are to marry 
 the Marchesa Guinigi's niece.''
 
 THE CLUB AT LUCCA. 377 
 
 " Balduccio, I thank you. Within a week I hope to 
 bring her home to Lucca. There will then be but one 
 Guinigi home in the two palaces. The marchesa makes 
 her heiress of all she possesses." 
 
 Prince Ruspoli is satisfied. Now he will back Count 
 Nobili to any odds. He will name his next foal Mario 
 Nobili. 
 
 Again Nobili glances round ; this time there is the 
 shadow of a frown upon his smooth brow. Orsetti feels 
 that he must speak. 
 
 " Have you known the lady long ? " Orsetti asks, with 
 an embarrassment foreign to him. 
 
 " Yes, and no," answers Nobili, reddening, and scanning 
 the veiled expression on Orsetti's face with intense curiosity. 
 " But the matter has been brought to a crisis by the acci 
 dental burning of the marchesa's house at Corellia. I was 
 present I saved her niece." 
 
 " I thought it was rather sudden," says Orazio, from be 
 hind, in a tone full of suggestion. " We were in doubt, be 
 fore you came, to whom the lady was engaged." 
 
 Nobili starts. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asks, hastily. 
 
 The color has left his cheeks ; his blue eyes grow dark. 
 
 " There has been some foolish gossip from persons who 
 know nothing," Orsetti answers, advancing to the front. 
 " About some engagement with another gentleman, whom 
 she had accepted " 
 
 "Nonsense! Don't listen to him, my good fellow," 
 breaks in Ruspoli. " These lads have nothing to do but 
 to breed scandal. They would slander the Virgin ; not 
 for wickedness, but for idleness. I mean to make them 
 hunt. Hunting is the cure." 
 
 Nobili stands as if turned to stone. 
 
 " But I must listen," replies Nobili, fiercely, fire flaming 
 in his eyes. " This lady's honor is my own. Who has
 
 278 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 dared to couple her name with any other man ? Orsetti 
 Ruspoli " and he turns to them in great excitement 
 " you are my friends. What does this mean ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Orsetti, trying to smile, but not suc 
 ceeding. " I hear, Nobili, you have behaved with extraor 
 dinary generosity," he adds, fencing the question. 
 
 " Yes, by Jove ! " adds Prince Ruspoli. Ruspoli was 
 leaning up against a pillar, watching Orazio as he would a 
 mischievous cur. " A most suitable marriage. Not that 
 I care a button for blood, except in horses." 
 
 Nobili has not moved, but, as each speaks, his eye 
 shifts rapidly from one to the other. His face from pale 
 grows livid, and there is a throb about his temples that 
 sounds in his ears like a thousand hammers. 
 
 '' Orsetti," Nobili says, sternly, " I address myself to 
 you. You are the oldest here. You are the first man I 
 knew after I came to Lucca. You are all concealing some 
 thing from me. I entreat you, Orsetti, as man to man, tell 
 me whose name has been coupled with that of my affianced 
 wife ? That it is a lie I know beforehand a base and palpa 
 ble lie ! She has been reared at home in perfect solitude." 
 
 Nobili spoke with passionate vehemence. The hot 
 blood rushed over his face and neck, and tingled to his 
 very fingers. Now he glances from man to man in an ap 
 peal defiant, yet pleading, pitiful to behold. Every face 
 grows grave. 
 
 Orsetti is the first to reply. 
 
 ' ; I feel deeply for you, Nobili. We all love you." 
 
 " Yes, all," responded Malatesta and Ruspoli, speaking 
 together. 
 
 " You must not attach too much importance to idle 
 gossip," says Orsetti. 
 
 " No, no," cried Ruspoli, " don't. I will stand by you, 
 Nobili. I know the lady by sight a little English beau- 
 ty."
 
 THE CLUB AT LTJCCA. 279 
 
 " Scandal ! Who is the man ? By God, I'll have his 
 blood within this very hour ! " 
 
 Nobili is now wrought up beyond all endurance. 
 
 "You can't," says Orazio Francbi, tapping his heel 
 upon the marble pavement. " He's gone." 
 
 " Gone ! I'll follow him to hell ! " roars Nobili " Who 
 is he?" 
 
 " Possibly he may find his own way there in time," an 
 swers Orazio, with a sneer. He rises so as to increase the 
 distance between himself and Prince Ruspoli. " But as yet 
 the wretch crawls on mother earth." 
 
 " Silence, Orazio ! " shouts Ruspoli, " or you may go 
 there yourself quicker than Marescotti." 
 
 " Marescotti ! Is that the name ? " cries Nobili, with a 
 hungry eye, that seems to thirst for vengeance. " Who is 
 Marescotti ? " 
 
 " This is some horrid fiction," Nobili mutters to him 
 self. Stay ! Where had he heard that name lately ? He 
 gnawed his fingers until the blood came, and a crimson 
 drop fell upon the marble floor. Suddenly an icy chill rose 
 at his heart. He could not breathe. He sank into a chair 
 then rose again, and stood before Orsetti with a face out 
 of which ten years of youth had fled. Yes, Marescotti 
 that is the very man Enrica had mentioned to him under 
 the trees at Corellia. Each letter of it blazes in fire before 
 his eyes. Yes she had said Marescotti had read her 
 eyes. " O God ! " and Nobili groans aloud, and buries his 
 face within his hands. 
 
 " You take this too much to heart, my dear Mario," 
 Count Orsetti said ; " indeed you do, else I would not say 
 so. Remember there is nothing proved. Be careful," Or 
 setti whispered in the other's ear, glancing round. Every 
 eye was riveted on Nobili. 
 
 Orsetti felt that Nobili had forgotten the public place 
 and the others present such as Count Malatesta, Orazio
 
 280 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Franchi, and Baldassare, who, though they had not spoken, 
 had devoured every word. 
 
 " It is nothing but a sonnet found among Marescotti's 
 papers." Orsetti now was speaking. " Marescotti has fled 
 from the police. Nothing but a sonnet addressed to the 
 lady a poet's day-dream untrue of course." 
 
 " Will no one tell me what the sonnet said ? " demanded 
 Nobili. He had mastered himself for the moment. 
 
 " Stuff, stuff! " cried Ruspoli. " Every pretty woman has 
 heaps of sonnets and admirers. It is a brevet of beauty. 
 After all this row, it was only an offer of marriage made to 
 Count Marescotti and refused by him. Probably the lady 
 never knew it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, she did, she accepted him," sounded from be 
 hind. It was Baldassare, whose vanity was piqued because 
 no one had referred to him for imformation. 
 
 " Accepted ! Refused by Count Marescotti ! " Nobili 
 caught and repeated the words in a voice so strange, it 
 sounded like the echo from a vault. 
 
 " "Wall ! by Jove ! It's five o'clock ! " exclaimed Prince 
 Ruspoli, looking at his watch. " My dear fellow," he said, 
 addressing Nobili, " I have an appointment on the ramparts ; 
 will you go with me?" He passed his arm through that 
 of Nobili. It was a painful scene, which Ruspoli desired 
 to end. Nobili shook his head. He was so stunned and 
 dazed he could not speak. 
 
 " If it is five o'clock," said Malatesta, " I must go too." 
 
 Malatesta drew Nobili a little apart. " Don't think too 
 much of this, Nobili. It will all blow over and be forgotten 
 in a month. Take your wife a trip to Paris or London. 
 We shall hear no more of it, believe me. Good-by." 
 
 " Count Nobili," called out Franchi, from the other end 
 of the portico, making a languid bow, " after all that I 
 have heard, I congratulate you on your marriage most sin 
 cerely."
 
 THE CLUB AT LUCCA. 281 
 
 Nobili did not hear him. All were gone. He was 
 alone with Ruspoli. His head had dropped upon his breast. 
 There was the shadow of a tear in Prince Ruspoli's steely 
 eye. It was not enough to be brushed off, for it absorbed 
 itself and came to nothing, but it was there nevertheless. 
 
 " Wall, Mario," he said, apparently unmoved, " it seems 
 to me the club is made too hot to hold you. Come home." 
 
 Nobili nodded. He was so weak he had to hang heavily 
 on Prince Ruspoli's arm as they crossed the piazza. Prince 
 Ruspoli did not leave him until he saw him safe to his own 
 door. 
 
 "You will judge what is right to do," were Ruspoli's 
 last words. " But do not be guided by those young scamps. 
 They live in mischief. If you love the girl, marry her 
 that is my advice."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 COUNT NOBILl's THOUGHTS. 
 
 I HAVE seen a valley canopied by a sky of blue and 
 opaline, girt in by wooded heights, on which the sun 
 poured down in mid-day splendor. A broad river sparkled 
 downward, giving back ray for ray. The forest glowed 
 without a shadow. Each little detail of leaf or stone, even 
 a blade of grass, was turned to flame. The corn lay smooth 
 and golden. The grapes and olives hung safe upon the 
 branch. The flax a goodly crop reached to the trees. 
 The peasants labored in the rich brown soil, singing to the 
 oxen. The women sat spinning beside their doors. A 
 little maid led out her snowy lamb to graze among the 
 woods, and children played at " morra " beside the river, 
 which ran at peace, lapping the silver sand. 
 
 A cloud gathers behind the mountains yonder, where 
 they come interlacing down, narrowing the valley. It is 
 a little cloud, no one observes it ; yet it gathers and spreads 
 and blackens, until the sky is veiled. The sun grows pale. 
 A greenish light steals over the earth. In the still air 
 there is a sudden freshness. The tall canes growing in the 
 brakes among the vineyards rustle as if shaken by a spec 
 tral hand. The white-leaved aspens quiver. An icy wind 
 sweeps down the mountain-sides. A flash of lightning 
 shoots across the sky. Then the storm bursts. Thunder
 
 COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS. 283 
 
 rolls, and cracks, and crashes ; as if the brazen gates of 
 heaven clashed to and fro. The peasants fly, driving their 
 cattle before them. The pigs run grunting homeward. 
 The helpless lamb is stricken where it stands, crouching in 
 a deep gorge; the little maid sits weeping by. Down 
 beats the hail like pebbles. It strikes upon the vines, 
 scorches and blackens them. The wheat is leveled to the 
 ground. The river suddenly swells into a raging torrent. 
 Its turbid waters bear away the riches of the poor the 
 cow that served a little household and followed the children, 
 lowing, to reedy meadows bathed by limpid streams a 
 horse caught browsing in a peaceful vale, thinking no ill 
 great trees hurling destruction with them. Rafters, roofs 
 of houses, sometimes a battered corpse, float by. 
 
 The roads are broken up. The bridge is snapped. 
 Years will not repair the fearful ravage. The evening sun 
 sets on a desolate waste. Men sit along the road-side 
 wringing their hands beside their ruined crops. Children 
 creep out upon their naked feet, and look and wonder. 
 Where is the little kid that ran before and licked their 
 hands ? Where is the gray-skinned, soft-eyed cow that 
 hardly needed a cord to lead her? The shapely cob, so 
 brave with its tinkling bells and crimson tassels ? The cob 
 that daddy drove to market, and many merry fairs ? Gone 
 with the storm ! all gone ! 
 
 Count Nobili was like the Italian climate in extremes. 
 Like his native soil, he must live in the sunshine. His was 
 not a nature to endure a secret sorrow. He must be kissed, 
 caressed, and smoothed by tender hands and loving voices. 
 He must have applause, approval, be flattered, envied, and 
 followed. Hitherto all this had come naturally to him. 
 His gracious temper, generous heart, and great wealth, had 
 made all bright about him. Now a sudden storm had 
 swept over him and brought despair into his heart.
 
 284 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 When Prince Ruspoli left him, Nobili felt as battered 
 and sore as if a whirlwind had caught him, then let him go, 
 and he had dropped to earth a broken man. Yet in the 
 turmoil of his brain a pale, scared little face, with wild, 
 beseeching eyes, was ever before him. It would not leave 
 him. What was this horrible nightmare that had come 
 over him in the heyday of his joy ? It was so vague, yet 
 so tangible if judged by its effect on others. Others held 
 Enrica dishonored, that was clear. Was she dishonored ? 
 He was bound to her by every tie of honor. He loved her. 
 She had a charm for him no other woman ever possessed, 
 and she loved him. A women's eye, he told himself, had 
 never deceived him. Yes, she loved him. Yet if Enrica 
 were as guileless as she seemed, how could she conceal from 
 him she had another lover less loved perhaps than he 
 but still a lover ? And this lover had refused to marry her ? 
 That was the stab. That every one in Lucca should know 
 his future bride had been scouted by another man who had 
 turned a rhyme upon her, and left her ! Could he bear this ? 
 
 What were Enrica's relations with Marescotti ? Some 
 one had said she had accepted him. Nobili was sure he 
 had heard this. He, Marescotti, must have approached her 
 nearly by her own confession. He had celebrated her 
 in sonnets, amorous sonnets damnable thought ! gone 
 with her to the Guinigi Tower then rejected her ! A 
 mist seemed to gather about Nobili as he thought of this. 
 He grew stupid in long vistas of speculation. Had Enrica 
 not dared to meet him Nobili clandestinely ? Was not 
 this very act unmaidenly ? (Such are men : they urge the 
 slip, the fall, then judge a woman by the force of their own 
 urging !) Had Enrica met Marescotti in secret also ? No 
 impossible ! The .scared, white face was before Nobili, 
 now plainer than ever. No he hated himself for the 
 very thought. All the chivalry of his nature rose up to 
 acquit her.
 
 COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS. 285 
 
 Still there was a mystery. How far was Enrica con 
 cerned in it ? Would she have married Count Marescotti ? 
 Trenta was away, or he would question him. Had he 
 better ask ? What might he hear ? Some one had de 
 ceived him grossly. The marchesa would stick at nothing ; 
 yet what could the marchesa have done without Enrica ? 
 Nobili was perplexed beyond expression. He buried his 
 head within his arms, and leaned upon a table in an agony 
 of doubt. Then he paced up and down the splendid room, 
 painted with frescoed walls, and hung with rose and silver 
 draperies from Paris (it was to have been Enrica' s boudoir), 
 looking south into a delicious town-garden, with statues, 
 and flower-beds, and terraces of marble diamonded in brill 
 iant colors. To be so cheated ! to be the laughing-stock 
 of Lucca 1 Good God! how could he bear it? To marry 
 a wife who would be pointed at with whispered words ! 
 Of all earthly things this was the bitterest! Could he 
 bear it ? and Enrica would she not suffer ? And if she 
 did, what then ? Why, she deserved it she must deserve 
 it, else why was she accused? Enrica was treacherous 
 the tool of her aunt. He could not doubt it. If she cared 
 for him at all, it was for the sake of his money hateful 
 thought ! yet, having signed the contract, he supposed 
 he must give her the name of wife. But the future mother 
 of his children was branded. 
 
 Oh, the golden days at mountain-capped Corellia ! that 
 watching in the perfumed woods that pleading with the 
 stars that shone over Enrica to bear her his lovesick sighs ! 
 Oh, the triumph of saving her dear life ! the sweetness 
 of her lips in that first embrace under the magnolia- 
 tree ! Fra Pacifico too, with his honest, sturdy ways and 
 the white-haired cavaliere, so wise and courteous. Cheats, 
 cheats all! It made him sick to think how they must 
 have laughed and jeered at him when he was gone. Oh, 
 it was damnable !
 
 286 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 His teeth were set. He started up as if he had been 
 stung, and stamped upon the floor. Then like a madman 
 he rushed up and down the spacious floor. After a time, 
 brushing the drops of perspiration from his forehead, No- 
 bili grew calmer. He sat down to think. 
 
 Must he marry Enrica? he asked himself (he had 
 come to that) marry the lady of the sonnet Marescotti's 
 love ? He did not see how he could help it. The contract 
 was signed, and nothing proved against her. Well life 
 was long, and the world wide, and full of pleasant things. 
 Well he must bear it unless there had been sin ! No- 
 bili did not see it, nor did he hear it ; but much that is 
 never seen, nor heard, nor known, is yet true horribly true. 
 He did see it, but as he thought these cruel thoughts, and 
 hardened himself in them, a pale, scared face, with wild, 
 pleading eyes, vanished with a shriek of anguish. 
 
 Others had loved him well, Nobili reasoned other 
 women " JVbt so well as I" an inaudible voice would have 
 whispered, but it was no longer there to answer others 
 that had not been rejected others fairer than Enrica 
 Nera ! 
 
 With that name there came a world of comfort to him. 
 Nera loved him she loved him ! ^He had not seen Nera 
 since that memorable night she lay like one dead before 
 him. Before he took a final resolve (by-and-by he must 
 investigate, inquire, know when, and how, and by whom, 
 all this talk had come), would it not be well to see Nera ? 
 It was a duty, he told himself, he owed her ; a duty delayed 
 too long ; only Enrica had so absorbed him. Nera would 
 have heard the town-talk. How would she take it? 
 Would she be glad, or sorry, he wondered? Then came a 
 longing upon Nobili he could not resist, to know if Nera 
 still loved him. If so, what constancy ! It deserved 
 reward. He had treated her shamefully. How sweet 
 her company would be if she would see him 1 At all
 
 COUNT NOBILI'S THOUGHTS. 287 
 
 events, he could but try. At this point he rose and rang 
 the bell. 
 
 When the servant came, Nobili ordered his dinner. He 
 was hungry, he said, and would eat at once. His carriage 
 he should require later.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NEEA. 
 
 CLOSE to the Church of San Michele, where a brazen 
 archangel with outstretched wings flaunts in the blue 
 sky, is the narrow, crypt-like street of San Salvador. Here 
 stands the Boccarini Palace. It is an ancient structure, 
 square and large, with an overhanging roof and open, pil 
 lared gallery. On the first floor there is a stone balcony. 
 Four rows of windows divide the front. The lower ones, 
 barred with iron, are dismal to the eye. Over the princi 
 pal entrance are the Boccarini arms, carved on a stone es 
 cutcheon, supported by two angels, the whole so moss- 
 eaten the details cannot be traced. Above is a marquis's 
 coronet in which a swallow has built its nest. Both in 
 and out it is a house where poverty has set its seal. The 
 family is dying out. When Marchesa Boccarini dies, the 
 palace will be sold, and the money divided among her 
 daughters. 
 
 As dusk was settling into night a carriage rattled along 
 the deserted street. The horses a pair of splendid bays 
 struck sparks out of the granite pavement. With a 
 bang they draw up at the entrance, under an archway, 
 guarded by a grille of nisty iron. A bell is rung; it 
 only echoes through the gloomy court. The bell was rung 
 again, but no one came. At last steps were heard, and a
 
 NERA. 289 
 
 dried-up old man, with a face like parchment, and little 
 ferret eyes, appeared, hastily dragging his arms into a coat 
 much too large for him. 
 
 He shuffled to the front and bowed. Taking a key 
 from his pocket he unlocked the iron gates, then planted 
 himself on the threshold, and turned his ear toward the 
 well-appointed brougham, and Count Nobili seated within. 
 
 " Do the ladies receive ? " Nobili called out. The old 
 man nodded, bringing his best ear and ferret eyes to bear 
 upon him. 
 
 " Yes, the ladies do receive. Will the excellency de 
 scend ? " 
 
 Count Nobili jumped out and hurried through the arch 
 way into a court surrounded by a colonnade. 
 
 It is very dark. The palace rises upward four lofty 
 stories. Above is a square patch of sky, on which a star 
 trembles. The court is full of damp, unwholesome odors. 
 The foot slips upon the slimy pavement. Nobili stopped. 
 The old man came limping after, buttoning his coat to 
 gether. 
 
 " Ah ! poor me ! The excellency is young ! " He 
 spoke in the odd, muffled voice, peculiar to the deaf. 
 "The excellency goes so fast he will fall if he does not 
 mind. Our court-yard is very damp ; the stairs are old." 
 
 " Which is the way up-stairs ? " Nobili asked, impa 
 tiently. " It is so dark I have forgotten the turn." 
 
 " Here, excellency here to the right. By the Madon 
 na there, in the niche, with the light before it. A thousand 
 excuses ! The excellency will excuse me, but I have not 
 yet lit the lamp on the stairs. I was resting. There are 
 so many visitors to the Signora Marchesa. The excellency 
 will not tell the Signora Marchesa that it was dark upon 
 the stairs ? Per pieta ! " 
 
 The shriveled old man placed himself full in Nobili's 
 path, and held out his hands like claws entreatingly. 
 13
 
 290 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " A thousand devils ! no," was Nobili's irate reply, 
 pushing him back. " Let me go up ; I shall say nothing. 
 Cospetto ! What is it to me ? " 
 
 " Thanks ! thanks ! The excellency is full of mercy to 
 an old, overworked servant. There was a time when the 
 Boccarini " 
 
 Nobili did not wait to hear more, but strode through 
 the darkness at hazard, to find the stairs. 
 
 " Stop ! stop ! the excellency will break his limbs against 
 the wall ! " the old man shouted. 
 
 He fumbled in his pocket, and drew out some matches. 
 He struck one against the wall, held it above his head, and 
 pointed with his bony finger to a broad stone stair under 
 an inner arch. 
 
 Nobili ascended rapidly ; he was in no mood for delay. 
 The old man, standing at the foot, struck match after match 
 to light him. 
 
 "Above, excellency, you will find our usual lamps. 
 You must go on to the second story." 
 
 On the landing at the first floor there was still a little 
 daylight from a window as big as if set in the tribune of 
 a cathedral. Here a lamp was placed on an old painted 
 table. Some moth-eaten tapestry hung from a mildewed 
 wall. Here and there a rusty nail had given way, and the 
 stuff fell in downward folds. Nobili paused. His head 
 was hot and dizzy. He had dined well, and he had drunk 
 freely. His eyes traveled upward to the old tapestry (it 
 was the daughter of Herodias dancing before Herod the 
 cancan of the day). Something in the face and figure of 
 the girl recalled Nera to him, or he fancied it his mind 
 being full of her. Nobili envied Herod in a dreamy way, 
 who, with round, leaden eyes, a crown upon his head 
 watched the dancing girl as she flung about her lissome 
 limbs. Nobili envied Herod and the thought came across 
 him, how pleasant it would be to sit royally enthroned,
 
 NEKA. 291 
 
 and see Nera gambol so ! From tbat quicker than I can 
 write it his thoughts traveled backward to that night when 
 he had danced with Nera at the Orsetti ball. Again the 
 refrain of that waltz buzzed in his ear. Again the meas 
 ure rose and fell in floads of luscious sweetness again 
 Nera lay within his arms her breath was on his cheek 
 the perfume of the flowers in her flossy hair was wafted in 
 the air the blood stirred in his veins. 
 
 The old man said truly. All the way up the second 
 stair was lit by little lamps, fed by mouldy oil ; and all the 
 way up that waltz rang in Nobili's ear. It mounted to his 
 brain like fumes of new wine tapped from the skin. A 
 green door of faded baize faced him on the upper landing, 
 and another bell a red tassel fastened to a bit of whip 
 cord. He rang it hastily. This time a servant came 
 promptly. He carried in his hand a lamp of brass. 
 
 " Did the ladies receive ? " 
 
 " They did," was the answer ; and the servant held the 
 lamp aloft to light Nobili into the anteroom. 
 
 This anteroom was as naked as a barrack. The walls 
 were painted in a Raphaelesque pattern, the coronet and 
 arms of the Boccarini in the centre. 
 
 Count Nobili and the servant passed through many 
 lofty rooms of faded splendor. Chandeliers hung from 
 vaulted ceilings, and reflected the light of the brass lamp 
 on a thousand crystal facets. The tall mirrors in the an 
 tique frames repeated it. In a cavern-like saloon, hung 
 with rows of dark pictures upon amber satin, Nobili and 
 the servant stopped before a door. The servant knocked. 
 A voice said, " Enter." It was the voice of Marchesa Boc 
 carini. She was sitting with her three daughters. A lamp, 
 with a colored shade, stood in the centre of a small room, 
 bearing some aspect of life and comfort. The marchesa 
 and two of her daughters were working at some mysteri 
 ous garments, which rapidly vanished out of sight. Nera
 
 292 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 was leaning back on a sofa, superbly idle staring idly at 
 an opposite window, where the daylight still lingered. 
 When Count Nobili was announced, they all rose and spoke 
 together with the loud peacock voices, and the rapid utter 
 ance, which in Italy are supposed to mark a special wel 
 come. Strange that in the land of song the talking voices 
 of women should be so harsh and strident ! Yet so it is. 
 
 " How long is it since we have seen you, Count No 
 bili?" It was the sad-faced marchesa who spoke, and 
 tried to smile a welcome to him. "I have to thank you 
 for many inquiries, and all sorts of luxuries sent to my dear 
 child. But we expected you. You never came." 
 
 The two sisters echoed, " You never came." 
 
 Nera did not speak then, but when they had finished, 
 she rose from the sofa and stood before Nobili drawn up 
 to her full height, radiant in sovereign beauty. " I have 
 to thank you most." As Nera spoke, her cheeks flushed, 
 and she dropped her hand into his. It was a simple act, 
 but full of purpose as Nera did it. Nera intended it should 
 be so. She reseated herself. As his eye met hers, Nobili 
 grew crimson. The twilight and the shaded lamp hid this 
 in part, but Nera observed it, and noted it for future use. 
 
 Count Nobili placed himself beside the marchesa. 
 
 " I am overwhelmed with shame," he said. " What 
 you say is too true. I had intended coming. Indeed, I 
 waited until your daughter " and he glanced 1 at Nera 
 " could receive me, and satisfy me herself she was not hurt. 
 I longed to make my penitent excuses for the accident." 
 
 " Oh ! it was nothing," said Nera, with a smile, answer 
 ing for her mother. 
 
 " What I suffered, no words can tell," continued Nobili. 
 " Even now I shudder to think of it to be the cause " 
 
 " No, not the cause," answered Marchesa Boccarini. 
 
 The elder sisters echoed 
 
 " Not the cause."
 
 NERA. 293 
 
 " It was the ribbon," continued the marchesa. " Nera 
 was entangled with the ribbon when she rose ; she did not 
 know it." 
 
 " I ought to have held her up," returned Nobili with a 
 glance at Nera, who, with a kind of queenly calm, looked 
 him full in the face with her bold, black eyes. 
 
 " I assure you, marchesa, it was the horror of what I 
 had done that kept me from calling on you." 
 
 This was not true, and Nera knew it was not true. 
 Nobili had not come, because he dreaded his weakness and 
 her power. Nobili had not come, because he doted on Enrica 
 to that excess, a thought alien to her seemed then to him 
 a crime. What folly ! Now he knew Enrica better ! All 
 that was changed. 
 
 " We have felt very grateful," went on to say the rnar- 
 chesa, " I assure you, Count Nobili, very grateful." 
 
 The poor lady was much exercised in spirit as to how 
 she could frame an available excuse for leaving the count 
 alone with Nera. Had she only known beforehand, she 
 would have arranged a little plan to do so, naturally. But 
 it must be done, she knew. It must be done at any price, 
 or Nera would never forgive her. 
 
 " You have been so agreeably occupied, too," Nera said, 
 in a firm, full voice. " No wonder, Count Nobili, you had 
 no time to visit us." 
 
 There was a mute reproach in these few words that 
 made Nobili wince. 
 
 " I have been absent," he replied, much confused. 
 
 " Yes, absent in mind and body," and Nera laughed a 
 cruel little laugh. " You have been at Corellia, I believe ?" 
 she added, significantly, fixing him with her lustrous 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes, I have been at Corellia, shooting." Nobili shrank 
 from shame at the lack of courtesy on his- part which had 
 made these social lies needful. How brilliant Nera was !
 
 294 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 A type of perfect womanhood. Fresh, and strong, and 
 healthy a mother for heroes. 
 
 " We have heard of you," went on Nera, throwing her 
 grand head backward, a quiet deliberation in each word, as 
 if she were dropping them out, word by word, like poison. 
 " A case of Perseus and Andromeda, only you rescued the 
 lady from the flames. You half killed me, Count Nobili, 
 and en revanche you have saved another lady. She must 
 be very grateful." 
 
 " O Nera ! " one of her sisters exclaimed, reproachfully. 
 These innocent sisters never could accommodate themselves 
 to Nera's caustic tongue. 
 
 Nera gave her sister a look. She rose at once ; then 
 the other sister rose also. They both slipped out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Now," thought the marchesa, " I must go, too." 
 
 " May I be permitted," she said, rising, " before I leave 
 the room to speak to my confessor, who is waiting for me, 
 on a matter of business " this was an excellent sham, and 
 sounded decorous and natural " may I be permitted, 
 Count Nobili, to congratulate you on your approaching 
 marriage ? I do not know Enrica Guinigi, but I hear that 
 she is lovely." 
 
 Nobili bowed with evident constraint. 
 
 " And I," said Nera, softly, directing a broadside upon 
 him from her brilliant eyes "allow me to congratulate 
 you also." 
 
 " Thank you," murmured Nobili, scarcely able to form 
 the words. 
 
 " Excuse me," the marchesa said. She courtesied to 
 Nobili and left the room. 
 
 Nobili and Nera were now alone. Nobili watched her 
 under his eyelids. Yes, she was splendid. A luxuriant 
 form, a skin mellow and ruddy as a ripe peach, and such 
 eyes!
 
 NERA. 295 
 
 Nera was silent. She guessed his thoughts. She knew 
 men so well. Men had been her special study. Nera was 
 only twenty-four, but she was clever, and would have ex 
 celled in any thing she pleased. To draw men to her, as 
 the magnet draws the needle, was the passion of her life ; 
 whether she cared for them or not, to draw them. Not to 
 succeed argued a want of skill. That maddened her. She 
 was keen and hot upon the scent, knocking over her man 
 as a sportsman does his bird, full in the breast. Her aim 
 was marriage. Count Nobili would have suited her exactly. 
 She had felt for him a warmth that rarely quickened her 
 pulses. Nobili had evaded her. But revenge is sweet. 
 Now his hour is come. 
 
 " Count Nobili " Nera's tempting looks spoke more 
 than words " come and sit down by me." She signed to 
 him to place himself upon the sofa. 
 
 Nobili rose as she bade him. He came upon his fate 
 without a word. Seated so near to Nera, he gazed into her 
 starry eyes, and felt it did him good. 
 
 " You look ill," Nera said, tuning her voice to a tone of 
 tender pity ; " you have grown older too since I last saw 
 you. Is it love, or grief, or jealousy, or what ? " 
 
 Nobili heaved a deep sigh. His hand, which rested 
 near hers, slipped forward, and touched her fingers. Nera 
 withdrew them to smooth the braids of her glossy hair. 
 While she did so she scanned Nobili closely. " You 
 are not a triumphant lover, certainly. What is the mat 
 ter ? " 
 
 " You are very good to care," answered Nobili, sighing 
 again, gazing into her face ; " once I thought that my fate 
 did touch you." 
 
 " Yes, once," Nera rejoined. " Once long ago." She 
 gave an airy laugh that grated on Nobili's ears. " But we 
 meet so seldom." 
 
 "True, true," he answered hurriedly, "too seldom."
 
 296 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 His manner was most constrained. It was plain his mind 
 was running upon some unspoken thought. 
 
 " Yes," Nera said. " Spite of your absence, however 
 you make yourself remembered. You give us so much to 
 talk of ! Such a succession of surprises ! " 
 
 One by one Nera's phrases dropped out, suggesting so 
 much behind. 
 
 Nobili, greatly excited, felt he must speak or flee. 
 
 " I must confess," she added, giving a stealthy glance 
 out of the corners of her eyes, " you have surprised me. 
 When do you bring your wife home, Count Nobili ? " As 
 Nera asked this question she bent over Nobili, so that her 
 breath just swept his heated cheek. 
 
 " Never, perhaps ! " cried Nobili, wildly. He could 
 contain himself no longer. His heart beat almost to burst 
 ing. A desperate seduction was stealing over him. " Nev 
 er, perhaps 1 " he repeated. 
 
 Nera gave a little start; then she drew back and 
 leaned against the sofa, gazing at him. 
 
 " I am come to you, Nera " Nobili spoke in a hoarse 
 voice his features worked with agitation " I am come to 
 tell you all ; to ask you what I shall do. I am distracted, 
 heart-broken, degraded I Nera, dear Nera, will you help 
 me ? In mercy say you will ! " 
 
 He had grasped her hand he was covering it with hot 
 kisses. He was so heated with wine and beauty, and a 
 sense of wrong, he had lost all self-command. 
 
 Nera did not withdraw her hand. Her eyelids dropped, 
 and she replied, softly : 
 
 "Help you? Oh! so willingly. Could you see my 
 heart you would understand me." 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 " You can make all right," urged Nobili, maddened by 
 her seductions. 
 
 Again that waltz was buzzing in his ears. Nobili was
 
 NERA. 297 
 
 about to clasp her in his arms, and ask her he knew not 
 what, when Nera rose, and seated herself upon a chair 
 opposite to him. 
 
 " You leave me," cried Nobili, piteously, seizing her 
 dress. " That is not helping me." 
 
 " I must know what you want," she answered, settling 
 the folds of her dress about her. " Of course, in making 
 this marriage, you have weighed all the consequences ? I 
 take that for granted." 
 
 As Nera spoke she leaned her head upon her hand; the 
 rich beauty of her face was brought under the lamp's full 
 light. 
 
 "I thought I had," was Nobili's reply, recalled by her 
 movement to himself, and speaking with more composure 
 " I thought I had but within the last three hours every 
 thing is changed. I have been insulted at the club." 
 
 " Ah ! you must expect that sort of thing if you marry 
 Enrica Guinigi. That is inevitable." 
 
 Nobili knit his brows. This was hard from her. 
 
 " What reason do you give for this ? " he asked, trying 
 to master his feelings. " I came to ask you this." 
 
 " Reason, my dear count ? " and a smile parted Nera's 
 lips. " A very obvious reason. Why force me to name 
 it? No one can respect you if you make such a marriage. 
 You will be always liked you are so charming." She 
 paused to fling an amorous glance upon him. " Why did 
 you select the Guinigi girl ? " The question was sharply 
 put. " The marchesa would never receive you. Why 
 choose her niece ? " 
 
 " Because I liked her." Nobili was driven to bay. " A 
 man chooses the woman he likes." 
 
 " How strange ! " exclaimed Nera, throwing up her 
 hands. " How strange ! A pale-faced school-girl ! But 
 ha ! ha ! " (that discordant laugh almost betrayed her) 
 " she is not so, it seems."
 
 298 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Nobili changed color. With every word Nera uttered, 
 he grew hot or cold, soothed or wild, by turns. Nera 
 watched it all. She read Nobili like a book. 
 
 " How cunning Enrica Guinigi must be ! very cun 
 ning ! " Nera repeated as if the idea had just struck her. 
 " The marchesa's tool ! They are so poor ! Her niece ! 
 Ch6 vuole ! The family blood ! Anyhow, Enrica has 
 caught you, Nobili." 
 
 Nera leaned back, drew out a fan from behind a cush 
 ion, and swayed it to and fro. 
 
 " Not yet," gasped Nobili" not yet." 
 
 And Nobili had listened to Nera's cruel words, and had 
 not risen up and torn out the lying tongue that uttered 
 them ! He had sat and heard Enrica torn to pieces as a 
 panting dove is severed by a hawk limb by limb ! Even 
 now Nobili's better nature, spite of the glamour of this 
 woman, told him he was a coward to listen to such words, 
 but his good angel had veiled her wings and fled. 
 
 " I am glad you say ' not yet.' I hope you will take 
 time to consider. If I can help you, you may command 
 me, Count Nobili." And Nera paused and sighed. 
 
 " Help me, Nera ! You can save me ! " He started to 
 his feet. " I am so wretched so wounded so desper 
 ate ! " 
 
 " Sit down," she answered, pointing to the sofa. 
 
 Mechanically he obeyed. 
 
 " You are nothing of all this if you do not marry En 
 rica Guinigi ; if you do, you are all you say." 
 
 "What am I to do?" exclaimed Nobili. "I have 
 signed the contract." 
 
 " Break it " Nera spoke the words boldly out " break 
 it, or you will be dishonored. Do you think you can live 
 in Lucca with a wife that you have bought ? " 
 
 Nobili bounded from his chair. 
 
 " O God ! " he said, and clinched his hands.
 
 NERA. 299 
 
 " You must be calm," she said, hastily, " or my mother 
 will hear you." (All she can do, she thinks, is not worse 
 than Nobili deserves, after that ball.) " Bought ! Yes. 
 Will any one believe the marchesa would have given her 
 niece to you otherwise ? " 
 
 Nobili was pale and silent now. Nera's words had 
 called up long trains of thought, opening out into horrible 
 vistas. There was a dreadful logic about all she said that 
 brought instant conviction with it. All the blood within 
 him seemed whirling in his brain. 
 
 "But Nera, how can I in honor break this mar 
 riage ? " he urged. 
 
 " Break it ! well, by going away. No one can force you 
 to marry a girl who allowed herself to be hawked about 
 here and there offered to Marescotti, and refused to 
 others probably." 
 
 " She may not have known it," said Nobili, roused by 
 her bitter words. 
 
 " Oh, folly ! Why come to me, Count Nobili ? You 
 are still in love with her." 
 
 At these words Nobili rose and approached Nera. 
 Something in her expression checked him ; he drew back. 
 With all her allurements, there was a gulf between them 
 Nobili dared not pass. 
 
 " O Nera ! do not drive me mad ! Help me, or ban 
 ish me." 
 
 " I am helping you," she replied, with what seemed 
 passionate earnestness. "Have you seen.the sonnet?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " If you mean to marry her, do not. Take advice. My 
 mother has seen it," Nera added, with well-simulated hor 
 ror. " She would not let me read it." 
 
 Now this was the sheerest malice. Madame Boccarini 
 had never seen the sonnet. But if she had, there was not
 
 300 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 one word in the sonnet that might not have been addressed 
 to the Blessed Virgin herself. 
 
 " No, I will not see the sonnet," said Nobili, firmly. 
 " Not that I will marry her, but because I do not choose 
 to see the woman I loved befouled. If it is what you say 
 and I believe you implicitly let it lie like other dirt, I 
 will not stir it." 
 
 " A generous fellow ! " thought Nera. " How I could 
 have loved him ! But not now, not now." 
 
 " You have been the object of a base fraud," continued 
 Nera. Nera would follow to the end artistically ; not 
 leave her work half done. 
 
 " She has deceived me. I know she has deceived me," 
 cried Nobili, with a pang he could not hide. " She has de 
 ceived me, and I loved her ! " 
 
 His voice sounded like the cry of a hunted animal. 
 
 Nera did not like this. Her work was not complete. 
 Nobili's obstinate clinging to Enrica chafed her. 
 
 " Did Enrica ever speak to you of her engagement to 
 Count Marescotti ? " she asked. She grew impatient, and 
 must probe the wound. 
 
 " Never," he answered, shrinking back. 
 
 " Heavens ! What falseness ! Why, she has passed 
 days and days alone with him." 
 
 " No, not alone," interrupted Nobili, stung with a sense 
 of his own shame. 
 
 " Oh, you excuse her ! " Nera laughed bitterly. " Poor 
 count, believe m.e. I tell you what others conceal." 
 
 Nobili shuddered. His face grew black as night. 
 
 " Do not see that sonnet if you persist in marriage. If 
 not, your course is clear fly. If Enrica Guinigi has the 
 smallest sense of decency, she cannot urge the marriage." 
 
 And Nobili heard this in silence ! Oh, shame, and weak 
 ness and passion of hot blood; and women's eyes, and 
 cruel, bitter tongues ; and jealousy, maddening jealousy,
 
 NERA. 301 
 
 hideous, formless, vague, reaching he knew not whither 1 
 Oh, shame ! 
 
 " Write to her, and say you have discovered that she 
 was in league with her aunt, and had other lovers. Every 
 one knows it." 
 
 " But, Nera, if I do, will you comfort me ? I shall need 
 it." Nobili opened both his arms. His eyes clung wildly 
 to hers. She was his only hope. 
 
 Nera did not move ; only she turned her head away to 
 hide her face from him. She dared not let Nobili move 
 her. Poor Nobili ! She could have loved him dearly ! 
 
 Seeing her thus, Nobili's arms dropped to his side hope 
 lessly ; a wan look came over his face. 
 
 " Forgive me ! Oh, forgive me, Nera ! I ofler you a 
 broken heart ; have pity on me ! Say, can you love me, 
 Nera ? Only a little. Speak ! tell me ! " 
 
 Nobili was on his knees before her ; every feature of 
 his bright young face formed into an agony of entreaty. 
 
 There was a flash of triumph in Nera's black eyes as 
 she bent them on Nobili, that chilled him to the soul. 
 Kneeling before her, he feels it. He doubts her love, 
 doubts all. She has wrought upon him until he is des 
 perate. 
 
 "Rise, dear Nobili," Nera whispered softly, touching 
 his lips with hers, but so slightly. "To-morrow come 
 again to-morrow. I can say nothing now." Her manner 
 was constrained. She spoke in little sentences. " It is 
 late. Supper is ready. My mother waiting. To-morrow." 
 She pressed the hand he had laid imploringly upon her 
 knee. She touched the curls upon his brow with her light 
 finger-tips ; but those fixed, despairing eyes beneath she 
 dared not meet. 
 
 " Not one word ? " urged Nobili, in a faltering voice. 
 " Send me away without one word of hope ? I shall 
 struggle with horrible thoughts all night. O Nera, speak
 
 302 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 one word but one ! " He clasped her hands, and looked 
 up into her face. He dared do no more. "Love me a 
 little, Nera," he pleaded, and he laid her warm, full hand 
 upon his throbbing heart. 
 
 Nera trembled. She rose hastily from her chair, and 
 raised Nobili up also. 
 
 "I I " (she hesitated, and avoided his passionate 
 glance) " I have given you good advice. To-morrow I will 
 tell you more about myself." 
 
 " To-morrow, Nera ! Why not to-night ? " 
 
 Spite of himself Nobili was shocked at her reserve. 
 She was so self-possessed. He had flung his all upon the 
 die. 
 
 " You have advised me," he answered, stung by her 
 coldness. " You have convinced me. I shall obey you. 
 Now I must go, unless you bid me stay." 
 
 Again his eyes pleaded with hers ; again found no re 
 sponse. Nera held out her hand to him. 
 
 " To-morrow," the full, ripe lips uttered " to-morrow." 
 
 Seeing that he hesitated, Nera pointed with a gesture 
 toward the door, and Nobili departed. 
 
 When the door had closed, and the sound of his retreat 
 ing footsteps along the empty rooms had ceased, Nera 
 raised her hand, then let it fall heavily upon the table. 
 
 " I have done it ! " she exclaimed, triumphantly. " Now 
 I can bear to think of that Orsetti ball. Poor Nobili ! if 
 he had spoken then ! But he did not. It is his own 
 fault." 
 
 After standing a minute or two thinking, Nora uncov 
 ered the lamp. Then she took it up in both her hands, 
 stepped to a mirror that hung near, and, turning the light 
 hither and thither, looked at her blooming face, in full and 
 in profile. Then she replaced the lamp upon the table, 
 yawned, and left the room. 
 
 Next morning a note was put into Count Nobili's hand
 
 NERA. 303 
 
 at breakfast. It bore the Boccarini arms and the initials 
 of the marchesa. The contents were these : 
 
 " MOST ESTEEMED COUNT : As a friend of our family, 
 I have the honor of informing you that the marriage of my 
 dear daughter Nera with Prince Buspoli is arranged, and 
 will take place in a week. I hope you will be present. I 
 have the honor to assure you of my most sincere and dis 
 tinguished sentiments. 
 
 "MAKCIIESA AGNESA BOCCAEINI." 
 
 In the night train from Lucca that evening, Count Nobili 
 was seated. '* He was about to travel," he had informed 
 his household. " Later he would send them his address." 
 Before he left, he wrote a letter to Enrica, and sent it to 
 Corellia.
 
 P A E T IT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WAITING AND LONGING. 
 
 IT was the morning of the fourth day since Count No- 
 bili had left Corellia. All had been very quiet about the 
 house. The marchesa herself took little heed of any thing. 
 She sat much in her own room. She was silent and pre 
 occupied ; but she was not displeased. The one dominant 
 passion of her soul the triumph of the Guinigi name 
 was now attained. Now she could bear to think of the 
 grand old palace at Lucca, the seigneurial throne, the nup 
 tial-chamber ; now she could gaze in peace on the counte 
 nance of the great Castruccio. No spoiler would dare to 
 tread these sacred floors. No irreverent hand would pre 
 sume to handle her ancestral treasures ; no vulgar eye 
 would rest on the effigies of her race gathered on these 
 walls. All would now be safe safe under the protection of 
 wealth, enormous wealth wealth to guard, to preserve, to 
 possess. 
 
 Enrica had been the agent by which all this had been 
 effected, therefore she regarded Enrica at this time with 
 more consideration than she had ever done before. As to 
 any real sentiments of affection, the marchesa was inca 
 pable of them a cold, hard woman from her youth, now 
 vindictive, as well as cold.
 
 WAITING AND LONGING. 305 
 
 The day after the signing of the contract she called En- 
 rica to her. Enrica trod lightly across the stuccoed floor to 
 where her aunt was standing ; then she stopped and waited 
 for her to address her. The marchesa took Enrica's hand 
 within her own for some minutes, and silently stroked each 
 rosy finger. 
 
 " My child Enrica, are you content ? " This question 
 was accompanied by an inquiring look, as if she would read 
 Enrica through and through. A sweet smile of ineffable 
 happiness stole over Enrica's soft face. The marchesa, 
 still holding her hand, uttered something which might al 
 most be called a sigh. " I hope this will last, else " She 
 broke off abruptly. 
 
 Enrica, resenting the implied doubt, disengaged her 
 hand, and drew back from her. The marchesa, not appear 
 ing to observe this, continued : 
 
 " I had other views for you, Enrica ; but, before you 
 knew any thing, you chose a husband for yourself. What 
 do you know about a husband ? It is a bad choice." 
 
 Again Enrica drew back still farther from her aunt, and 
 lifted up her head as if in remonstrance. But the marchesa 
 was not to be stopped. 
 
 " I hate Count Nobili ! " she burst out. " I have had 
 my eye upon him ever since he came to Lucca. I know 
 him you do not. It is possible he may change, but if 
 he does not " 
 
 For the second time the marchesa did not finish the 
 sentence. 
 
 " And do you think he loves you ? " 
 
 As she asked this question she seated herself, and con 
 templated Enrica with a cynical smile. 
 
 " Yes, he loves me. It is you who do not know him ! " 
 exclaimed Enrica. " He is so good, so generous, so true ; 
 there is no one in the world like him." 
 
 How pure Enrica looked, pleading for her lover ! her
 
 306 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 face thrown out in sharp profile against the dark wall ; her 
 short upper lip raised by her eager speech ; the dazzling fair 
 ness of her complexion ; and her soft hair hanging loose 
 about her head and neck. 
 
 " I think I do I think I know him better than you do," 
 the marchesa answered, somewhat absently. 
 
 She was struck by Enrica's exceeding beauty, which 
 seemed within the last few days to have suddenly developed 
 and matured. 
 
 " The young man appreciates you, too, I do not doubt. 
 I am told he is a lover of beauty." 
 
 This was added with a sneer. Enrica grew crimson. 
 
 " Well, well," the marchesa went on to say, " it is too 
 late now the thing is done. But remember I have warned 
 you. You chose Count Nobili, not I. Enrica, I have done 
 my duty to you and to my own name. Now go and tell 
 the cavaliere I want him." 
 
 The marchesa was always wanting the cavaliere ; she 
 was closeted with him for hours at a time. These confer 
 ences all ended in one conclusion that she was irretriev 
 ably ruined. No one knew this better than the marchesa 
 herself; but her haughty reluctance either to accept Count 
 Nobili's money, or to give up Enrica, was the cause of un 
 known distress to Trenta. 
 
 Meanwhile the prospect of the wedding had stirred up 
 every one in the house to a sort of aimless activity. Adamo 
 strode about, his sad, lazy eyes gazing nowhere in particu 
 lar. Adamo affected to work hard, but in reality he did 
 nothing but sweep the leaves away from the border of the 
 fountain, and remove the debris caused by the fire. Then 
 he would go down and feed the dogs, who, when at home, 
 lived in a sort of cave cut out of the cliff under the tower 
 Argo, the long-haired mastiff, and Tootsey, the rat-ter 
 rier, and Juno, the lurcher, and the useless bull-dog, who 
 grinned horribly Adamo fed them, then let them out to
 
 WAITING AND LONGING. 307 
 
 run at will over the flowers, while he went to his mid-day 
 meal. 
 
 Adamo had no soul for flowers, or he could not have 
 done this ; he could not have seen a bright, many-eyed bal 
 sam, or an amber-leaved zinnia with tufted yellow breast, die 
 miserably on their earthy beds, trampled under the dogs' 
 feet. Even the marchesa, who concerned herself so little 
 with such things, had often chidden him for his carelessness ; 
 but Adamo had a way of his own, and by that way he abided, 
 slowly returning to it, spite of argument or remonstrance. 
 
 " Dornine Dio orders the weather, not I," Adamo said 
 in a grunt to Pipa when his mistress had specially up 
 braided him for not watering the lemon-trees ranged along 
 the terraces. " Am I expected to give holy oil to the 
 plants as Fra Pacifico does to the sick ? Che ! ch6 ! what 
 will be will be ! " 
 
 So Adamo went to his dinner in all peace ; and Argo 
 and his friends knocked down the flowers, and scratched 
 deep holes in the gravel, barking wildly all the time. 
 
 The marchesa, sitting in grave confabulation with Cava- 
 liere Trenta, rubbed her white hands as she listened. 
 
 There was neither portcullis, nor moat, nor drawbridge 
 to her feudal stronghold at Corellia, but there was big, 
 white Argo. Argo alone would pin any one to the earth. 
 
 " Let out the dogs, Adamo," the marchesa would say. 
 " I like to hear them. They are my soldiers they defend 
 me." 
 
 " Yes, padrona," Adamo would reply, stolidly. " Surely 
 the Signora Marchesa wants no other. Argo has the sense 
 of a man when I discourse to him." 
 
 So Argo barked and yelped, and tore up and down un 
 disturbed, followed by the pack in full chase after imagi 
 nary enemies. Woe betide the calves of any stranger ar 
 riving at that period of the day at the villa ! They might 
 feel Argo's glistening teeth meeting in them, or be hurled
 
 308 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 on the ground, for Argo had a nasty trick of clutching 
 stealthily from behind. Woe betide all but Fra Pacifico, 
 who had so often licked him in drawn battles, when the dog 
 had leaped upon him, that now Argo fled at sight of his 
 priestly garments with a howl I 
 
 Adamo, who, after his mid-day meal, required tobacco 
 and repose, would not move to save any one's soul, much 
 less his body. 
 
 "Argo is a lunatic without me," he would observe, 
 blandly, to Pipa, if roused by a special outburst of barking, 
 the smoke of his pipe curling round his bullet-head the 
 while. " Lunatics, either among men or beasts, are not 
 worth attending to. A sweating horse, a crying woman, 
 and a yelping cur, heed not." 
 
 Adamo added many more grave remarks between the 
 puffs of his pipe, turning to Pipa, who sat beside him, dis 
 taff in hand, the silver pins, stuck into her glossy plaits, 
 glistening in the sun. 
 
 When Adamo ceased he nodded his head like an oracle 
 that had spoken, and dozed, leaning against the wall, until 
 the sun had sunk to rest into a bed of orange and saffron, 
 and the air was cooled by evening dews. Not till then did 
 Adamo rise up to work. 
 
 Pipa, who, next to Adamo and the marchesa, loved En- 
 rica with all the strength of her warm heart, sings all day 
 those unwritten songs of Tuscany that rise and fall with 
 such spontaneous cadence among the vineyards, and in the 
 olive-grounds, that they seem bred in the air Pipa sings 
 all day for gladness that the signorina is going to marry a 
 rich and handsome gentleman. Marriage, to Pipa's simple 
 mind especially marriage with money must bring certain 
 blessings, and crowds of children ; she would as soon doubt 
 the seven wounds of the Madonna as doubt this. Pipa has 
 seen Count Nobili. She approves of him. His curly au 
 burn hair, so short and crisp ; his bold look and gracious
 
 WAITING AND LONGING. 309 
 
 smile not to speak of certain notes he slipped into her 
 hand have quite conquered her. Besides, had Count No- 
 bili not come down, the noble gentleman, like San Michele, 
 with golden wings behind him, and a terrible lance in his 
 hand, as set forth in a dingy fresco in the church at Corel- 
 lia come down and rescued the dear signorina when oh, 
 horrible ! she had been forgotten in the burning tower ? 
 Pipa's joy develops itself in a vain endeavor to clean the 
 entire villa. With characteristic discernment, she has be 
 gun her labors in the upper story, which, being unfurnished 
 no one ever enters. Pipa has set open all the windows, 
 and thrown back all the blinds ; Pipa sweeps and sprinkles, 
 and sweeps again, combating with dust, and fleas and in 
 sects innumerable, grown bold by a quiet tenancy of nearly 
 fifty years. While she sweeps, Pipa sings : 
 
 " I'll build a house round, round,,quite round, 
 
 For us to live at ease, all three ; 
 Father and mother there shall dwell, 
 And my true love with me." 
 
 Poor Pipa 1 It is so pleasant to hear her clear voice 
 caroling overhead like a bird from the open window, and 
 to see her bright face looking out now and then, her gold 
 ear-rings bobbing to and fro her black rippling hair, and 
 her merry eyes blinded with dust and flue to swallow a 
 breath of air. Adamo does not work, but Pipa does. If 
 she goes on like this, Pipa may hope to clean the entire 
 floor in a month ; of the great sala below, and the other 
 rooms where people live, Pipa does not think. It is not 
 her way to think ; she lives by happy, rosy instinct. 
 
 Pipa chatters much to Enrica about Count Nobili and 
 her marriage when she is not sweeping or spinning. En 
 rica continually catches sight of her staring at her with 
 open mouth and curious eyes, her head a little on one side 
 the better to observe her.
 
 310 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Sweet innocent ! she knows nothing that is coming 
 on her," Pipa is thinking ; and then Pipa winks, and laughs 
 outright laughs to the empty walls, which echo the laugh 
 back with a hollow sound. 
 
 But if any thing lurks there that mocks Pipa's mirth, it 
 is not visible to Pipa's outward eye, so she continues ad 
 dressing herself to Enrica, who is utterly bewildered by 
 her strange ways. 
 
 Pipa cannot bear to think that Enrica never dressed for 
 her betrothed. " Poverina ! " she says to her, " not dress 
 not dress ! What degradation ! Why, when the Gobbina 
 a little starved hump-backed bastard married the blind 
 beggar Gianni at Corellia, for the sake of the pence he got 
 sitting all day shaking his box by the cafe even the Gob 
 bina had a white dress and a wreath and you, beloved 
 lady, not so much as to care to change your clothes ! What 
 must the Signore Conte have thought ? Misera mia ! We 
 must all seem pagans to him ! " And Pipa's heart smote 
 her sorely, remembering the notes. " Caro Gesu ! When 
 you are to be married we must find you something to wear. 
 To be sure, the marchesa's luggage was chiefly burnt in 
 the fire, but one box is left. Out of that box something 
 will come," Pipa feels sure (miracles are nothing to Pipa, 
 who believes in pilgrimages and the evil-eye) ; she feels 
 sure that it will be so. After much talk with Enrica, who 
 only answers her with a smile, and says absently, looking 
 at the mountains which she does not see 
 
 " Dear Pipa, we will look in the box, as you say." 
 
 " But when, signorina ? " insists Pipa, and she kisses 
 Enrica's hand, and strokes her dress. " But when ? " 
 
 "To-morrow," says Enrica, absently. "To-morrow, 
 dear Pipa, not to-day." 
 
 " Holy mother ! " is Pipa's reply, " it has been ' to-mor 
 row ' for four days." " Always to-morrow," mutters Pipa to 
 herself, as she makes the dust fly with her broom ; " and
 
 WAITING AND LONGING. 311 
 
 the Siguore Conte is to return in a week ! Always to-mor 
 row. What can I do ? Such a disgrace was never known. 
 No bridal dress. No veil. The signorina is too young to 
 understand such things, and the marchesa is not like other 
 ladies, or one might venture to speak to her about it. She 
 would only give me ' accidenti ' if I did, and that is so un 
 lucky ! To-morrow I must make the signorina search that 
 box. There will be a white dress and a veil. I dreamed 
 so. Good dreams come from heaven. I have had a candle 
 lighted for luck before the Santissima in the market-place, 
 and fresh flowers put into the pots. There will be sure to 
 be a white dress and a veil the saints will send them to 
 the signorina." 
 
 Pipa sweeps and sings. Her children, Angelo and Gigi, 
 are roasting chestnuts under the window outside. 
 
 This time she sings a nursery rhyme : 
 
 " Little Trot, that trots so gayly, 
 And without legs can walk so bravely ! 
 Trottolin ! Trottolino ! 
 Via! via!" 
 
 Pipa, in her motherly heart looking out, blesses little Gigi 
 a chubby child blackened by the sun to see him sitting 
 so meek and good beside his brother. Angelo is a naughty 
 boy. Pipa does not love him so well as Gigi. Perhaps 
 this is the reason Angelo is so ill-furnished in point of 
 clothes. His patched and ragged trousers are hitched on 
 with a piece of string. Shirt he has none ; only a little 
 dingy waistcoat buttoned over his chest, on which lies a 
 silver medal of the Madonna. Angelo's arms are bare, his 
 face mahogany-color, his head a hopeless tangle of color 
 less hair. But Angelo has a pair of eyes that dance, and a 
 broad, red-lipped mouth, out of which two rows of white 
 teeth shine like pearls. Angelo has just burnt his fingers 
 picking a chestnut out of the ashes. He turns very red,
 
 312 T1IE ITALIANS. 
 
 but he is too proud to cry. Angelo's hands and feet are so 
 hard he does not feel the pointed rocks that break the turf 
 in the forest, nor does he fear the young snakes, as plenty 
 as lizards, in the warm nooks. All yesterday Angelo had 
 run up and down to look for chestnuts, on his naked feet. 
 He dared not mount into the trees, for that would be steal 
 ing ; but he leaped, and skipped, and slid when a russet- 
 coated chestnut caught his eye. Gigi was with him, trusted 
 to his care by Pipa, with many objurations and terrible 
 threats of future punishment should he ill-use him. 
 
 Ah ! if Pipa knew ! if Pipa had only seen little Gigi 
 lonely in the woods, and heard his roars for help ! Angelo, 
 having found Gigi troublesome, had tied him by a twisted 
 cord of grass to the trunk of an ancient chestnut. Gigi was 
 trepanned into this thralldom by a heap of flowers artful An 
 gelo had brought him purple crocuses and cyclamens, and 
 Canterbury bells, and gaudy pea-stalks, all thrown before 
 the child. Gigi, in his little torn petticoat, had swallowed 
 the bait, and flung himself upon the bright blossoms, grasp 
 ing them in his dirty fingers. Presently the delighted babe 
 turned his eyes upon cunning Angelo standing behind him, 
 showing his white teeth. Satisfied that Angelo was there, 
 Gigi buried himself among the flowers. He crowed to them 
 in his baby way, and flung them here and there. Gigi 
 would run and catch them, too ; but suddenly he felt some 
 thing which stopped him. It was a grass cord which An 
 gelo had secretly woven standing behind Gigi then had 
 made it fast round Gigi's waist and knotted it to a tree. 
 A cloud came over Gigi's jolly little face a momentary 
 cloud when he found he could not run after the flowers. 
 But it soon passed away, and he squatted down upon the 
 grass (the inveigled child), and again clutched the tempt 
 ing blossoms. Then his little eyes peered round for Ange 
 lo to play with him. Alas ! Angelo was gone ! 
 
 Gigi sobbed a little to himself silently, but the treacher-
 
 WAITING AND LONGING. 313 
 
 ous flowers had still power to console him ; at least, he 
 could tear them to pieces. But by-and-by when the sun 
 mounted high over the tops of the forest-clad mountains, 
 and poured down its burning rays, swallowing up all the 
 shade and glittering like flame on every leaf, Gigi grew 
 hot and weary. He was very empty, too ; it was just the 
 time that Pipa fed him. His stomach craved for food. He 
 craved for Pipa, too, for home, for the soft pressure of Pipa's 
 ample bosom, where he lay so snug. 
 
 Gigi looked round. He did not sob now, but set up a 
 hideous roar, the big tears coursing down his fat cheeks, 
 marking their course by furrows in the dirt and grime. 
 The wood echoed to Gigi's roars. He roared for mammy, 
 for daddy (Angelo Gigi cannot say, it is too long a word). 
 He kicked away the flowers with his pretty dimpled feet, 
 the false flowers that had betrayed him. The babe cannot 
 reason, but instinct tells him that those painted leaves 
 have wronged him. They are faded now, and lie soiled 
 and crumpled, the ghosts of what they were. Again Gigi 
 tries to rise and run, but he is drawn roughly down by the 
 grass rope. He tries to tear it asunder, in vain ; Angelo 
 had taken care of that. At last, hoarse and weary, Gigi 
 subsided into terrible sobs, that heave his little breast. 
 Sobbing thus, with pouting lips and heavy eyes, he waits 
 his fate. 
 
 It comes with Angelo! Angelo, leaping downward 
 through the checkered glades, his pockets stuffed with 
 chestnuts. Like an angel with healing in his wings, Angelo 
 comes to Gigi. When he spies him out, Gigi rises, un 
 steady on his little feet rises up, forgetting all, and clasps 
 his hands. When Angelo comes near, and stands beside 
 him, Gigi flings his chubby arms about his neck, and nes 
 tles to him. 
 
 Angelo, Avhen he sees Gigi's disfigured face and sodden 
 eyes, feels his conscience prick him. With his pockets 
 14
 
 314 TEE ITALIANS. 
 
 full of chestnuts lie pities Gigi; lie kisses him, he takes 
 him up, and bears him in his arms quickly toward home. 
 The happy child closes his weary eyes, and falls asleep on 
 Angelo's shoulder. Pipa, when she sees Angelo return 
 so careful of his little brother praises him, and gives him 
 a new-baked cake. Gigi can tell no tales, and Angelo is 
 silent. 
 
 While Pipa sweeps- and sings, Angelo and Gigi are 
 roasting these very chestnuts on a heap of ashes under the 
 window outside. Enrica sat near them a little apart on 
 a low wall, that bordered the summit of the cliff. The 
 zone of mighty mountains rose sharp and clear before her. 
 It seemed to her as if she had only to stretch out her hand 
 to touch them. The morning lights rested on them with a 
 fresh glory ; the crisp air, laden with a scent of herbs, 
 came circling round, and stirred the curls upon her pretty 
 head. Enrica wore the same quaintly-cut dress, that swept 
 upon the ground, as when Nobili was there. She had no 
 other. All had been burnt in the fire. Sitting there, she 
 plucked the moss that grew upon the wall, and watched 
 it as it dropped into the abyss. This was shrouded in 
 deepest shadow. The rush of the distant river in the val 
 ley below was audible. Enrica raised her head and lis 
 tened. That river flowed round the walls of Lucca. Nobili 
 was there. Happy river! Oh, that it would bear her to 
 him on its frothy current ! Surely her life-path lay straight 
 before her now ! straight into paradise ! Not a stone is 
 on that path ; not a rise, not a fall. 
 
 " In a week I will return," Nobili had said. In a week. 
 And his eyes had rested upon her as he spoke the words in 
 a mist of love. Enrica's face was pale and almost stern, 
 and her blue eyes had strange lights and shadows in them. 
 How came it that, since he had left her, the world had 
 grown so old and gray ? that all the impulse of her nature, 
 the quick ebb and flow of youth and hope, was stilled and
 
 WAITING AND LONGING. 315 
 
 faded out, and all her thoughts absorbed into a dreadful 
 longing ? She could not tell, nor could she tell what ailed 
 her; but she felt that she was changed. She tried to 
 listen to the prattle of the two children to Pipa singing 
 above : 
 
 " Come out ! come out ! 
 
 Never despair ! 
 
 Father and mother and sweetheart, 
 All will be there ! " 
 
 Enrica could not listen. It was the dark abyss below that 
 drew her toward its silent bosom. She hung over the wall, 
 her eyes measuring its depths. What ailed her ? Was 
 she smitten mad by the wild tumult of joy that had swept 
 over her as she stood hand-in-hand with Nobili ? Or was 
 she on the eve of some crisis ? a crisis of life and death ? 
 Oh ! why had Nobili left her ? When would he return ? 
 She could not tell. All she knew was, that in the stream 
 ing sunlight of this wondrous morning, when earth and 
 heaven were as fair as on the first creation-day, without 
 him all was dark, sad, and dreary.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A STORM AT THE VILLA. 
 
 A FOOTSTEP was heard upon the gravel. The dogs 
 shut up in the cave scratched furiously, then barked loudly. 
 Following the footsteps a bareheaded peasant appeared, 
 his red shirt open, showing his sunburnt chest. He ran up 
 to the open door, a letter in his hand. Seeing Enrica 
 sitting on the low wall, he stopped and made her a rustic 
 bow. 
 
 " Who are you ? " Enrica asked, her heart beating 
 wildly. 
 
 " Illustrissima," and the man bowed again, "I am 
 Giacomo Giacomo protected by his reverence Fra Pacifico. 
 You have heard of Giacomo ? " 
 
 Enrica shook her head impatiently. 
 
 " Surely you are the Signorina Enrica ? " 
 
 "Yes, lam." 
 
 " Then this letter is for you." And Giacomo stepped 
 up and gave it into her outstretched hand. " I was to tell 
 the illustrissima that the letter had come express from 
 Lucca to Fra Pacifico. Fra Pacifico could not bring it 
 down himself, because the wife of the baker Pietro is ill, 
 and he is nursing her." 
 
 Enrica took the letter, then stared at Giacomo so fixed 
 ly, before he turned to go, it haunted him many days after, 
 for fear the signorina had given him the evil-eye.
 
 A STORM AT THE VILLA. 317 
 
 Enrica held the letter in her hand. She gazed at it 
 (standing on the spot where she had taken it, midway be 
 tween the door and the low wall, a glint of sunshine strik 
 ing upon her hair, turning it to threads of gold) in silent 
 ecstasy. It was Nobili's first letter to her. His name was 
 in the corner, his monogram on the seal. The letter came 
 to her in her loneliness like Nobili's visible presence. Ah ! 
 who does not recall the rapture of a first love-letter ! the 
 tangible assurance it brings that our lover is still our own 
 the hungry eye that runs over every line traced by that 
 dear hand the oft-repeated words his voice has spoken 
 stamped on the page the hidden sense the half-dropped 
 sentences all echoing within us as note to note in chords 
 of music ! 
 
 Enrica's eyes wandered over the address, " To the No 
 ble Signorina Enrica Guinigi, Corellia," as if each word 
 had been some wonder. She dwelt upon every crooked 
 line and twist, each tail and flourish, that Nobili's hand had 
 traced. She pressed the letter to her lips, then laid it upon 
 her lap and gazed at it, eking out every second of suspense 
 to its utmost limit. Suddenly a burning curiosity pos 
 sessed her to know when he would come. With a gasp 
 that almost stopped her breath she tore the cover open. 
 The paper shook so violently in her unsteady hand that 
 the lines seemed to run up and down and dance. She 
 could distinguish nothing. She pressed her hand to her 
 forehead, steadied herself, then read : 
 
 " E:STJICA. : When this comes to you I am gone from 
 you forever. You have betrayed me how much I do not 
 care to know. Perhaps I think you less guilty than you 
 are. Of all women, my heart clung to you. I loved you 
 as men only love once in their lives. For the sake of that 
 love, I will still screen you all I can. But it is known in 
 Lucca that Count Marescotti was your accepted lover
 
 318 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 when you promised yourself to me. Also, that Count 
 Marescotti refused to marry you when you were offered by 
 the Marchesa Guinigi. From this knowledge I cannot 
 screen you. God is my witness, I go, not desiring by my 
 presence or my words to reproach you further. But, as a 
 man who prizes the honor of his house and home, I cannot 
 marry you. Tell the marchesa I shall keep my word to 
 her, although I break the marriage-contract. She will find 
 the money placed as she desired. 
 
 " MARIO NOBILI. 
 
 " PALiZZO NOBILI, LUCCA." 
 
 Little by little Enrica read the whole, sentence by sen 
 tence. At first the full horror of the words was veiled. 
 They came to her in a dazed, stupid way. A mist gathered 
 about her. There was a buzzing in her ears that deadened 
 her brain. She forced herself to read over the letter again. 
 Then her heart stood still with terror her cheeks burned 
 her head reeled. A deadly cold came over her. Of all 
 within that letter she understood nothing but the words, 
 " I am gone from you forever." Gone ! Nobili gone ! 
 Never to speak to her again in that sweet voice ! never 
 to press his lips to hers ! never to gather her to him in 
 those firm, strong arms! OGod! then she must die ! If 
 Nobili were gone, she must die ! A terrible pang shot 
 through her ; then a great calmness came over her, and 
 she was very still. " Die ! yes why not ? Die ! " 
 
 Clutching the letter in her icy hand, Enrica looked 
 round with pale, tremulous eyes, from which the light has 
 faded. It could not be the same world of an hour ago. 
 Death had come into it she is about to die. Yet the sun 
 shone fiercely upon her face as she turned it upward and 
 struck upon her eyes. The children laughed over the chest 
 nuts spluttering in the ashes. Pipa sang merrily above 
 at the open window. A bird was it a raven ? poised
 
 A STORM AT THE VILLA. 319 
 
 itself in the air ; the cattle grazed peacefully on the green 
 slopes of the opposite mountain, and a drove of pigs ran 
 downward to drink at a little pool. She alone has changed. 
 
 A dull, dim consciousness drew her forward toward the 
 low wall, and the abyss that yawned beneath. There she 
 should lie at peace. There the stillness would quiet her 
 heart that beat so hard against her side surely her heart 
 must burst ! She had a dumb instinct that she should like 
 to sleep ; she was so weary. Stronger grew the passion 
 of her longing to cast herself on that cold bed deep, deep 
 below to rest forever. She tried to move, but could not. 
 She tottered and almost fell. Then all swam before her. 
 She sank backward against the door; with her two hands 
 she clutched the post. Her white face was set. But in 
 her agony not a sound escaped her. Her secret Nobili's 
 secret must be kept, she told herself. No one must ever 
 know that Nobili had left her that she was about to die 
 no one, no one 1 
 
 With a last effort she tried to rush forward to take that 
 leap below which would end all. In vain. All nature 
 rushed in a wild whirlwind around her ! A deadly sickness 
 seized her. Her eyes closed. She dropped beside the door, 
 a little ruffled heap upon the ground, Nobili's letter clasped 
 tightly in her hand. 
 
 " My love he is to Lucca gone, 
 To Lucca fair, a lord to be, 
 And I would fain a message send, 
 But who will tell my tale for me ? " 
 
 sang out Pipa from above. 
 
 " All the folk say that I am brown ; 
 
 The earth is brown, yet gives good corn ; 
 The clove-pink, too, although 'tis brown, 
 In hands of gentlefolk is borne.
 
 320 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " They say ray love is brown ; but he 
 Shines like an angel-form to me ; 
 They say my love is dark as night, 
 To me he seems an angel bright ! " 
 
 Not hearing the children's voices, and fearing some trick 
 of naughty Angelo against the peace of her precious Gigi, 
 Pipa leaned out over the window-sill. " My babe, my babe, 
 where art thou ? " was on her lips to cry ; instead, Pipa gave 
 a piercing scream. It broke the mid-day silence. Argo 
 barked loudly. 
 
 "Dio Gesu !" Pipa cried wildly out. "The signorina, 
 she is dead ! Help ! help ! "
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 MANY hours had passed. Enrica lay still unconscious 
 upon her bed, her face framed in her golden hair, her blue 
 eyes open, her limbs stiff, her body cold. Sometimes her 
 lips parted, and a smile rippled over her face ; then she 
 shuddered, and drew herself, as it were, together. All this 
 time Nobili's letter was within her hand ; her fingers tight 
 ened over it with a convulsive grasp. 
 
 Pipa and the cavaliere were with her. They had done 
 all they could to revive her, but without effect. Trenta, 
 sitting there, his hands crossed upon his knees, his eyes 
 fixed upon Enrica, looked suddenly aged. How all this 
 had come about he could not even guess. He had heard 
 Pipa's screams, and so had the marchesa, and he had come, 
 and he and Pipa together had raised her up and placed her 
 on her bed ; and the marchesa had charged him to watch 
 her, and let her know when she came to her senses. 
 Neither the cavaliere nor Pipa knew that Enrica had had 
 a letter from Nobili. Pipa noticed a paper in her hand, 
 but did not know what it was. The signorina had been 
 struck down in a fit, was Pipa's explanation. It was very 
 terrible, but God or the devil she could not tell which 
 did send fits. They must be borne. An end would come. 
 She had done all she could. Seeing no present change,
 
 322 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Trenta rose to go to the marchesa. His joints were so stiff 
 he could not move at all without his stick, and the furrows 
 which had deepened upon his face were moistened with tears. 
 
 "Is Enrica no better?" the marchesa asked him, in a 
 voice she tried to steady, but could not. She trembled all 
 over.^ 
 
 " Enrica is no better," he answered. 
 
 " Will she die ? " the marchesa asked again. 
 
 " Who can tell ? She is in the hands of God." 
 
 As he spoke, Trenta shot an angry scowl at his friend 
 he knew her so well. If Enrica died the Guinigi race was 
 doomed that made her tremble, not affection for Enrica. 
 A word more from the marchesa, and Trenta would have 
 told her this to her face. 
 
 " We are all in the hands of God," the marchesa re 
 peated, solemnly, and crossed herself. " I believe little in 
 doctors." 
 
 " Still," said Trenta, " if there is no change, it is our 
 duty to send for one. Is there any doctor at Corellia ? " 
 
 " None nearer than Lucca," she replied. " Send for 
 Fra Pacifico. If he thinks it of any use, a man shall be 
 dispatched to Lucca immediately." 
 
 " Surely you will let Count Nobili know the danger 
 Enrica is in ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the marchesa, fiercely. " Count No- 
 bili comes back here to marry Enrica or not at all. I will 
 not have him on any other terms. If the child dies, he will 
 not come. That at least will be a gain." 
 
 Even on the brink of death and ruin she could think of 
 this! 
 
 " Enrica will not die ! she will not die ! " sobbed the 
 poor old cavaliere, breaking down all at once. He sank 
 upon a chair and covered his face. 
 
 The marchesa rose and placed her hand upon his shoul 
 der. Her heart was bleeding, too, but from another cause.
 
 BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. 323 
 
 She bore her wounds in silence. To complain was not iu 
 the marcliesa's nature. It would have increased her suffer 
 ing rather than have relieved it. Still she pitied her old 
 friend, although no word expressed it; nothing but the 
 pressure of her hand resting upon his shoulder. Trenta's 
 sobs were the only sound that broke the silence. 
 
 " This is losing time," she said. " Send at once for Fra 
 Pacifico. Until he comes, we know nothing." 
 
 When Fra Pacifico's rugged, mountainous figure entered 
 Enrica's room, he seemed to fill it. First, he blessed the 
 sweet girl lying before him with such a terrible mockery of 
 life in her widely-opened eyes. His deep voice shook and 
 his grave face twitched as he pronounced the "Beatus." 
 Leaning over the bed, Fra Pacifico proceeded to examine 
 her in silence. He uncovered her feet, and felt her heart, 
 her hands, her forehead, lifting up the shining curls as he 
 did so with a tender touch, and laying them out upon the 
 pillow, as reverently as he would replace a relic. 
 
 Cavaliere Trenta stood beside him in breathless silence. 
 Was it life or death ? Looking into Fra Pacifico's motion 
 less face, none could tell. Pipa was kneeling in a corner, 
 running her rosary between her fingers ; she was listening 
 also, with mouth and eyes wide open. 
 
 " Her pulse still beats," Fra Pacifico said at last, be 
 traying no outward emotion. "It beats, but very feebly. 
 There is a little warmth about her heart." 
 
 " San Ricardo be thanked ! " ejaculated Trenta, clasp 
 ing his hands. 
 
 With the mention of his ancestral saint, the cavaliere's 
 thoughts ran on to the Trenta chapel in the church of San 
 Frediano, where they had all stood so lately together, Enrica 
 blooming in health and beauty at his side. His sobs choked 
 his voice. 
 
 " Shall I send to Lucca for a doctor ? " Trenta asked, 
 as soon as he could compose himself.
 
 324 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " As you please. Her condition is very precarious ; 
 nothing can be done, however, but to keep her warm. 
 That I see has been attended to. She could swallow noth 
 ing, therefore no doctor could help her. With such a pulse, 
 to bleed her would be madness. Her youth may save her. 
 It is plain to me some shock or horror must have struck 
 her down and paralyzed the vital powers. How could this 
 have been ? " 
 
 The priest stood over her, lost in thought, his bushy 
 eyebrows knit ; then he turned to Pipa. 
 
 " Has any thing happened, Pipa," he asked, " to account 
 for this?" 
 
 " Nothing your reverence," she answered. " I saw the 
 signorina, and spoke to her, not ten minutes before I found 
 her lying in the doorway." 
 
 " Had any one seen her ? " 
 
 "No one." 
 
 " I sent a letter to her from Count Nobili. Did you 
 see the messenger arrive ? " 
 
 "No; I was cleaning in the upper story. He might 
 have come and gone, and I not seen him." 
 
 " I heard of no letter," put in the bewildered Trenta. 
 '' What letter ? No one mentioned a letter." 
 
 " Possibly," answered Fra Pacifico, in his quiet, impas 
 sible way, " but there was a letter." He turned again to 
 interrogate Pipa. " Then the signorina must have taken 
 the letter herself." Slightly raising his eyebrows, a sud 
 den light came into his eyes. " That letter has done this. 
 What can Nobili have said to her ? Did you see any letter 
 beside her, Pipa, when she fell ? " 
 
 Pipa rose up from the corner where she had been kneel 
 ing, raised the sheet, and pointed to a paper clasped in En- 
 rica's hand. As she did so, Pipa pressed her warm lips 
 upon the colorlesss little hand. She would have covered the 
 hand again to keep it warm, but Fra Pacifico stopped her.
 
 BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. 325 
 
 " We must see that letter ; it is absolutely needful I 
 her confessor, and you, cavaliere, Enrica's best friend ; in 
 deed, her only friend." 
 
 At a touch of his strong hand the letter fell from En 
 rica's fingers, though they clung to it convulsively. 
 
 " Of course we must see the letter," the cavaliere re 
 sponded with emphasis, waking up from the apathy of 
 grief into which he had been plunged. 
 
 Fra Pacifico, casting a look of unutterable pity on En- 
 rica, whose secret it seemed sacrilege to violate while she 
 lay helpless before them, unfolded the letter. He and the 
 cavaliere, standing on tiptoe at his side, his head hardly 
 reaching the priest's elbow, read it together. When Trenta 
 had finished, an expression of horror and rage came into 
 his face. He threw his arms wildly above his head. 
 
 " The villain ! " he exclaimed, " ' Gone forever ! ' ' You 
 have betrayed me ! ' ' Cannot marry you ! ' ' Mares- 
 cotti ! ' " 
 
 Here Trenta stopped, remembering suddenly what had 
 passed between himself and Count Marescotti at their in 
 terview, which he justly considered as confidential. Tren- 
 ta's first feeling was one of amazement how Nobili had 
 come to know it. Then he remembered what he had said 
 to Baldassare in the street, to quiet him, that " it was all 
 right, and that Enrica would consent to her aunt's com 
 mands, and to his wishes." 
 
 " Beast ! " he muttered, " this is what I get by associat 
 ing with one who is no gentleman. I'll punish him ! " 
 
 A blank terror took possession of the cavaliere. He 
 glanced at Enrica, so life-like with her fixed, open eyes, and 
 asked himself, if she recovered, would she ever forgive 
 him? 
 
 " I did it for the best ! " he murmured, shaking his 
 white head. " God knows I did it for the best ! the dear, 
 blessed one ! to give her a home, and a husband to pro-
 
 326 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 tect her. I knew nothing about Count Nobili. Why did 
 you not tell me, my sweetest? " he said, leaning over the 
 bed, and addressing Enrica in his bewilderment. 
 
 Alas ! the glassy blue eyes stared at him fixedly, the 
 white lips were motionless. 
 
 The effect of all this on Fra Pacifico had been very dif 
 ferent. Under the strongest excitement, the long habit of 
 his office had taught him a certain outward composure. 
 He was ignorant of much which was known to the cava- 
 liere. Fra Pacifico watched his excessive agitation with 
 grave curiosity. 
 
 " What does this mean about Count Marescotti ? " he 
 asked, somewhat sternly. " What has Count Marescotti 
 to do with her ? " 
 
 As he asked this question he stretched his arm authori 
 tatively ovex Enrica. Protection to the weak was the first 
 thought of the strong man. His great bodily strength had 
 been given him for that purpose, Fra Pacifico always said. 
 
 " I offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti," an- 
 swerered the cavaliere, lifting up his aged head, and meet 
 ing the priest's suspicious glance with a look of gentle re 
 proach. " What do you think I could have done but this ? " 
 
 " And Count Marescotti refused her?" 
 
 " Yes, he refused her because he was a communist. 
 Nothing passed between them, nothing. They never met 
 but twice, both times in my presence." 
 
 Fra Pacifico was satisfied. 
 
 " God be praised ! " he muttered to himself. 
 
 Still holding the letter in his hand, the priest turned 
 toward Enrica. Again he felt her pulse, and passed his 
 broad hand across her forehead. 
 
 " No change ! " he said, sadly " no change ! Poor 
 child, how she must have suffered ! And alone, too ! 
 There is some mistake obviously some mistake." 
 
 " No mistake about the wretch having forsaken her,"
 
 BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. 327 
 
 interrupted Trenta, firing up at what he considered Fra 
 Pacifico's ill-placed leniency. " Doniine Dio ! No mistake 
 about that." 
 
 " Yes, but there must be," insisted the other. " I have 
 known Nobili from a boy. He is incapable of such villainy. 
 I tell you, cavaliere, Nobili is utterly incapable of it. He 
 has been deceived. By-and-by he will bitterly repent this," 
 and Fra Pacifico held up the letter. 
 
 " Yes," answered Trenta, bitterly " yes, if she lives. 
 If he has killed her, what will his repentance matter ? " 
 
 "Better wait, however, until we know more. Nobili 
 may be hot-headed, vain, and credulous, but he is generous 
 to a fault. If he cannot justify himself, why, then " the 
 priest's voice changed, his swarthy face flushed with a dark 
 glow " I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt 
 charity demands this but if Nobili cannot justify him 
 self" (the cavaliere made an indignant gesture) "leave 
 him to me. You shall be satisfied, cavaliere. God deals 
 with men's souls hereafter, but he permits bodily punish 
 ment in this world. Nobili shall have his, I promise you !" 
 
 Fra Pacifico clinched his huge fist menacingly, and 
 dealt a blow in the air that would have felled a giant. 
 
 Having given vent to his feelings, to the unmitigated 
 delight of the cavaliere, who nodded and smiled for an in 
 stant forgetting his sorrow, and Enrica lying there Fra 
 Pacifico composed himself. 
 
 " The marchesa must see that letter," he said, in his 
 usual manner. " Take it to her, cavaliere. Hear what she 
 says." 
 
 The cavaliere took the letter in silence. Then he 
 shrugged his shoulders despairingly. 
 
 " I must go now to Corellia. I will return soon. That 
 Enrica still lives is full of hope." Fra Pacifico said this, 
 turning toward the little bed with its modest shroud of 
 white linen curtains. " But I can do nothing. The feeble
 
 328 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 spark of life that still lingers in her frame would fly for 
 ever if tormented by remedies. I have hope in God only." 
 And he gave a heavy sigh. 
 
 Before Fra Pacifico departed, he took some holy water 
 from a little vessel near the bed, and sprinkled it upon En- 
 rica. He ordered Pipa to keep her very warm, and to 
 watch every breath she drew. Then he glided from the 
 room with the light step of one well used to sickness. 
 
 Cavaliere Trenta followed him slowly. He paused 
 motionless in the open doorway, his eyes, from which the 
 tears were streaming, fixed on Enrica the fatal letter in 
 his hand. At length he tore himself away, closed the door, 
 and, crossing the sala, knocked at the door of the marchesa's 
 apartment. 
 
 In the gray of the early morning of the second day, 
 just as the sun rose and cast a few straggling gleams into 
 the room, Enrica called faintly to Pipa. She knew Pipa 
 when she came. It seemed as if Enrica had waked out of 
 a long, deep sleep. She felt no pain, but an excessive 
 weakness. She touched her forehead and her hair. She 
 handled the sheets then extended both her hands to Pipa, 
 as if she had been buried and asked to be raised up again. 
 She tried to sit up, but she fell back upon her pillow. 
 Pipa's arms were round her in an instant. She put back 
 the long hair that fell upon Enrica's face, and poured into 
 her mouth a few drops of a cordial Fra PaciBco had left for 
 her. Pipa dared not speak Pipa dared not breathe so 
 great was her joy. At length she ventured to take one of 
 Enrica's hands in hers, pressed it gently and said to her in 
 a low voice : 
 
 " You must be very quiet. We are all here." 
 Enrica looked up at Pipa, surprised and frightened; 
 then her eyes wandered round in search of something. 
 She was evidently dwelling upon some idea she could not
 
 BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. 329 
 
 express. She raised her hand, opened it slowly, and gazed 
 at it. Her hand was empty. 
 
 " Where is ? " Enrica asked, in a voice like a sigh 
 then she stopped, and gazed up again distressfully into 
 Pipa's face. Pipa knew that Count Nobili's letter had been 
 taken by Fra Pacifico. Now she bent over Enrica in an 
 agony of fear lest, when her reason came and she missed 
 that letter, she should sink back again and die. 
 
 With the sound of her own voice all came back to En 
 rica in an instant. She closed her eyes, and longed never 
 to open them again ! " Gone ! gone ! forever ! " sounded 
 in her ears like a rushing of great waters. Then she lay 
 for a long time quite still. She could not bear to speak to 
 Pipa. His name Nobili's name was sacred. If Pipa 
 knew what Nobili had done, she might speak ill of him. 
 That Enrica could not bear. Yet she should like to know 
 who had taken his letter. 
 
 Her brain was very weak, yet it worked incessantly. 
 She asked herself all manner of questions in a helpless 
 way ; but as her fluttering pulses settled, and the blood 
 returned to its accustomed channels, faintly coloring her 
 cheek, the truth came to her. Insulted ! abandoned ! 
 forgotten ! She thought it all over bit by bit. Each 
 thought as it rose in her mind seemed to freeze the return 
 ing warmth within her. That letter oh, if she could only 
 find that letter ! She tried to recall every phrase and put 
 a sense to it. How had she deceived him ? What could 
 Nobili mean ? What had she done to be talked of in Luc 
 ca ? Marescotti who was he ? At first she was so stunned 
 she forgot his name ; then it came to her. Yes, the poet 
 Marescotti Trenta's friend who had raved on the Guinigi 
 Tower. What was he to her ? Marry Marescotti ! Oh ! 
 who could have said it ? 
 
 Gradually, as Enrica's mind became clearer, lying there 
 so still with no sound but Pipa's measured breathing, she
 
 330 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 felt to its full extent how Nobili had wronged her. Why 
 had he not come himself and asked her if all this were true ? 
 To leave her thus forever ! Without even asking her oh, 
 how cruel ! She believed in him, why did he not believe 
 in her ? No one had ever yet told her a lie ; within herself 
 she felt no power of deceit. She could not understand it in 
 others, nor the falseness of the world. Now she must learn 
 it 1 Then a great longing and tenderness came over her. 
 She loved Nobili still. Even though he had smitten her so 
 sorely, she loved him she loved him, and she forgave him ! 
 But stronger and stronger grew the thought, even while 
 these longings swept over her like great waves, that Nobili 
 was unworthy of her. Should she love him less for that ? 
 Oh, no ! He was unworthy of her yet she yearned after 
 him. He had left her but in her heart Nobili should for 
 ever sit enthroned^and she would worship him ! 
 
 And they had been so happy, so more than happy 
 from the first moment they had met and he had shattered 
 it ! Oh, his love for her was dead and buried out of sight ! 
 What was life to her without Nobili ? Oh, those fore 
 bodings that had clung about her from the very moment 
 he had left Corellia! Now she could understand them. 
 Never to see him again ! was it possible ? A great pity 
 came upon her for herself. No one, she was sure, could 
 ever have suffered like her no one no one. This thought 
 for some time pursued her closely. There was a terrible 
 comfort in it. Alas ! all her life would be suffering now 1 
 
 As Enrica lay there, her face turned toward the wall, 
 and her eyes closed (Pipa watching her, thinking she had 
 dozed), suddenly her bosom heaved. She gave a wild cry. 
 The pent-up tears came pouring down her cheeks, and sob 
 after sob shook her from head to foot. 
 
 This burst of grief saved her Fra Pacifico said so when 
 he came down later. " Death had passed very near her," 
 he said, " but now she would recover."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FKA PACIFICO AND THE MAECHESA. 
 
 ON the evening of that day the marchesa was in her own 
 room, opening from the sala. The little furniture the room 
 contained was collected around the marchesa, forming a 
 species of oasis on the broad desert of the scagliola floor. A 
 brass lamp, placed on a table, formed the centre of this hab 
 itable spot. The marchesa sat in deep shadow, but in the 
 outline of her tall, slight figure, and in the carriage of her 
 head and neck, there was the same indomitable pride, cour 
 age, and energy, as before. A paper lay on the ground 
 near her; it was Nobili's letter. Fra Pacifico sat opposite 
 to her. He was speaking. His deep-set luminous eyes were 
 fixed on the marchesa. His straight, coarse hair was 
 pushed up erect upon his brow ; there was at all times 
 something of a mane about it. His cassock sat loosely 
 about his big, well-made limbs ; his priestly stock was 
 loosed, showing the dark skin of his throat and chin. In 
 the turn of his eye, in the expression of his countenance, 
 there were anxiety, restlessness, and distrust. 
 
 " Yes Enrica has recovered for the present," he was 
 saying, " but such an attack saps and weakens the very 
 issues of life. Count Nobili, if not brought to reason, 
 would break her heart." She was obstinately silent. The 
 balance of her mind was partially upset. " ' I shall never
 
 332 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 see Nobili again,' was all she would say to me. It is a 
 pity, I think, that you sent the cavaliere away to Lucca. 
 Enrica might have opened her mind to him." 
 
 As he spoke, Fra Pacifico crossed one of his legs over 
 the other, and arranged the heavy folds of his cassock over 
 his knees. 
 
 " And who says Enrica shall not see Nobili again ? " 
 asked the marchesa, defiantly. " Holy saints ! That is my 
 affair. I want no advice. My honor is now as much con 
 cerned in the completion of this marriage as it was before 
 to prevent it. The contract has been signed in my pres 
 ence. The money agreed upon has been paid over to me. 
 The marriage must take place I have sent Trenta to Luc 
 ca to make preliminary arrangements." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it," answered Fra Pacifico, his coun 
 tenance brightening. " There must be some extraordinary 
 mistake. The cavaliere will explain it. Some enemies of 
 your family must have misled Count Nobili, especially as 
 there was a certain appearance of concealment respecting 
 Count Marescotti. It will all come right. I only feared 
 lest the language of that letter would have, in your opinion, 
 rendered the marriage impossible." 
 
 " That letter does not move me in the least," answered 
 the marchesa haughtily, speaking out of the shadow. She 
 gave the letter a kick, sending it farther from her. " I care 
 neither for praise nor insult from such a fellow. He is but 
 an instrument in my hand. He has, however, justified my 
 bad opinion of him. I am glad of that. Do you imagine, 
 my father," she added, leaning forward, and bringing her 
 head for an instant within the circle of the light " do you 
 imagine any thing but absolute necessity would have induced 
 me to allow Count Nobili ever to enter my presence ? " 
 
 " I am bound to tell you that your pride is un-Christian, 
 my daughter." Fra Pacifico spoke with warmth. " I can 
 not permit such language in my presence."
 
 FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA. 333 
 
 The marchesa waved her hand contemptuously, then con 
 templated him, a smile upon her face. 
 
 " I have long known Count Nobili. He has the faults 
 of his age. He is impulsive vain, perhaps but at the 
 same time he is loyal and generous. He was not himself 
 when he wrote that letter. There is a passionate sorrow 
 about it that convinces me of this. He has been misled. 
 The offer you sanctioned of Enrica's hand to Count Mare- 
 scotti, has been misrepresented to him. Undoubtedly No 
 bili ought to have sought an explanation before he left 
 Lucca ; but, the more he loved Enrica, the more he must 
 have suffered before he could so address her." 
 
 " You justify Count Nobili, then, my father, not only for 
 abandoning my niece, but for endeavoring to blast her 
 character? Is this your Christianity?" The marchesa 
 asked this question with bitter scorn ; her keen eyes shone 
 mockingly out of the darkness. " I told you what he was, 
 remember. I have some knowledge of him and of his 
 father." 
 
 " My daughter, I do not defend him. If need be, I 
 have sworn to punish him with my own hand. But, until 
 I know all the circumstances, I pity him ; I repeat, I pity 
 him. Some powerful influence must have been brought to 
 bear upon Nobili. It may have been a woman." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " laughed the marchesa, contemptuously. 
 " You admit, then, Nobili has a taste for women ? " 
 
 Fra Pacifico rose suddenly from his chair. An expres 
 sion of deep displeasure was on his face, which had grown 
 crimson under the marchesa's taunts. 
 
 "I desire no altercation, marchesa, nor will I permit 
 you to address such unseemly words to me. What I deem 
 fitting I shall say, now and always. It is my duty. You 
 have called me here. What do you want ? How can I 
 help you ? In all things lawful I am ready to do so. Nay, 
 I will take the whole matter on myself if you desire."
 
 334 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 As he spoke, Fra Pacifico stooped and raised Nobili's 
 crumpled letter from the floor. He spread it out open on 
 the table. The marchesa motioned to him to reseat him 
 self. He did so. 
 
 " What I want ? " she said, taking up the priest's words. 
 " I will tell you. When I bring Count Nobili here " the 
 marchesa spoke very slowly, and stretched out her long 
 fingers, as though she held him already in her grasp 
 " when I bring Count Nobili here, I want you to perform 
 the marriage ceremony. It must take place immediately. 
 Under the circumstances the marriage had better be pri 
 vate." 
 
 " I shall not perform the ceremony," answered Fra 
 Pacifico, his full, deep voice ringing through the room, 
 " at your bidding only. Enrica must also consent. Enrica 
 must consent in my presence." 
 
 As the light of the lamp struck upon Fra Pacifico, the 
 lines about his mouth deepened, and that look of courage 
 and of command the people of Corellia knew so well was 
 marked upon his countenance. A rock might have been 
 moved, but not Fra Pacifico. 
 
 " Enrica shall obey me ! " cried the marchesa. Her 
 temper was rising beyond control at the idea of any oppo 
 sition at such a critical moment. She had made her plan, 
 settled it with Trenta ; her plan must be carried out. 
 " Enrica shall obey me," she repeated. " Enrica will obey 
 me unless instigated by you, Fra Pacifico." 
 
 " My daughter," replied the priest, " if you forget the 
 respect due to my office, I shall leave you." 
 
 "Pardon me, my father," and the marchesa bowed 
 stiffly; "but I appeal to your justice. Can I allow that 
 reprobate to break my niece's heart ? to tarnish her good 
 name ? If there were a single Guinigi left, he would stab 
 Nobili like a dog ! Such a fellow is unworthy the name 
 of gentleman. Marriage alone can remove the stain he has
 
 FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCIIESA. 335 
 
 cast upon Enrica. It is no question of sentiment. The 
 marriage is essential to the honor of my house. Enrica 
 must be called Countess Nobili, whether Nobili pleases it 
 or not. Else how can I keep his money ? And without his 
 money " She paused suddenly. In the warmth of speech 
 the marchesa had been actually led into the confession that 
 Nobili was necessary to her " I have the contract," she 
 added. " Thank Heaven, I have the contract ! Nobili is 
 legally bound by the contract." 
 
 " Yes, that may be," answered Fra Pacifico, reflectively, 
 "if you choose to force him. But I warn you that I will 
 put no violence on Enrica's feelings. She must decide for 
 herself." 
 
 " But if Enrica still loves him," urged the marchesa, de 
 termined if possible to avoid an appeal to her niece " if 
 Enrica still loves him, as you assure me she does, may we 
 not look upon her acquiescence as obtained ? " 
 
 Fra Pacifico shook his head. He was perfectly unmoved 
 by the marchesa's violence. 
 
 " Life, honor, position, reputation, all rest on this mar 
 riage. I have accepted Count Nobili's money; Count 
 Nobili must accept my niece." 
 
 " Your niece must nevertheless consent. I can permit 
 no other arrangement. Then you have to find Count No 
 bili. He must voluntarily appear at the altar." 
 
 Fra Pacifico turned his resolute face full upon the mar 
 chesa. Her whole attitude betrayed intense excitement. 
 
 " Your niece must consent, Count Nobili must appear 
 voluntarily before the altar, else the Church cannot sanction 
 the union. It would be sacrilege. How do you propose 
 to overcome Count Nobili's refusal ? " 
 
 " By the law ! " exclaimed the marchesa, imperiously. 
 
 Fra Pacifico turned aside his head to conceal a smile. 
 The law had not hitherto favored the marchesa. Her con-
 
 336 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 stant appeal to the law had been the principal cause of her 
 present troubles. 
 
 " By the law," the marchesa repeated. Her sallow face 
 glowed for a moment. " Surely, Fra Pacifico surely you 
 will not oppose me ? You talk of the Church. The Church, 
 indeed ! Did not the wretch sign the marriage-contract in 
 your presence ? The Church must enable him to complete 
 his contract. In your presence too, as priest and civil dele 
 gate ; and you talk of sacrilege, my father ! Che ! che ! 
 Dio buono ! " she exclaimed, losing all self-control in the 
 conviction her own argument brought to her " Fra Pacifico, 
 you must be mad ! " 
 
 " I only ask for Enrica's consent," answered the priest. 
 " That given, if Count Nobili comes, I will consent to mar 
 ry them." 
 
 " Count Nobili he shall come never fear," and the 
 marchesa gave a short, scornful laugh. "After I have been 
 to Lucca he will come. I shall have done my duty. It is 
 all very well," added the marchesa, loftily, " for low people 
 to pair like animals, from inclination. Such vulgar motives 
 have no place in the world in which I live. Persons of my 
 rank form alliances among themselves from more elevated 
 considerations; from political and prudential motives ; for 
 the sake of great wealth when wealth is required ; to shed 
 fresh lustre on an historic name by adding to it the splen 
 dor of another equally illustrious. My own marriage was 
 arranged for this end. Again I remind you, my father, 
 that nothing but necessity would have forced me to permit 
 a usurer's son to dare to aspire to the hand of my niece. 
 It is a horrible degradation the first blot on a spotless 
 escutcheon." 
 
 " Again I warn you, my daughter, such pride is un 
 seemly. Summon Enrica at once. Let us hear what she 
 says." 
 
 The marchesa drew back into the shadow, and was si-
 
 FRA PACIFICO AND THE MARCHESA. 337 
 
 lent. As long as she could bring her battery of arguments 
 against Fra Pacifico, she felt safe. What Enrica might 
 say, who could tell ? One word from Enrica might over 
 turn all her subtle combinations. That Fra Pacifico should 
 assist her was indispensable. Another priest, less inter 
 ested in Enrica, might, under the circumstances, refuse to 
 unite them. Even if that difficulty could be got over, the 
 marchesa was fully alive to the fact that a painful scene 
 would probably occur such a scene as ought not to be 
 witnessed by a stranger. Hence her hesitation in calling 
 Enrica. 
 
 During this pause. Fra Pacifico crossed his arms upon 
 his breast and waited in silence. 
 
 " Let Enrica come," said the marchesa at last ; " I have 
 no objection." She threw herself back on her seat, and 
 doggedly awaited the result. 
 
 Fra Pacifico rose and opened a door on the other side 
 of the room, communicating with the vaulted passage which 
 had connected the villa with the tower. 
 
 "Who is there ? " he called. (Bells were a luxury un 
 known at Corellia.) 
 
 " I," answered Angelo, running forward, his eyes gleam 
 ing like two stars. Angelo sometimes acted as acolyte to 
 Fra Pacifico. Angelo was proud to show his alacrity to 
 his reverence, who had often cuffed him for his mischievous 
 pranks ; specially on one occasion, when Fra Pacifico had 
 found him in the act of pushing Gigi stealthily into the 
 marble basin of the fountain, to see if, being small, Gigi 
 would swim like the gold-fish. 
 
 " Go to the Signorina Enrica, Angelo, and tell her that 
 the marchesa wants her." 
 
 As long as Enrica was ill, Fra Pacifico went freely in 
 and out of her room ; now that she was recovered, and 
 had risen from her bed, it was not suitable for him to seek 
 her there himself. 
 15
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TO BE, OE NOT TO BE? 
 
 Angelo knocked at Enrica's door, Pipa, who 
 was with her, opened it, and gave her Fra Pacifico's mes 
 sage. The summons was so sudden Enrica had no time to 
 think, but a wild, unmeaning delight possessed her. It 
 was so rare for her aunt to send for her she must be going 
 to tell her something about Nobili. With his name upon 
 her lips, Enrica started up from the chair on which she had 
 been half lying, and ran toward the door. 
 
 " Softly, softly, my blessed angel ! " cried Pipa, following 
 her with outstretched arms as if she were a baby taking its 
 first steps. " You were all but dead this morning, and 
 now you run like little Gigi when I call to him." 
 
 " I can walk very well, Pipa." Enrica opened the 
 door with feverish haste. " I must not keep my aunt wait- 
 
 ing." 
 
 "Let me put a shawl round you," insisted kind Pipa. 
 " The evening is fresh." 
 
 She wrapped a large white shawl about her, that made 
 Enrica look paler and more ghost-like than before. 
 
 "Nobody loves me like you, Pipa nobody dear 
 Pipa ! " 
 
 Enrica threw her soft arms around Pipa as she said 
 this. She felt so lonely the tears came into her eyes, al 
 ready swollen with excessive weeping.
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? 339 
 
 " Who knows ? " was Pipa's grave reply. " It is a 
 strange world. You must not judge a man always by 
 what he does." 
 
 Enrica gave a deep sigh. She had hurried out of her 
 room into the sala with a headlong impulse to rush to her 
 aunt. Now she dreaded what her aunt might have to say 
 to her. The little strength she had suddenly left her. The 
 warm blood that had mounted to her head chilled within 
 her veins. For a few moments she leaned against Pipa, who 
 watched her with anxious eyes. Then, disengaging her 
 self from her, she trod feebly across the floor. The sala 
 was in darkness. Enrica stretched out her hands before 
 her to feel for the door. When she had found it she 
 stopped terrified. What was she about to hear? The 
 deep voice of Fra Pacifico was audible from within. En 
 rica placed her hand upon the handle of the door then 
 she withdrew it. Without the autumn wind moaned round 
 the corners of the house. How it must roar in the abyss 
 under the cliffs ! Enrica thought. How dark it must be 
 down there in the blackness of the night ! Like letters 
 written in fire, Nobili's words rose up before her " I am 
 gone from you forever ! " Oh ! why was she not dead ? 
 Why was she not lying deep below, buried among the 
 cold rocks ? Enrica felt very faint. A groan escaped her. 
 
 Fra Pacifico, accustomed to listen to the almost inau 
 dible sounds of the sick and the dying, heard it. 
 
 The door opened. Enrica found herself within the 
 room. 
 
 "Enrica," said the marchesa, addressing her blandly 
 (did not all now depend upon her ?) " Enrica, you look 
 very pale." 
 
 She made no reply, but looked round vacantly. The 
 light of the lamp, coming suddenly out of the darkness, the 
 finding herself face to face with the marchesa, dazzled and 
 alarmed her,
 
 340 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Fra Pacifico took both Enrica's hands in his, drew an 
 arm-chair forward, and placed her in it. 
 
 " Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question," 
 the marchesa spoke. 
 
 At the sound of her aunt's voice, Enrica shuddered 
 visibly. Was it not, after all, the marchesa's fault that 
 Nobili had left her ? Why had the marchesa thrown her 
 into Count Marescotti's company ? Why had the marchesa 
 offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti without telling 
 her ? At this moment Enrica loathed her. Something of 
 all this passed over her pallid face as she turned her eyes 
 beseechingly toward Fra Pacifico. The marchesa watched 
 her with secret rage. 
 
 Was this silly, love-sick child about to annihilate the 
 labors of her life? Was this daughter of her husband's 
 cousin, Antonio a collateral branch about to consign the 
 Guinigi .name to the tomb ? She could have lifted up her 
 voice and cursed her where she stood. 
 
 " Enrica, I have sent for you to ask you a question." 
 Spite of her efforts to be calm, there was a strange ring in 
 her voice that made Enrica look up at her. " Enrica, do 
 you still love Count Nobili ? " 
 
 " This is not a fair question," interrupted Fra Pacifico, 
 coming to the rescue of the distressed Enrica, who sat 
 speechless before her terrible aunt. " I know she still loves 
 him. The love of a heart like hers is not to be destroyed 
 by such a letter as that, and the unjust accusations it con 
 tains." 
 
 Fra Pacifico pointed with his finger to Nobili's letter 
 lying where he had placed it on the table. Seeing the let 
 ter, Enrica started back and shivered. 
 
 " Is it not so, Enrica ? " 
 
 The little blond head and the sad blue eyes bowed them 
 selves gently in response. A faint smile flitted across En 
 rica's face. Fra Pacifico had spoken all her mind, which
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? 341 
 
 she in her weakness could not have done, especially with 
 her aunt's dark eyes riveted upon her. 
 
 " Then you still love Count Nobili ? " The marchesa 
 accentuated each word with bitter emphasis. 
 
 " I do," answered Enrica, faintly. 
 
 " If Count Nobili returns here, will you marry him ? " 
 
 As the marchesa spoke, Enrica trembled like a leaf. 
 " What was she to answer ? " The little composure she 
 had been able to assume utterly forsook her. She who had 
 believed that nothing was left but to die, was suddenly 
 called upon to live ! 
 
 " O my aunt," Enrica cried, springing to her feet, 
 " how can I look Nobili in the face after that letter ? He 
 thinks I have deceived him." 
 
 Enrica stopped ; the words seemed to choke her. With 
 an imploring look, she turned toward Fra Pacifico. With 
 out knowing what she did Enrica flung herself on the floor 
 at his feet; sheclaspod his knees she turned her beseech 
 ing eyes into his. 
 
 " O my father, help me ! Nobili is my very life. 
 How can I refuse what is my very life ? When Nobili left 
 me, my first thought was to die ! " 
 
 " Surely, my daughter, not by a violent death ? " asked 
 Fra Pacifico, stooping over her. 
 
 " Yes, yes," and Earica wrung her hands, " yes, I would 
 have done it I could not bear to live without him." 
 
 A look of sorrow and reproach darkened Fra Pacifico's 
 brow. He crossed himself. "God be praised," he ex 
 claimed, " you were saved from that wickedness ! " 
 
 " My father " Enrica extended her arms toward him 
 " I implore you, for the love of Jesus, let me enter a con 
 vent ! " 
 
 In these few and simple words Enrica had tried all her 
 powers of persuasion. The words were addressed to the 
 priest ; but her blue eyes, filled with tears, gathered them-
 
 342 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 selves upon the marchesa imploringly. Enrica awaited her 
 fate in silence. The priest rose and gently replaced her on 
 her chair. All the benevolence of his manly nature was 
 called forth. He cast a searching glance at the marchesa. 
 Nothing betrayed her feelings. 
 
 " Calm yourself, Enrica," Fra Pacifico said, soothingly. 
 " No one seeks to hurry or to force you. But I could 
 not for a moment sanction 3 r our entering a convent. In 
 your present state of mind it would be an unholy and an 
 unnatural act." 
 
 Although outwardly unmoved, never in her life had the 
 marchesa felt such exultation. Had Fra Pacifico seconded 
 Enrica's proposal to enter a convent, all would have been 
 lost ! Still nothing was absolutely decided. It was pos 
 sible Fra Pacifico might yet frustrate her plans. She ven 
 tured another question. 
 
 " If Count Nobili meets you at the altar, you will not 
 then refuse to marry him ? " 
 
 There was an imperceptible tremor in the marchesa's 
 voice. The suspense was becoming intolerable to her. 
 
 " Refuse to marry him ? Refuse Nobili ? No, no, I can 
 refuse Nobili nothing," answered Enrica, dreamily. " But 
 he will not come ! he is gone forever ! " 
 
 "He will come," insisted the marchesa, pushing her ad 
 vantage skillfully. 
 
 " But will he love me ? " asked the tender young voice. 
 " Will he believe that I love him ? Oh, tell me that ! 
 Father Pacifico, help me ! I cannot think." Enrica pressed 
 her hands to her forehead. She had suffered so much, now 
 that the crisis had come she was stunned, she had no power 
 to decide. " Dare I marry him ? Ought we to part for 
 ever ? " A flush gathered on her cheek, an ineffable long 
 ing shone from her eyes. More than life was in the bal 
 ance not only to Enrica, but to the marchesa the mar-
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE? 343 
 
 chesa, who, wrapped within the veil of her impenetrable 
 reserve, breathlessly awaited an answer. 
 
 Fra Pacifico showed unmistakable signs of agitation. 
 He rose from his chair, and for some minutes strode rapidly 
 up and down the room, the floor creaking under his heavy 
 tread. The life of this fragile girl lay in his hands. How 
 could he resist that pleading look ? Enrica had done noth 
 ing wrong. Was Enrica to suffer die, perhaps because 
 Nobili had wrongfully accused her ? Fra Pacifico passed 
 his large, muscular hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven 
 chin, then stopped to gaze upon her. Her lips were parted, 
 her eyes dilated to their utmost limit. 
 
 " My child," he said at last, laying his hand upon her 
 head with fatherly tenderness " my child, if Count No 
 bili returns here, you will be justified in marrying him." 
 
 Enrica sank back and closed her eyes. A great leap of 
 joy overwhelmed her. She dared not question her happi 
 ness. To behold Nobili once more only to behold him 
 filled her with rapture. 
 
 " What is your answer, Enrica ? I must hear your an 
 swer from yourself." 
 
 The marchesa spoke out of the darkness. She shrank 
 from allowing Fra Pacifico to scrutinize the exultation 
 marked on her every feature. 
 
 " My aunt, if Nobili comes here to claim me, I will marry 
 him," answered Enrica, more firmly. "But stop" her 
 eye had meanwhile traveled to the letter still lying on 
 the table a horrible doubt crossed her mind. "Will 
 Nobili know that I am not what he says there in that 
 letter?" 
 
 Enrica could bring herself to say no more. She longed 
 to ask all that had happened about Count Marescotti, and 
 how her name had been mixed up with his, but the words 
 refused to come. 
 
 "Leave that to me," answered the marchesa, imperious-
 
 344 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 ly. "If Count Nobili comes to marry you, is not that 
 proof enough that he is satisfied ? " 
 
 Enrica felt that it must be so. A wild joy possessed 
 her. This joy was harder to bear than the pain. Enrica 
 was actually sinking under the hope that Nobili might re 
 turn to her I 
 
 Fra Pacifico noticed the gray shadow that was creeping 
 over her face. 
 
 " Enrica must go at once to her room," he said ab 
 ruptly, " else I cannot answer for the consequences. Her 
 strength is overtaxed." 
 
 As he spoke, Fra Pacifico hastily opened the door lead 
 ing into the sala. He took Enrica by the hand and raised 
 her. She was perfectly passive. The marchesa rose also ; 
 for the first time she came into the full light of the lamp. 
 Enrica stooped and kissed her hand mechanically. 
 
 "My niece, you may prepare for your approaching 
 marriage. Count Nobili will be here shortly never fear." 
 
 The marchesa's manner was strange, almost menacing. 
 Fra Pacifico led Enrica across the sala to her own door. 
 When he returned, the marchesa was again reading Count 
 Nobili's letter. 
 
 " A love-match in the Guiuigi family ! " She was laugh 
 ing with derision. " What are we coming to ? " 
 
 She tore the letter into innumerable fragments. 
 
 " My father, I shall leave for Lucca early to-morrow. 
 You must look after Enrica. I am satisfied with what has 
 passed." 
 
 " God send we have. done right ! " answered the priest, 
 gloomily. " Now at least she has a chance of life." 
 
 " Adieu, Fra Pacifico. When next we meet it will be 
 at the marriage." 
 
 Fra Pacifico withdrew. Had he done his duty ? Fra 
 Pacifico dared not ask himself the question.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CHUBCH AND THE LAW. 
 
 TEN days after the departure of the marchesa, Fra Pa- 
 cifico received the following letter : 
 
 " REVEREND AND ESTEEMED FATHER : I have put the 
 matter of Enrica's marriage into the hands of the well- 
 known advocate, Maestro Guglielmi, of Lucca. He at once 
 left for Rome. By extraordinary diligence he procured a 
 summons for Count Nobili to appear within fifteen days be 
 fore the tribunal, to answer in person for his breach of 
 marriage-contract unless, before the expiration of that 
 time, he should make the contract good by marriage. The 
 citation was left with the secretary at Count Nobili's own 
 house. Maestro Guglielmi also informed the secretary, by 
 my order, that, in default of his Count Nobili's appear 
 ance, a detailed account of the whole transaction Avith my 
 niece, and of other transactions touching Count Nobili's 
 father, known to me of which I have informed Maestro 
 Guglielmi would be published upon my authority in 
 every newspaper in all the cities throughout Italy, with 
 such explanations and particulars as I might see fit to in 
 sert. Also that the name of Count Nobili, as a slanderer 
 and a perjurer, should be placarded on all the spare walls 
 of Lucca, at Florence, and throughout Tuscany. The sec 
 retary denies any knowledge of his master's present ad-
 
 346 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 dress. He declared that be was unable, therefore, to com 
 municate with him. 
 
 " In the mean time a knowledge of the facts has spread 
 through this city. The public voice is with us to a man. 
 Once more the citizens have rallied round the great Guinigi 
 name. Crowds assemble daily before Count Nobili's palace. 
 His name is loudly execrated by the citizens. Stones have 
 been thrown, and windows broken ; indeed, there are threats 
 of burning the palace. The authorities have not interfered. 
 Count Nobili has now, I hear, returned privately to Lucca. 
 He dares not show himself, or he would be stabbed ; but 
 Count Nobili's lawyer has had a conference with Maestro 
 Guglielmi. Cavaliere Trenta insisted upon being present. 
 This was against my will. Cavaliere Trenta always 1 says 
 too much. Maestro Guglielmi gave Count Nobili's lawyer 
 three days to decide. At the expiration of that time Signore 
 Guglielmi met him again. Count Nobili's lawyer declared 
 that with the utmost difficulty he had prevailed upon his 
 client to make good the contract by the religious ceremony 
 of marriage. Let every thing therefore be ready for the 
 ceremony. This letter is private. You will say nothing 
 further to my niece than that Count Nobili will arrive at 
 Corellia at two o'clock the day after to-morrow to marry 
 her. Farewell. 
 
 " Your friend and well-wisher, 
 
 " MABCHESA GUINIGI." 
 
 The morning of the third day rose gray and chill at 
 Corellia, Much rain had fallen during the night, and a 
 damp mist streamed up from the valleys, shutting out the 
 mighty range of mountains. In the plains of Pisa and 
 Florence the October sun still blazed glorious as ever on 
 the lush grass and flowery meadows on the sluggish 
 streams and the rich blossoms. There, the trees still rus 
 tled in green luxuriance, to soft breezes perfumed with
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. 347 
 
 orange-trees and roses. But in the mountain-fastnesses 
 of the Apennines autumn had come on apace. Such faded 
 leaves as clung to the shrubs about the villa were drooping 
 under the weight of the rain-drops, and a few autumnal 
 flowers that still lit up the broad borders lay prostrate on 
 the earth. Each tiny stream and brawling water-course 
 even mere little humble rills that dried up in summer 
 now rushed downward over rocks and stones blackened 
 with moss, to pour themselves into the river Serchio. In 
 the forest the turf was carpeted with yellow leaves, car 
 ried hither and thither by the winds. The stems and 
 branches of the chestnuts ranged themselves, tier above 
 tier, like silver pillars, against the red sandstone of the 
 rocks. The year was dying out, and with the year all Na 
 ture was dying out likewise. 
 
 Within the villa a table was spread in the great sala, 
 with wine and such simple refreshments as the brief notice 
 allowed. As the morning advanced, clouds gathered more 
 thickly over the heavens. The gloomy daylight coming in 
 at the doors, and through the many windows, caught up 
 no ray within. The vaguely-sailing ships painted upon 
 the wall, destined never to find a port in those unknown 
 seas for which their sails were set and that exasperating 
 company opposite, that through all changes of weal or woe 
 danced remorselessly under the greenwood were shrouded 
 in misty shadows. 
 
 Not a sound broke the silence nothing save the strik 
 ing of the clock at Corellia, bringing with it visions of the 
 dark old church the kneeling women and the peace of 
 God within. Even Argo and his friends Juno and Tuzzi t 
 and the bull-dog were mute. 
 
 About twelve o'clock the marchesa arrived from Lucca. 
 In her company came the Cavaliere Trenta and Maestro 
 Guglielmi. Fra Pacifico was in waiting. He received them 
 with grave courtesy. Adamo, arrayed by Pipa in his Sun-
 
 348 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 day clothes, with a flower behind his ear, and Silvestro, 
 stood uncovered at the entrance. Once, and once only, 
 Silvestro abstained from addressing his mistress with his 
 usual question about her health. 
 
 Maestro Guglielmi was formally presented to Fra Paci- 
 fico by the punctilious cavaliere, now restored to his usual 
 health and spirits. The cavaliere had arrayed himself in 
 his official uniform dark-purple velvet embroidered Avith 
 gold. Not having worn the uniform, however, for more 
 than twenty years, the coat was much too small for him. 
 In his hand he carried a white staff of office. This served 
 him as a stick. Coming up from Lucca, the cavaliere had 
 reflected that on him solely must rest the care of impart 
 ing some show of dignity to the ceremony about to take 
 place. He resolved that he would be equal to the occa 
 sion, whatever might occur. 
 
 There was a strange hush upon each one of the little 
 group met in the sala. Each was busy with his own 
 thoughts. The marriage about to take place was to the 
 marchesa the resurrection of the Guinigi name. To Fra 
 Pacifico it was the possible rescue of Enrica from a life of 
 suffering, perhaps an early death. To Guglielmi it was 
 the triumph of the keen lawyer, who had tracked and pur 
 sued his prey until that prey had yielded. To the cavaliere 
 it was simply an act of justice which Count Nobili owed 
 to Enrica, after the explanations he (Trenta) had given 
 to him through his lawyer, respecting Count Marescotti 
 such an act of justice as the paternal government of his 
 master the Duke of Lucca would have forced, upon the 
 strength of his absolute prerogative, irrespective of law. 
 The only person not outwardly affected was the marchesa. 
 The marchesa had said nothing since her arrival, but there 
 was a haughty alacrity of step and movement, as she walked 
 down the sala toward the door of her own apartment, that 
 spoke more than words.
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. 340 
 
 No sooner had the sound of her closing door died away 
 in the echoes of the sala than Trenta, with forward bows 
 both to Fra Pacifico and the lawyer, requested permission 
 to leave them, in order to visit Enrica. Guglielmi and 
 Fra Pacifico were now alone. Guglielmi gave a cautious 
 glance round, then walked up to the table, and poured out 
 a tumbler of wine, which he swallowed slowly. As he did 
 so, he was engaged in closely scrutinizing Fra Pacifico, 
 who, full of anxiety as to what was about to happen, stood 
 lost in thought. 
 
 Maestro Guglielmi, whose age might be about forty, 
 was a man, once seen, not easily forgotten a tall, slight 
 man of quick subtile movements, that betrayed the devour 
 ing activity within. Maestro Guglielmi had a perfectly 
 colorless face, a prominent, eager nose, thin lips, that per 
 petually unclosed to a ghostly smile in which the other 
 features took no part ; a brow already knitted with those 
 fine wrinkles indicative of constant study, and overhanging 
 eyebrows that framed a pair of eyes that read you like a 
 book. It would have been a bold man who, with those 
 eyes fixed on him, would have told a lie to Maestro Gugli 
 elmi, advocate in the High Court of Lucca. If any man 
 had so lied, those eyes would have gathered up the light, 
 and flashed it forth again in lightnings that might consume 
 him. That they were dark and flaming, and greatly 
 dreaded by all on whom Guglielmi fixed them in opposi 
 tion, was generally admitted by his legal compeers. 
 
 " Reverend sir," began Maestro Guglielmi, blandly, 
 stepping up to where the priest stood a little apart, and 
 speaking in a metallic voice audible in any court of law, be 
 it ever so closely packed " it gratifies me much that 
 chance has so ordered it that we two are left alone." Gu 
 glielmi took out his watch. " We have a good half-hour 
 to spare." 
 
 Fra Pacifico turned, and for the first time contemplated
 
 350 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 the lawyer attentively. As he did so, he noted with sur 
 prise the power of his eyes. 
 
 " I earnestly desire some conversation with you," con 
 tinued Guglielmi, the semblance of a smile flitting over his 
 hard face. " Can we speak here securely ? " And the 
 lawyer glanced round at the various doors, and particularly 
 to an open one, which led from the sala to the chapel, at 
 the farther end of the house. Fra Pacifico moved forward 
 and closed it. 
 
 " You are quite safe say what you please," he answered, 
 bluntly. His frank nature rose involuntarily against the 
 cunning of Guglielmi's look and manner. " We have no 
 spies here." 
 
 "Pardon me, I did not mean to insinuate that. But 
 what I have to say is strictly private." 
 
 Fra Pacifico eyed Guglielmi with no friendly expres 
 sion. 
 
 " I know you well by repute, reverend sir " with one 
 comprehensive glance Guglielmi seemed to take in Fra 
 Pacifico mentally and physically " therefore it is that I 
 address myself to you." 
 
 The priest crossed his arms and bowed. 
 
 " The marchesa has confided to me the charge of this 
 most delicate case. Hitherto I have conducted it with suc 
 cess. It is not my habit to fail. I have succeeded in con 
 vincing Count Nobili's lawyer, and through him Count No- 
 bili himself, that it would be suicidal to his interests should 
 he not make good the marriage-contract with the Marchesa 
 Guinigi's niece. If Count Nobili refuses, he must leave the 
 country. He has established himself in Lucca, and desires, 
 as I understand, to remain there. My noble client has 
 done me the honor to inform me that she is acquainted 
 with, and can prove, some act of villainy committed by his 
 father, who, though he ended his life as an eminent banker 
 at Florence, began it as a money-lender at Leghorn. Count
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. 351 
 
 Nobili's father filled in a blank check which a client had 
 incautiously left in his hands, to an enormous amount, or 
 something of that kind, I believe. I refused to notice this 
 circumstance legally, feeling sure that we were strong 
 enough without it. I was also sure that giving publicity 
 to such a fact would only prejudice the position of the fu 
 ture husband of the marchesa's niece. To return. Fortu 
 nately, Count Nobili's lawyer saw the case as I put it to him. 
 Count Nobili will, undoubtedly, be here at two o'clock." 
 Again the lawj'er took out his watch, looked at it, and re 
 placed it with rapidity. " A good deal of hard work is 
 comprised in that sentence, * Count Nobili will be here ! ' ' 
 Again there was the ghost of a smile. " Lawyers must not 
 always be judged by the result. In this case, however, the 
 result is favorable, eminently favorable." 
 
 Fra Pacifico's face deepened into a look of disgust, but 
 he said nothing. 
 
 " Count Nobili once here and joined to the young lady 
 by the Church, we must keep him. The spouses must pass 
 twenty-four hours under the same roof to complete and 
 legalize the marriage. I am here officially, to see that 
 Count Nobili attends at the time appointed for the cere 
 mony. In reality, I am here to see that Count Nobili re 
 mains. This must be no formal union. They must be 
 bound together irrevocably. You must help me, reverend 
 sir." 
 
 Maestro Guglielmi turned quickly upon Fra Pacifico. 
 His eyes ran all over him. The priest drew back. 
 
 " I have already stretched my conscience to the utmost 
 for the sake of the lady. I can do nothing more." 
 
 " But, my father, it is surely to the lady's advantage 
 that, if the count marries her, they should live together, 
 that heirs should be born to them," pleaded Guglielmi in 
 a most persuasive voice. " If the count separates from his 
 wife after the ceremony, how can this be ? We do not live
 
 352 TEE ITALIANS. 
 
 in the days of miracles, though we have an infallible pope. 
 Eh, my father ? Not in the days of miracles." Guglielmi 
 gave an ironical laugh, and his eyes twinkled. " Besides, 
 there is the civil ceremony." 
 
 " The Sindaco of Corellia can be present, if you please, 
 for the civil marriage." 
 
 " Unfortunately, there is no time to call the sindaco 
 now," replied Guglielmi. " If Count Nobili remains the 
 night in company with his bride, we shall have no difficulty 
 about the civil marriage to-morrow. Count Nobili will not 
 object then. Not likely." 
 
 The lawyer gave a harsh, cynical laugh that grated offen 
 sively upon the priest's ear. Fra Pacifico began to think 
 Maestro Guglielmi intolerable. 
 
 " That is your affair. I will undertake no further re 
 sponsibility," responded Fra Pacifico, doggedly. 
 
 " You cannot mean, my father, that you will not help 
 me ? " And Guglielmi contemplated Fra Pacifico fixedly 
 with all the lightnings he could bring to bear upon him. 
 To his amazement, he produced no effect whatever. Fra 
 Pacifico remained silent. Altogether this was a priest dif 
 ferent from any he had ever met with Guglielmi hated 
 priests he began to be interested in Fra Pacifico. 
 
 " Well, well," was Guglielmi's reply, with an aspect of 
 intense chagrin, " I had better hopes. Your position, Fra 
 Pacifico, as a peace-maker as a friend of the family how 
 ever " here the lawyer shrugged his shoulders, and his 
 eyes wandered restlessly up and down the room " however, 
 at least permit me to tell you what I intend to do." 
 
 Fra Pacifico bowed coldly. 
 
 " As you please," was his reply. 
 
 Maestro Guglielmi advanced close to Fra Pacifico, and 
 lowered his voice almost to a whisper. 
 
 " The circumstances attending this marriage are becom 
 ing very public. My client, the Marchesa Guinigi, considers
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. 353 
 
 her position so exalted she dares to court publicity. She 
 forgets we are not in the middle ages. Ha ! ha ! " and 
 Guglielmi showed his teeth in a smile that was nothing but 
 a grin " publicity will be fatal to the young lady. This the 
 marchesa fails to see ; but I see it, and you see it, my 
 father." 
 
 Fra Pacifico shook himself all over as though silently 
 rejecting any possible participation in Maestro Guglielmi's 
 arguments. Guglielmi quite understood the gesture, but 
 continued, perfectly at his ease : 
 
 " The high rank of the young lady the wealth of the 
 count a marriage-contract broken an illustrious name 
 libeled Count Nobili, a well-known member of the Jock 
 ey Club, in concealment the Lucchese populace roused to 
 fury all these details have reached the capital. A certain 
 royal personage " here Guglielmi drew himself up pom 
 pously, and waved his hand, as was his wont in the fervor 
 of a grand peroration " a certain royal personage, who has 
 reasons of his own for avoiding unnecessary scandal (pos 
 sibly because the royal personage causes so much himself, 
 and considers scandal his own prerogative)" Guglielmi 
 emphasized his joke with such scintillation as would meta 
 phorically have taken any other man than Fra Pacifico off 
 his legs even Fra Pacifico stared at him with astonish 
 ment " a certain royal personage, I say earnestly desires 
 that this affair should be amicably arranged that the re 
 publican party should not have the gratification of gloating 
 over a sensational trial between two noble families (the 
 republicans would make terrible capital out of it) a cer 
 tain personage desires, I say, that the affair should be ar 
 ranged amicably arranged not only by a formal marriage 
 the formal marriage, of course, we positively insist on 
 but by a complete reconciliation between the parties. If 
 this should not be so, the present ceremony will infallibly 
 lead to a lawsuit respecting the civil marriage the domi-
 
 354 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 cile and the cohabitation which it is distinctly under 
 stood that Count Nobili will refuse, and that the Marchesa 
 Guinigi, acting for her niece, will maintain. It is essen 
 tial, therefore, that more than the formal ceremony shall 
 take place. It is essential that the subsequent cohabita 
 tion" 
 
 " I see your drift," interrupted downright Fra Pacifico, 
 in his blunt way; "no need to go into further details." 
 
 Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico had become interested in 
 the narrative. The cunning lawyer intended that Fra Pa 
 cifico should become so interested. What was the strong- 
 fisted, simple-hearted priest beside such a sophist as Maes 
 tro Guglielmi ! 
 
 " The royal personage in question," continued Guglielmi, 
 who read in Fra Pacifico's frank countenance that he had 
 conquered his repugnance, "has done me the high honor 
 of communicating to me his august sentiments. I have 
 pledged myself to do all I can to prevent the catastrophe 
 of law. My official capacity, however, ends with Count 
 Nobili's presence here at the appointed hour." 
 
 At the word " hour " Guglielmi hastily pulled out his 
 watch. 
 
 " Only a few minutes more," he muttered. " But this 
 is not all. Listen, my father." 
 
 He gave a hasty glance round, then put his lips close 
 to the priest's ear. 
 
 " If I succeed may I say we? " he added, insinuating 
 ly "if we succeed, a canonry will be offered to you, Fra 
 Pacifico ; and I " (Guglielmi's speaking eyes became brill 
 iantly emphatic now) "I shall be appointed judge of the 
 tribunal at Lucca." 
 
 " Pshaw 1 " cried Fra Pacifico, retreating from him with 
 an expression of blank disappointment. "la canon at Luc 
 ca ! If that is to be the consequence of success, you must 
 depend on yourself, Signore Guglielmi. I decline to help
 
 THE CHURCH AND THE LAW. 355 
 
 you. I would not be a canon at Lucca if the King of Italy 
 asked me in person." 
 
 Guglielmi, whose tactics were, if he failed, never to 
 show it, smiled his falsest smile. 
 
 "Noble disinterestedness !" he exclaimed, drawing his 
 delicate hand across his brow. " Nothing could have raised 
 your reverence higher in my esteem than this refusal ! " 
 
 To conceal his real annoyance, Maestro Guglielmi turned 
 away and coughed. It was a diplomatic cough, ready on 
 all emergencies. Again he consulted his watch. 
 
 " Five minutes more, then we must assemble at the 
 altar. A fine will be levied upon Count Nobili, if he is not 
 punctual." 
 
 " If it is so near the time, I must beg you to excuse 
 me," said Fra Pacifico, glad to escape. 
 
 Fra Pacifico, walked rapidly toward the door opening 
 into the corridor leading to the chapel. His retreating fig 
 ure was followed by a succession of fireworks from Gugliel- 
 mi's eyes, indicative of indignation and contempt. 
 
 " He who sleeps catches no fish," the lawyer muttered 
 to himself, biting his lips. " But the priest will help me 
 spite of himself, he will help me. A health to Holy 
 Mother Church ! She would not do much if all her minis 
 ters w r ere like this country clod. He is without ambition. 
 He has quite fatigued me." 
 
 Saying this, Maestro Guglielmi poured out another 
 glass of wine. He critically examined the wine in the 
 light before putting it to his lips ; then he swallowed it 
 with an expression of approbation.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HOUR STRIKES. 
 
 THE chapel was approached by a door communicating 
 with the corridor. (There was another entrance from the 
 garden ; at this entrance Adamo was stationed.) It was 
 narrow and lofty, more like a gallery than a chapel, except 
 that the double windows at either end were arched and 
 filled with stained glass. The altar was placed in a recess 
 facing the door opening from the corridor. It was of dark 
 marble raised on steps, and was backed by a painting too 
 much blackened by smoke to be distinguished. Within 
 the rails stood Fra Pacifico, arrayed in a vestment of white 
 and gold. The grand outline of his tall figure filled the 
 front of the altar. No one would have recognized the par 
 ish priest in the stately ecclesiastic who wore his robes 
 with so much dignity. Beside Fra Pacifico was Angelo 
 transformed into an acolyte, wearing a linen surplice An 
 gelo awed into perfect propriety swinging a silver censer, 
 and only to be recognized by the twinkling of his wicked 
 eyes (not even Fra Pacifico could tame them). To the 
 right of the altar stood the marchesa. Maestro Guglielmi, 
 tablets in hand, was beside her. Behind, at a respectful 
 distance, appeared Silvestro, gathered up into the smallest 
 possible compass.
 
 THE HOUR STRIKES. 357 
 
 As the slow moments passed, all stood so motionless 
 all save Angelo, swinging the silver censer they might 
 have passed for a sculptured group upon a marble tomb. 
 One two struck from the old clock in the Lombard 
 Tower at Corellia. At the last stroke the door from the 
 garden was thrown open. Count Nobili stood in the door 
 way. At the moment of Count Nobili's appearance 
 Maestro Guglielmi drew out his watch ; then he proceeded 
 to note upon his tablets that Count Nobili, having observed 
 the appointed time, was not subject to a fine. 
 
 Count Nobili paused on the threshold, then he advanced 
 to the altar. That he had come in haste was apparent. 
 His dress was travel-stained and dusty ; the locks of his 
 abundant chestnut hair matted and rough ; his whole ap 
 pearance wild and disordered. All the outward polish of 
 the man was gone ; the happy smile contagious in its 
 brightness ; the pleasant curl of the upper lip raising the 
 fair mustache ; the kindling eye so capable of tenderness. 
 His expression was of a man undergoing a terrible ordeal ; 
 defiance, shame, anger, contended on his face. 
 
 There was something in the studied negligence of 
 Count Nobili's appearance that irritated the marchesa to 
 the last degree of endurance. She bridled with rage, and 
 exchanged a significant glance with Guglielmi. 
 
 Footsteps were now heard coming from the sala. It 
 was Enrica, led by the cavaliere. Enrica was whiter than 
 her bridal veil. She had suffered Pipa to array her as she 
 pleased, without a word. Her hair was arranged in a cor 
 onet upon her head ; a whole sheaf of golden curls hung 
 down from it behind. There were the exquisite symmetry 
 of form, the natural grace, the dreamy beauty all the soft 
 harmony of color upon her oval face but the freshness 
 of girlhood was gone. Enrica had made a desperate effort 
 to be calm. Nobili was under the same roof in the same 
 room Nobili was beside her. Would he not show some
 
 358 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 sign that he still loved her ? Else why had he come ? 
 One glance at him was enough. Oh ! he was changed ! 
 She could not bear it. Enrica would have fled had not 
 Trenta held her. The marchesa, too, advanced a step or 
 two, and cast upon her a look so menacing that it filled 
 her with terror. Trembling all over, Enrica clung to the 
 cavaliere. He led her gently forward, and placed ,her be 
 side Count Nobili standing at the altar. Thus unsupport 
 ed, Enrica tottered she seemed about to fall. No hand 
 was stretched out to help her. 
 
 Nobili had turned visibly pale as Enrica entered. His 
 face was averted. The witnesses, Adamo and Silvestro, 
 ranged themselves on either side. The marchesa and 
 Maestro Guglielmi drew nearer to the altar. Angelo 
 waved the censer, walking to and fro before the rails. 
 Pipa peeped in at the open doorway. Her eyes were red 
 with weeping. Pipa looked round aghast. 
 
 " What a marriage was this ! More like a death than 
 a marriage ! She would not have married so not if it 
 had cost her her life no music, no rose-leaves, no dance, 
 no wine. None had even changed their clothes but the 
 cavaliere and the signorina. And a bridegroom like that ! 
 a statue not a living man ! And the signorina 
 poverina hardly able to stand upon her feet ! The signo 
 rina would be sure to faint, she was so weak." 
 
 Pipa had to muffle her face in her handkerchief to drown 
 her sobs. Then Fra Pacifico's impressive voice broke the 
 silence with the opening words of exhortation. 
 
 " Deus Israel sit vobiscum." 
 
 " Gloria patri," was the response in Angelo's childish 
 treble. 
 
 Enrica and Nobili now knelt side by side. Two lighted 
 tapers, typical of chaste love, were placed on the floor be 
 side them on either hand. The image of the Virgin on the 
 altar was uncovered. The tall candles flickered. Enrica
 
 THE HOUR STRIKES. 359 
 
 and Nobili knelt side by side the man who had ceased to 
 love, and the woman who still loved, but who dared not 
 confess her love ! 
 
 As Fra Pacifico proceeded, Count Nobili's face hard 
 ened. "Was not the basilisk eye of the marchesa upon 
 him ? Her lawyer, too, taking notes of every look and 
 gesture ? 
 
 " Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy 
 wife ? " asked the priest. Turning from the altar, Fra 
 Pacifico faced Count Nobili as he put this question. 
 
 A hot flush overspread Nobili's face. He opened his 
 lips to speak, but no words were audible. "Would the 
 words not come, or would Nobili at the last moment refuse 
 to utter them ? 
 
 " Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy 
 wedded wife ? " sternly repeated Fra Pacifico, fixing his 
 dark eyes upon him. 
 
 " I will," answered Nobili. Whatever his feelings were, 
 Nobili had mastered them. 
 
 For an instant Nobili's eye met Enrica's. He turned 
 hastily away. Enrica sighed. Whatever hopes had buoyed 
 her up were gone. Nobili had turned away from her ! 
 
 Fra Pacifico placed Enrica's hand in that of Nobili. 
 Poor little hand how it trembled ! Ah ! would Nobili 
 not recall how fondly he had clasped it ? What kisses he 
 had showered upon each rosy little finger ! So lately, too ! 
 No Nobili is impassive ; not a feature of his face changes. 
 But the contact of Nobili's beloved hand utterly overcame 
 Enrica. The limit of her endurance was reached. Again 
 the shadow of death was upon her the shadow that had 
 led her to the dark abyss. 
 
 When Nobili dropped her hand ; Enrica leaned forward 
 upon the edge of the marble rails. She hid her head upon 
 her arms. Her long hair, escaped from the fastening, 
 shrouded her face.
 
 3GO THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus ! " spoke the deep 
 voice of Fra Pacifico. 
 
 He made the sign of the cross. The address followed. 
 The priest's last words died away in sonorous echoes. It 
 was done. They were man and wife ! 
 
 Fra Pacifico had by no outward sign betrayed what he 
 felt during the discharge of his office ; but his conscience 
 sorely smote him. He asked himself with dismay if, in 
 helping Enrica, he had not committed a mortal sin ? Hith 
 erto he had defended Count Nobili ; now his whole soul 
 rose against him. " Would Nobili say nothing in justifica 
 tion ? " Spite of himself, Fra Pacifico's fists clinched them 
 selves under his vestments. 
 
 But Nobili was about to speak. He gave a hurried 
 glance round the circle upon Enrica' kneeling at the altar ; 
 with the air of a man who forces himself to do a hateful 
 penance, he broke silence. 
 
 " In the presence of the blessed sacrament " his voice 
 was thick and hoarse " I declare that, after the explana 
 tions given, I withdraw my accusations. I hold that lady, 
 now Countess Nobili " and he pointed to the motionless 
 mass of white drapery kneeling beside him " I hold that 
 lady innocent in thought and life. But I include her in the 
 just indignation with which I regard this house and its 
 mistress, whose agent she has made herself to deceive me." 
 
 Count Nobili's kindling eye rested on the marchesa. 
 She, in her turn, shot a furious glance at the cavaliere. 
 
 " ' Explanations given ! ' Then Trenta had dared to ex 
 onerate Enrica ! It was degrading ! " 
 
 " This reparation made," continued Count Nobili 
 " my name and hand given to her by the Church honor is 
 satisfied : I will never live with her ! " 
 
 Was there no mercy in the man as he pronounced these 
 last words ? No appeal ? No mercy ? Or had the mar 
 chesa driven him to bay ?
 
 THE HOUR STRIKES. 361 
 
 The marchesa ! Nobili's last words had shattered the 
 whole fabric of her ambition ! Never for a moment had 
 the marchesa doubted that, the marriage once over, Nobili 
 would have seriously refused the splendid position she 
 offered him. Look at her ! She cannot conceal her con 
 sternation. 
 
 " I invite you, therefore, Maestro Guglielmi " the stud 
 ied calmness of Nobili's manner belied the agitation of his 
 voice and aspect "you, Maestro Guglielmi, who have 
 been called here expressly to insult me I invite you to 
 advise the Marchesa Guinigi to accept what I am willing to 
 offer." 
 
 " To insult you, Count Nobili ? " exclaimed Guglielmi, 
 looking round. (Guglielmi had turned aside to write a few 
 hurried words upon his tablets, torn out the leaf, and 
 slipped it into the marchesa's hand. So rapidly was this 
 done, no one had perceived it.) " To insult you ? Surely 
 not to insult you ! Allow me to explain." 
 
 " Silence ! " thundered Fra Pacifico standing before the 
 altar. " In the name of God, silence ! Let those who de 
 sire to wrangle choose a fitter place. There can be no con 
 tentions in the presence of the sacrament. The declara 
 tion of Count Nobili's belief in the virtue of his wife I per 
 mitted. I listened to what followed, praying that, if human 
 aid failed, God, hearing his blasphemy against the holy 
 sacrament of marriage, might touch his heart. In the 
 hands of God I leave him ! " 
 
 Having thus spoken, Fra Pacifico replaced the Host in 
 the ciborium, and, assisted by Angelo, proceeded to divest 
 himself of his robes, which he laid one by one upon the 
 altar. 
 
 At this instant the marchesa rose and left the chapel. 
 
 Count Nobili's eyes followed her with a look of absolute 
 
 loathing. Without one glance at Enrica, still immovable, 
 
 her head buried on her arms, Nobili left the altar. He 
 
 16
 
 362 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 walked slowly to the window at the farther end of the 
 chapel. Turning his back upon all present, he took from 
 his pocket a parchment, which he perused with deep atten 
 tion. 
 
 All this time Cavaliere Trenta, radiant in his official 
 costume, his white staff of office in his right hand, had re 
 mained standing behind Enrica. Each instant he expected 
 to see her rise, when it would devolve on him to lead her 
 away ; but she had not stirred. Now the cavaliere felt 
 that the fitting moment had fully come for Enrica to with 
 draw. Indeed, he wondered within himself why she had 
 remained so long. 
 
 " Enrica, rise, my child," he said, softly. " There is 
 nothing more to be done. The ceremony is over." 
 
 Still Enrica did not move. Fra Pacifico leaned over 
 the altar-rails, and gently raised her head. It dropped 
 back upon his hand Enrica had fainted. 
 
 This discovery caused the most terrible commotion. 
 Pipa, who had watched every thing from the door, screamed 
 and ran forward. Fra Pacifico was bending over the pros 
 trate girl, supported in the arms of the cavaliere. 
 
 " I feared this," Fra Pacifico whispered. "Thank God, 
 I believe it is only momentary ! We must carry her in 
 stantly to her room. I will take care of her." 
 
 " Poor, broken flower ! " cried Trenta, " who will raise 
 thee up ? " His voice came thick, struggling with sobs. 
 " Can you see that unmoved, Count Nobili ? " Trenta 
 pointed to the retreating figure of Fra Pacifico bearing En 
 rica in his arms. 
 
 At the sound of Trenta's voice, Count Nobili started 
 and turned around. Enrica had already disappeared. 
 
 " You will soon give her another bridegroom he will 
 not leave her as you have done that bridegroom will be 
 Death ! To-day it is the bridal-veil to-morrow it will be 
 the shroud. Not a month ago she lay upon what might
 
 THE HOUR STRIKES. 363 
 
 have been her death-bed. Your infamous letter did that ! " 
 The remembrance of that letter roused the cavaliere out of 
 himself ; he cared not what he said. " That letter almost 
 killed her. Would to God she had died ! What has she 
 done? She is an angel! We were all here when you 
 signed the contract. Why did you break it ? " Trenta's 
 shrill voice had risen into a kind of wail. " Do you mean 
 to doubt what I told you at Lucca ? I swear to you that 
 Enrica never knew that she was offered in marriage to 
 Count Marescotti I swear it ! I did it it was my fault. 
 I persuaded the marchesa. It was I. Enrica and Count 
 Marescotti never met but in my presence. And you re 
 venge yourself on her ? If you had the heart of a man, you 
 could not do it ! " 
 
 " It is because I have the heart of a man, I will not 
 suffer degradation ! " cried Nobili. " It is because I have 
 the heart of a man, I will not sink into an unworthy tool ! 
 This is why I refuse to live with her. She is one of a 
 vile conspiracy. She has joined with the marchesa against 
 me. I have been forced to marry her. I will not live with 
 her!" 
 
 Count Nobili stopped suddenly. An agonized expres 
 sion came into his face. 
 
 " I screened her in the first fury of my anger I 
 screened her when I believed her guilty. Now it is too 
 late God help her ! " He turned abruptly away. 
 
 Cavaliere Trenta, whose vehemence had died away as 
 stiddenly as it had risen, crept to the door. He threw up 
 his hands in despair. There was no help for Enrica ! 
 
 All this time Maestro Guglielmi's keen eyes had noted 
 every thing. He was on the lookout for evidence. Per 
 sons under strong emotions, as a rule, commit themselves. 
 Count Nobili was young and hot-headed. Count Nobili 
 would probably commit himself. Up to this time Count 
 Nobili had said nothing, however, that could be made use
 
 364 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 of. Guglielmi's ready brain worked incessantly. If he 
 could carry out the plan he had formed, he might yet be a 
 judge within the year. Already Guglielmi feels the touch 
 of the soft fur upon his official robes ! 
 
 After the cavaliere's departure, Guglielmi advanced. 
 He had been standing so entirely concealed in the shadow 
 thrown by the altar, that Nobili had forgotten his presence. 
 Nobili now stared at him in angry surprise. 
 
 " With your permission," said the lawyer, with a low 
 bow, accosting Nobili, " I hope to convince you how much 
 you have wronged me by your accusation." 
 
 " What accusation ? " demanded the count, drawing 
 back toward the window. " I do not understand you." 
 
 Guglielmi was the marchesa's adviser; Count Nobili 
 hated him. 
 
 " Your accusation that ' I am here to insult you.' If 
 you will do me the honor, Count Nobili, to speak to me in 
 private " Guglielmi glanced at Silvestro, Adamo, and An- 
 gelo, peering out half hid by the altar " if you will do me 
 this honor, I will prove to you that I am here to serve 
 you." 
 
 " That is impossible," answered Nobili. " Nor do I 
 oare. I leave this house immediately." 
 
 " But allow me to observe, Count Nobili," and Maestro 
 Guglielmi drew himself up with an air of offended dignity, 
 " you are bound as a gentleman to retract those words, or 
 to hear my explanation." (Delay at any price was Gugli 
 elmi's object.) " Surely, Count Nobili, you cannot refuse 
 me this satisfaction ? " 
 
 Count Nobili hesitated. What could this strange man 
 have to say to him? 
 
 Guglielmi watched him. 
 
 " You will spare me half an hour ? " he urged. " That 
 will suffice." 
 
 Count Nobili looked greatly embarrassed.
 
 THE HOUR STRIKES. 365 
 
 " A thousand thanks ! " exclaimed Guglielmi, accepting 
 his silence for consent. " I will not trespass needlessly on 
 your time. Permit me to find some one to conduct you to 
 a room." 
 
 Guglielmi looked round Angelo came forward. 
 
 " Conduct Count Nobili to the room prepared for him," 
 said the lawyer. " There, Count Nobili, I will attend you 
 in a few minutes."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME. 
 
 V/HEN the marchesa entered the sala after she had left 
 the chapel, her steps were slow and measured. Count 
 Nobili's words rang in her ear: " I will not live with her." 
 She could not put these words from her. For the first 
 time in her life the marchesa was shaken in the belief of 
 her mission. 
 
 If Count Nobili refused to live with Enrica as his wife, 
 all the law in the world could not force him. If no heir 
 was born to the Guinigi, she had lived in vain. 
 
 As the marchesa stood in the dull light of the misty 
 afternoon, leaning against the solid carved table on which 
 refreshments were spread, the old palace at Lucca rose up 
 before her dyed with the ruddy tints of summer sunsets. 
 She trod again in thought those mysterious rooms, shroud 
 ed in perpetual twih'ght. She gazed upon the faces of the 
 dead, looking down upon her from the walls. How could 
 she answer to those dead; for what had she done? That 
 heroic face too with the stern, soft eyes how could she 
 meet it ? What was Count Nobili or his wealth to her 
 without an heir? By threats she had forced Nobili to 
 make Enrica his wife, but no threats could compel him to 
 complete the marriage. 
 
 As she lingered in the sala, stunned by the blow that
 
 FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME. 367 
 
 had fallen upon her, the marchesa suddenly recollected the 
 penciled lines which Guglielmi had torn from his tablet 
 and slipped into her hand. She drew the paper from the 
 folds of her dress and read these words : 
 
 " We are beaten if Count Nobili leaves the house to 
 night. Keep him at all hazards" 
 
 A sudden revulsion seized her. She raised her head 
 with that snake-like action natural to her. The blood 
 rushed to her face and neck. Guglielmi then still had 
 hope? All was not lost. In an instant her energy re 
 turned to her. "What could she do to keep him ? Would 
 Enrica Enrica was still within the chapel. The mar 
 chesa heard the murmur of voices coming through the 
 corridor. No, though she worshiped him, Enrica would 
 never lend herself to tempt Nobili with the bait of her 
 beauty no, even though she was his wife. It would be 
 useless to ask her. " Keep him how ? " the marchesa 
 asked herself with feverish impatience. Every moment 
 was precious. She heard footsteps. They must be leaving 
 the chapel. Nobili, perhaps, was going. No. The door to 
 the garden, by which Nobili had entered the chapel, was 
 now locked. Adamo had given her the key. She must 
 therefore see them when they passed out through the sala. 
 At this moment the howling of the dogs was audible. 
 They were chained up in the cave under the tower. Poor 
 beasts, they had been forgotten in the hurry of the day. The 
 d.ogs were hungry ; were yelping for their food. Through 
 the open door the marchesa saw Adamo pass a sudden 
 thought struck her. 
 
 " Adamo ! " 
 
 " Padrona." And Adamo's bullet-head and broad shoul 
 ders fill up the doorway. 
 
 " mere is Count Nobili ? "
 
 368 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Along with the lawyer from Lucca." 
 
 " He is safe, then, for the present," the marchesa told 
 herself. 
 
 Adamo could not speak for staring at his mistress as she 
 stood opposite to him full in the light. He had never seen 
 such a look upon her face all the years he had served her. 
 
 She almost smiled at him. 
 
 "Adamo," the marchesa addresses him eagerly, " come 
 here. -How many years have you lived with me ? " 
 
 Adamo grins and shows two rows of white teeth. 
 
 " Thirty years, padrona I came when I was a little 
 lad." 
 
 " Have I treated you well, Adamo ? " 
 
 As she asks this question, the marchesa moves close to 
 him. 
 
 " Have I ever complained," is Adamo's answer, " that 
 the marchesa asks me ? " 
 
 " You saved my life, Adamo, not long ago, from the 
 fire." The eager look is growing intenser. " I have never 
 thanked you. Adamo " 
 
 " Padrona " he is more and more amazed at her " she 
 must be going to die ! Gesu mio ! I wish she would swear 
 at me," Adamo thought. " Padrona, don't thank me 
 Domine Dio did it." 
 
 " Take these " and the marchesa puts her hand into her 
 pocket and draws out some notes " take these, these are 
 better than thanks." 
 
 Adamo drew back much affronted. " Padrona, I don't 
 want money." 
 
 " Yes, yes, take them for Pipa and the boys " and 
 she thrusts the notes into his big red hands. 
 
 " After all," thought Adamo to himself, " if the padrona 
 is going to die, I may as well have these notes as another." 
 
 " I would save your life any day, padrona," Adamo 
 says aloud. " It is a pleasure."
 
 FOR THE HONOR OF A NAME. 369 
 
 " Would you ? " the marchesa fell into a muse. 
 
 Again the dogs howled. Adarao makes a motion to go 
 to them. 
 
 " Were you going to feed the dogs when I called to 
 you ? " she asks. 
 
 " Padrona, yes. I was going to feed them." 
 
 " Are they very hungry ? " 
 
 " Very poverini ! they have had nothing since this 
 morning. Now it is five o'clock." 
 
 "Don't feed them, Adamo, don't feed them." The 
 marchesa is strangely excited. She holds out her hand 
 to detain him. 
 
 Adamo stares at her in mute consternation. " The 
 padrona is certainly going mad before she dies," he mut 
 ters, trying to get away. 
 
 " Adamo, come here ! " He approaches her, secretly 
 making horns against the evil-eye with his fingers. " You 
 saved my life, now you must save my honor." 
 
 The words came hissing into his ear. Adamo drew back 
 a step or two. " Blessed mother, what ails her ? " But 
 he held his tongue. 
 
 The marchesa stands before him drawn up to her full 
 height, every nerve and muscle strained to the utmost. 
 
 " Adamo, do you hear ? My honor, the honor of my 
 name. Quick, quick ! " 
 
 She lays her hand on his rough jacket and grasps it. 
 
 Adamo, struck with superstitious awe, cannot speak. 
 He nods. 
 
 " The dogs are hungry, you say. Let them loose with 
 out feeding. No one must leave the house to-night. Do 
 you understand ? You must prevent it. Let the dogs 
 loose." 
 
 Again Adamo nods. He is utterly bewildered. He 
 will obey her, of course, but what can she mean ? 
 
 " Is your gun loaded ? " she asks, anxiously.
 
 370 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 " Yes, padrona." 
 
 " That is well." A vindictive smile lights up her feat 
 ures. " No one must leave the house to-night. You un 
 derstand? The dogs will be loose the guns loaded. 
 Where is Pipa ? Say nothing to Pipa. Do you under 
 stand ? Don't tell Pipa" 
 
 "Understand? No, diavalo! I don't understand," 
 bursts out Adamo. " If you want any one shot, tell me 
 who it is, padrona, and I will do it." 
 
 " That would be murder, Adamo." The marchesa is 
 standing very near him. Adamo sees the savage gleam 
 that comes into her eyes. " If any one leaves the house to 
 night except Fra Pacifico, stop him, Adamo, stop him. 
 You, or the dogs, or the gun no matter. Stop him, I com 
 mand you. I have my reasons. If a life is lost I cannot 
 help it nor can you, Adamo, eh ? " 
 
 She smiles grimly. Adamo smiles too, a stolid smile, 
 and nods. He is greatly relieved. The padrona is not mad, 
 nor will she die. 
 
 " You may sleep in peace, padrona." With the utmost 
 respect Adamo raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. 
 " Next time ask Adamo to do something more, and he will 
 do it. Trust me, no one shall leave the house to-night 
 alive." 
 
 The marchesa listens to Adamo breathlessly. " Go 
 go," she says ; " we must not be seen together." 
 
 " The signora shall be obeyed," answers Adamo. He 
 vanishes behind the trees. 
 
 " Now I can meet-Guglielmi ! " The marchesa rapidly 
 crosses the sala to the door of her own room, which she_ 
 leaves ajar.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. 
 
 THE room to which Angelo conducts Count Nobili is 
 on the ground-floor, in the same wing as the chapel. It 
 is reached by the same corridor, which traverses all that 
 side of the house. Into this corridor many other doors 
 open. Pipa had chosen it because it was the best room in 
 the house. From the high ceiling, painted in gay fres 
 coes, hangs a large chandelier ; the bed is covered with 
 red damask curtains. Such furniture as was available had 
 been carried thither by Pipa and Adamo. One large win 
 dow, reaching to the ground, looks westward over the low 
 wall. 
 
 The sun is setting. The mighty range of mountains 
 are laced with gold ; light, fleecy cloudlets float across the 
 sky. Behind rise banks of deepest saffron. These shift 
 and move at first in chaos ; then they take the form as of 
 a fiery city. There are domes and towers and pinnacles as 
 of living flame, that burn and glisten. Another moment, 
 and the sun has sunk to rest. The phantom city fades ; 
 the ruddy background melts into the gray mountain-side. 
 Dim ghost-like streaks linger about the double summits of 
 La Pagna. They vanish. Nothing then remains but 
 masses of leaden clouds soon to darken into night. 
 
 On entering the room, Count Nobili takes a long breath,.
 
 372 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 gazes for a moment on the mountains that rise before him, 
 then turns toward the door, awaiting the arrival of Gugli- 
 elmi. His restless eye, his shifting color, betray his agita 
 tion. The ordeal is not yet over ; he must hear what this 
 man has to say. 
 
 Maestro Guglielmi enters with a quick, brisk step and 
 easy, confident bearing ; indeed, he is in the highest spirits. 
 He had trembled lest Nobili should have insisted upon 
 leaving Corellia immediately after the ceremony when it was 
 still broad daylight. Several unforeseen circumstances had 
 prevented this Enrica's fainting-fit; the discussion that 
 ensued upon it between Nobili and the old chamberlain 
 all this had created delay, and afforded him an appropriate 
 opportunity of requesting a private interview. Besides, 
 the cunning lawyer had noted that, during that discussion 
 in the chapel with Cavaliere Trenta, Nobili had evinced 
 indications of other passions besides anger indications of 
 a certain tenderness in the midst of his vehement sense of 
 the wrong done him by the marchesa. But, what was of 
 far more consequence to Guglielmi was, that all this had 
 the effect of stopping Nobili's immediate departure. That 
 Guglielmi had prevailed upon Nobili to enter the room 
 prepared for him that he had in so doing domiciled him 
 self voluntarily under the same roof as his wife was an 
 immense point gained. 
 
 All this filled Maestro Guglielmi with the prescience 
 of success. With Nobili in the house, what might not the 
 chapter of accidents produce ? All this had occurred, too, 
 without taking into account what the marchesa herself 
 might have planned, when she had read the note of instruc 
 tions he had written upon a page of his tablets. Guglielmi 
 thought he knew his friend and client the Marchesa Gui- 
 nigi but little, if her fertile brain had not already created 
 some complication that would have the effect of preventing 
 Count Nobili's departure that night. The instant the
 
 HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. 373 
 
 immediate instant now lay with himself. He was about 
 to make the most of it. 
 
 When Guglielmi entered the room, Count Nobili re 
 ceived him with an expression of undisguised disgust. 
 Summoned by Nobili in a peremptory tone to say why he 
 had brought him hither, Guglielmi broke forth with ex 
 traordinary volubility. He had used, he declared, his in 
 fluence with the marchesa throughout for his (Count No- 
 bili's) advantage solely for his advantage. One word from 
 him, and the Marchesa Guinigi would have availed herself 
 of her legal claims in the most vindictive manner exposed 
 family secrets made the whole transaction of the mar 
 riage public and so revenged herself upon him that Count 
 Nobili would have no choice but to leave Lucca and Italy 
 forever. 
 
 "All this I have prevented," Guglielmi insisted em 
 phatically. " How could I serve you better ? Could a 
 brother have guarded your honor more jealously ? You 
 will come to see and acknowledge the obligation in time 
 yes, Count Nobili in time. Time brings all things to 
 light. Time will exhibit my integrity, my disinterested 
 devotion to your interests in their true aspect. All little 
 difficulties settled with my illustrious client, the Marchesa 
 Guinigi (a high-minded and most courageous lady of the 
 heroic type), established in Lucca in the full enjoyment of 
 your enormous wealth with the lovely lady I have just 
 seen by your side the enlightened benefactor of the city 
 the patron of art the consoler of distress a leader of 
 the young generation of nobles the political head of the 
 new Italian party bearing the grandest name (of course 
 you will adopt that of Guinigi), adorning that name with 
 the example of noble actions a splendid career opens be 
 fore you. Yes, Count Nobili yes a career worthy of 
 the loftiest ambition ! 
 
 " All this I have been the happy means of procuring
 
 374 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 for you. Another advocate might have exasperated the 
 marchesa's passions for his own purposes; it would have 
 been most easy. But I," continued Guglielmi, bringing 
 his flaming eyes to bear upon Count Nobili, then raising 
 them from him outward toward the darkening mountains 
 as though he would call on the great Apennines to bear 
 witness to his truth " I have scorned such base consider 
 ations. With unexampled magnanimity I have brought 
 about this marriage all this I have done, actuated by the 
 purest, the most single-hearted motives. In return, Count 
 Nobili, I make one request I entreat you to believe that 
 I am your friend " 
 
 (Before the lawyer had concluded his peroration, pro 
 fessional zeal had so far transported him that he had con 
 vinced himself all he said was true was he not indeed 
 pleading for his judgeship ?) 
 
 Guglielmi extended his arms as if about to embrace 
 Count Nobili ! 
 
 All this time Nobili had stood as far removed from him 
 as possible. Nobili had neither moved nor raised his head 
 once. He had listened to Guglielmi, as the rocks listen to 
 the splash of the seething waves beating against their side. 
 As the lawyer proceeded, a deep flush gradually overspread 
 his face when he saw the lawyer's outstretched arms, he 
 retreated to the utmost limits of the room. Guglielmi's 
 arms fell to his side. 
 
 " Whatever may be my opinion of you, Signore Avvoca- 
 to," spoke the count *at length, contemplating Guglielmi 
 fixedly, and speaking slowly, as if exercising a strong con 
 trol over himself " whether I accept your friendship, or 
 whether I believe anyone word you say, is immaterial. It 
 cannot affect in any way what is past. The declaration I 
 made before the altar is the declaration to which I adhere 
 I am not bound to state my reasons. To me they are 
 overwhelming. I must therefore decline all discussion with
 
 HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. 375 
 
 you. It is for you to make such arrangements with your 
 client as will insure me a separation. That done, our paths 
 lie far apart." 
 
 Who would have recognized the gracious, facile Count 
 Nobili in these hard words ? The haughty tone in which 
 they were uttered added to their sting. 
 
 We are at best the creatures of circumstances circum- 
 staaces had entirely altered him. At that moment, Nobili 
 was at war with all the world. He hated himself he 
 hated and he mistrusted every one. Guglielmi was not cer 
 tainly adapted to restore faith in mankind. 
 
 Legal habits had taught Maestro Guglielmi to shape his 
 countenance into a mask, fashioned to whatever expression 
 he might desire to assume. Never had the trick been so 
 difficult ! The intense rage that possessed him was uncon 
 trollable. For the first moment he stood stolidly mute. 
 Then he struck the heel of his boot loudly upon the stuc 
 coed floor would he could crush Count Nobili thus ! 
 crush him and trample upon him Nobili the only obsta 
 cle to the high honors awaiting him ! The next instant 
 Guglielmi was reproaching himself for his want of control 
 the next instant he was conscious how needful it was to 
 dissemble. Was he Guglielmi who had flashed his 
 sword in a thousand battles, to be worsted by a stubborn 
 boy ? Outwitted by a capricious lover ? Never ! 
 
 " Excuse me, Count Nobili," he said, overmastering him 
 self by a violent effort " it is a bitter pang to me, your 
 devoted friend, to be asked to become a party to an act 
 fatal to your prospects. If you adhere to your resolution, 
 you can never return to Lucca never inhabit the palace 
 your wealth has so superbly decorated. Public opinion 
 would not permit it. You, a stranger in the city, are held 
 to have ill-used and abandoned the niece of the Marchesa 
 Guinigi." Nobili looked up ; he was about to reply. " Par 
 don me, count, I neither affirm nor deny this accusation,"
 
 376 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 continued Guglielmi, observing his movement ; " I am giv 
 ing no opinion on the merits of the case. You have now 
 espoused the lady. If for a second time you abandon her, 
 you will incur the increased indignation of the public. 
 Reconsider, I implore you, this last resolve." 
 
 The lawyer's metallic voice grew positively pathetic. 
 
 " I will not reconsider it ! " cried Count Nobili, indig 
 nantly. "I deny your right to advise me. You have 
 brought me into this room for no purpose that I can com 
 prehend. What have I in common with the advocate of 
 my enemy ? I desire to leave Corellia. You are detaining 
 me. Here is the deed of separation " Nobili drew from 
 his breast-pocket the parchment he had perused so atten 
 tively in the chapel " it only needs the lady's signature. 
 Mine is already affixed. Let me tell you, and through 
 you the Marchesa Guinigi, without that deed and my own 
 free will," he added in a lower tone, "neither you nor she 
 would have forced me here to this marriage ; I came because 
 I considered some reparation was due to a young lady whose 
 name has been cruelly outraged. Else I would have died 
 first! If the lady I have made my wife desires to make 
 any amends to me for the insults that have been heaped 
 upon me through her, let her set me free from an odious 
 thralldrom. I will not so much as look upon one who has 
 permitted herself to be made the tool of others to deceive 
 me. She has been treacherous to me in business she has 
 been treacherous to me in love no, I will never look upon 
 her again ! Live with her ? by God ! never ! " 
 
 The pent-up wrath within him, the maddening sense of 
 wrong, blaze out. Count Nobili is now striding up and 
 down the room insensible to any thing for the moment but 
 the consciousness of his own outraged feelings. 
 
 As Count Nobili waxed furious, Maestro Guglielmi grew 
 calm. His busy brain was concocting all sorts of expedients. 
 He leaned his chin upon his hands. His false smile gave
 
 HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. 377 
 
 place to a sardonic grin, as he watched Nobili marked his 
 well-set, muscular figure, his easy movements, the graceful 
 curve of his head and neck, his delicate, regular features, 
 his sunny complexion. But Nobili' s face without a smile 
 was shorn of its chief charm : that smile, so bright in itself, 
 brought brightness to others. 
 
 " A fine, generous fellow, a proper husband for any lady 
 in Italy, whoever she may be," was Guglielmi's reflection, 
 as he watched him. " The young countess has taste. He 
 is not such a fool either, but desperately provoking like 
 all boys with large fortunes, desperately provoking and 
 dogged as a mule. But for all that he is a fine, generous- 
 hearted fellow. I like him I like him for refusing to be 
 forced against his will. I would not live with an angel on 
 such terms." At this point Guglielmi's eyes exhibited a 
 succession of fireworks ; his long teeth gleamed, and he 
 smiled a stealthy smile. "But he must be tamed, this 
 youth he must be tamed. Let me see, I must take him 
 on another tack on the flank this time, and hit him 
 hard ! " 
 
 Nobili has now ceased striding up and down the room. 
 He stands facing the window. His ear has caught the 
 barking of several dogs. A minute after, one rushes past the 
 window raised only by a few stone steps from the ground 
 a formidable beast with long white hair, tail on end, ears 
 erect, open-mouthed, fiery-eyed this is Argo Argo let 
 loose, famished maddened by Adamo's devices Argo 
 rushing at full speed and tearing up a shower of gravel 
 with his huge paws. Barking horribly, he disappears into 
 the shrubs. Argo's bark is taken up by the other dogs 
 from all round the house in various keys. Juno the lurcher 
 gives a short low yelp ; the rat-terrier Tuzzi, a shrill, grat 
 ing whine like a rusty saw ; the bull-terrier, a deep growl. 
 In the solemn silence of the untrodden Apennines that rise 
 around, the loud voices of the dogs echo from cliff to cliff,
 
 378 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 boom down into the abyss, and rattle there like thunder. 
 The night-birds catch up the sound and screech ; the fright 
 ened bats circle round wildly. 
 
 At this moment heavy footsteps creak upon the gravel 
 under the shadow of the wall. A low whistle passes 
 through the air, and the dogs disappear. 
 
 " A savage pack, like their mistress," was Count Nobili's 
 thought as his eyes tried to pierce into the growing dark 
 ness. 
 
 Night is coming on. Heavy vapors creep up from the 
 earth and obscure the air. Darker and denser clouds cover 
 the heavens. Black shadows gather . within the room. 
 The bed looms out from the lighter walls like a funeral 
 catafalque. 
 
 A few pale gleams of light still linger on the horizon. 
 These fall upon Nobili's figure as he stands framed in the 
 window. As the waning light strikes upon his eyes, a pre 
 sentiment of danger comes over him. These dogs, these 
 footsteps what do they mean ? 
 
 Again a wild desire seizes him to be riding full speed 
 on the mountain-road to Lucca, to feel the fresh night air 
 upon his heated brow ; the elastic spring of his good horse 
 under him, each stride bearing him farther from his ene 
 mies. He is about to leap out and fly, when the warning 
 hand of the lawyer is laid upon his arm. Nobili shakes 
 him off, but Guglielmi permits himself no indication of 
 offense. Dejection and grief are depicted on his counte 
 nance. He shakes his head despondingly ; his manner is 
 dangerously fawning. He, too, has heard the dogs, the 
 footsteps, and the whistle. He has drawn his own conclu 
 sions. 
 
 " I perceive, Count Nobili," he says, " you are impa 
 tient." 
 
 This was in response to a muttered curse from Nobili. 
 
 " Let me go ! A thousand devils ! Let me go ! " cried
 
 HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. 379 
 
 the count, putting the lawyer back. "Impatient! lam 
 maddened ! " 
 
 " But not before we have settled the matter in question. 
 That is impossible 1 Hear me, then, Count Nobili. With 
 the deepest sorrow I accept the separation you demand on 
 the part of the marchesa ; you give me no choice. I vent 
 ure no further remark," continues Guglielmi meekly, drill 
 ing his eyes to a subdued expression. 
 
 (His eyes are a continual curse to him ; sometimes they 
 will tell the truth.) 
 
 " But there is one point, my dear count, upon which 
 we must understand each other." 
 
 In order to detain Nobili, Guglielmi is about to commit 
 himself to a deliberate lie. Lying is not his practice ; not 
 on principle, for he has none. Expediency is his -faith, 
 pliancy his creed ; lying is inartistic, also dangerous. A 
 lie may grow into a spectre, and haunt you to your grave, 
 perhaps beyond it. 
 
 Guglielmi felt he must do something decisive, or that 
 exalted personage who desired to avoid all scandal not 
 connected with himself would be irretrievably offended, 
 and he, Guglielmi, would never sit on the judicial bench. 
 Yet, unscrupulous as he was, the trickster shuddered at the 
 thought of what that lie might cost him. 
 
 It is my duty to inform you, Count Nobili " Guglielmi 
 is speaking with pompous earnestness he anxiously notes 
 the effect his words produce upon Count Nobili " that, un 
 less you remain under the same roof with your wife to 
 night, the marriage will not be completed ; therefore no 
 separation between you will be legal." 
 
 Nobili turned pale. He struck his fist violently on the 
 table. 
 
 " What ! a new difficulty ? When will this torture 
 end?" 
 
 " It will end to-morrow morning, Count Nobili. To-
 
 380 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 morrow morning I shall have the honor of waiting upon 
 you, in company with the Mayor of Corellia, for the civil 
 marriage. Every requisition of the law will then have been 
 complied with." 
 
 Maestro Guglielmi bows and moves toward the door. 
 If by this means the civil marriage can be brought about, 
 Guglielmi will have clinched a doubtful act into a legal 
 certainty. 
 
 " A moment, Signore Avvocato " and Nobili is follow 
 ing Guglielmi to the door, consternation and amazement 
 depicted upon his countenance. "Is this indeed so?" 
 
 Nobili's manner indicates suspicion. 
 
 " Absolutely so," answers the mendacious one. " To 
 morrow morning, after the civil marriage, we shall be in 
 readiness to sign the deed of separation. Allow me in the 
 mean time to peruse it." 
 
 He holds out his hand. If all fails, he determines to 
 destroy that deed, and protest that he has lost it. 
 
 " Dio Santo ! " ejaculates Nobili, giving the deed to 
 him " twenty-four hours at Corellia ! " 
 
 " Not twenty-four," suggests Guglielmi, blandly, put 
 ting the deed into his pocket and taking out his watch with 
 extraordinary rapidity, then replacing it as rapidly ; " it is 
 now seven o'clock. At nine o'clock to-morrow morning the 
 deed of separation shall be signed, and you, Count Nobili, 
 will be free."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE LAWYER BAFFLED. 
 
 AT that moment Fra Pacifico's tall figure barred the 
 doorway. He seemed to have risen suddenly out of the 
 darkness. Nobili started back and changed color. Of all 
 living men, he most dreaded the priest at that particular 
 moment. The priest was now before him, stern, grave, 
 authoritative ; searching him with those earnest eyes the 
 priest a living protest against all he had done, against 
 all he was about to do ! 
 
 The agile lawyer darted forward. He was about to 
 speak. Fra Pacifico waved him into silence. 
 
 " Maestro Guglielmi," he said, with that sonorous voice 
 which lent importance to his slightest utterances, " I am 
 glad to find you here. You represent the marchesa. My 
 son," he continued, addressing Count Nobili (as he did so, 
 his face darkened into a look of mingled pain and displeas 
 ure), " I come from your wife." 
 
 At that word Fra Pacifico paused. Count Nobili red 
 dened. His eyes fell upon the floor ; he dared not meet 
 the reproving glance he felt was upon him. 
 
 " My son, I come from your wife," repeated Fra Pa 
 cifico. 
 
 There was a dead silence. 
 
 " You saw your wife borne from the altar fainting. She 
 was mercifully spared, therefore, hearing from your own
 
 382 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 lips that you repudiated her. She has since been informed 
 by Cavaliere Trenta that you did so. I am here as her 
 messenger. Your wife accepts the separation you desire." 
 
 As each sentence fell from the priest's lips his counte 
 nance grew sterner. 
 
 " Accepts the separation ! Gives me up ! " exclaimed 
 Nobili, quite taken aback. " So much the better. We are 
 both of the same mind." 
 
 But, spite his words, there were irritation and surprise 
 in Nobili's manner. That Enrica herself should have con 
 sented to part from him was altogether an astonishment ! 
 
 " If Countess Nobili accepts the separation " and he 
 turned sharply upon Guglielmi " nothing need detain 
 you here, Signore Avvocato. You hear what Fra Pacifico 
 savs. You have only, therefore, to inform the Marchesa 
 Guinigi. Probably her niece has already done so. We 
 know that they act in concert." Count Nobili laughed 
 bitterly. 
 
 " The marchesa is not even aware that I am here," in 
 terposed Fra Pacifico. " Enrica is now married she acts 
 for herself. Her first act, Count Nobili, is one of obedience 
 she sacrifices herself to you." 
 
 Again the priest's deep-set eyes turned reprovingly upon 
 Count Nobili. Dare the headstrong boy affect to misunder 
 stand that he had driven Enrica to renounce him ? Gu 
 glielmi remained standing near the door self-possessed, 
 indeed, as usual, but utterly crestfallen. His very soul 
 sank within him as he listened to Fra Pacifico. Every 
 thing was going wrong, the judgeship in imminent peril, 
 and this devil of a priest, who ought to know better, doing 
 every thing to divide them ! 
 
 "Signore Guglielmi," said Nobili, with a significant 
 glance at the open door, " allow me to repeat we need 
 not detain you. We shall now act for ourselves. Without 
 reference to the difficulties you have raised "
 
 THE LAWYER BAFFLED. 383 
 
 " The difficulties I have raised have been for your own 
 good, Count Nobili," was Guglielmi's indignant reply. 
 " Had I been supported by " and he glanced at Fra Pa 
 cifico " by those whose duty teaches them obedience to 
 the ordinances of the Church, you would have saved your 
 self and others the spectacle of a matrimonial scandal that 
 will degrade you before the eyes of all Italy." 
 
 Count Nobili was rushing forward, with some undefined 
 purpose of chastising Guglielmi, when Fra Pacifico inter 
 posed. A quiet smile parted his well-formed mouth ; he 
 shrugged his shoulders as he eyed the enraged lawyer. 
 
 " Allow me to judge of my duty as a priest. Look to 
 your own as a lawyer, or it may be the worse for you. 
 What says the motto ? ' Those who seek gold may find 
 sand.' " 
 
 Guglielmi, greatly alarmed at what Fra Pacifico might 
 reveal of their previous conversation, waited to hear no 
 more ; he hastily disappeared. Fra Pacifico watched the 
 manner of his exit with silence, the quiet smile of conscious 
 power still on his lips. When he turned and addressed 
 Count Nobili, the smile had died out. 
 
 Before Fra Pacifico can speak, the whole pack of 
 dogs, attracted by the loud voices, gather round the steps 
 before the open window. They are barking furiously. The 
 smooth-skinned, treacherous bull-dog is silent, but he stands 
 foremost. True to his breed, the bull-dog is silent. He 
 creeps in noiselessly his teeth gleam within an inch of 
 Nobili. Fra Pacifico spies him. With a furious kick he 
 flings him out far over the heads of the others. The bull 
 dog's howl of anguish rouses the rest to frenzy. A mo 
 ment more, and Fra Pacifico and Count Nobili would have 
 been attacked within the very room, but again footsteps 
 are heard passing in the shadow. A shot is fired close at 
 hand. The dogs rush off, the bull-dog whining and limp 
 ing in the rear.
 
 384 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Count Nobili and Fra Pacifico exchange glances. There 
 is a knock at the door. Pipa enters carrying a lighted 
 lamp which she places on the table. Pipa does not even 
 salute Fra Pacifico, but fixes her eyes, swollen with crying, 
 upon Count Nobili. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asks the priest. 
 
 " Riverenza, I do not know. Adamo and Angelo are 
 out watching." 
 
 " But, Pipa, it is very strange. A shot was fired. The 
 dogs, too, are wilder than ever." 
 
 " Riverenza, I know nothing. Perhaps there are some 
 deserters about. We are used to the dogs. I never hear 
 them. I am come from the signorina." 
 
 At that name Count Nobili looks up and meets Pipa's 
 gaze. If Pipa could have stabbed him then and there with 
 the silver dagger in her black hair she would have done it, 
 and counted it a righteous act. But she must deliver her 
 message. 
 
 " Signore Conte " Pipa flings her words at Nobili as 
 if each word were a stone, with which she would have hit 
 him "Signore Conte, the marchesa has sent me. The 
 marchesa bids me salute you. She desired me to bring in 
 this light. I was to say supper is served in the great sala. 
 She eats in her own room with the cavaliere, and hopes 
 you will excuse her." 
 
 Before the count could answer, Pipa was gone. 
 
 " My son," said Fra Pacifico, standing beside him in 
 the dimly-lighted room, " you have now had time to reflect. 
 Do you accept the separation offered to you by your wife ?" 
 
 " I do, my father." 
 
 " Then she will enter a convent." Nobili sighed heav 
 ily. " You have broken her heart." 
 
 There was a depth of unexpressed reproach in the 
 priest's look. Tears gathered in his eyes, his deep voice 
 shook.
 
 THE LAWYER BAFFLED. 385 
 
 " But why if she ever loved me " whispered Nobili in 
 to Fra Pacifico's ear as though he shrank from letting the 
 very walls hear what he was about to say 
 
 " If she loved you ! " burst out Fra Pacifico with rising 
 passion " if she loved you ! You have my word that she 
 loved you nay, God help her, that she loves you still ! " 
 
 Fra Pacifico drew back from Nobili as he said this. 
 Again Nobili approached him, speaking into his ear. 
 
 " Why, then, if she loved me, could she join with the 
 marchesa against me? Was I not induced by my love for 
 her to pay her aunt's debts ? Answer me that, my father. 
 Why did she insist upon this ill-omened marriage ? a pro 
 ceeding as indelicate as it is " 
 
 " Silence ! " thundered Fra Pacifico " silence, I com 
 mand you ! What you say of that pure and lovely girl 
 whose soul is as crystal before me, is absolute sacrilege. 
 I will not listen to it ! " 
 
 Fra Pacifico's eyes flashed fire. He looked as if he 
 would strike Count Nobili where he stood. He checked 
 himself, however ; then he continued with more calmness : 
 " To become your wife was needful for the honor of Enrica's 
 name, which you had slandered. The child put herself in 
 my hands. I am responsible for this marriage I only. 
 As to the marchesa, do you think she consults Enrica? 
 The hawk and the dove share not the same nest ! No, no. 
 Did the marchesa so much as tell Enrica, when she offered 
 her as wife to Count Marescotti ? " 
 
 At the sound of Marescotti's name Nobili's assumed 
 composure utterly gave way. His whole frame stiffened 
 with rage. 
 
 " Yes Marescotti curse him ! And I am the husband 
 of the woman he refused 1 " 
 
 " For shame, Count Nobili ! you have yourself ex 
 onerated her." 
 
 " Enrica must have been an accomplice ! " cried Nobili, 
 17
 
 386 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 transported out of himself. Count Marescotti's name had 
 exasperated him beyond control. 
 
 " Fool ! " exclaimed Fra Pacifico. " Will you not listen 
 to reason ? Has not Enrica by her own act renounced all 
 claim to you as a wife ? Is not that enough ? " 
 
 Nobili was silent. Hitherto he had been driven on, 
 goaded by the promptings of passion, and the firm belief 
 that Enrica was the mere tool of her aunt. Now the same 
 facts detailed by the priest placed themselves in a new 
 light. For the first time Nobili doubted whether he was 
 entirely justified in all that he had done in all that he was 
 about to do. 
 
 Meanwhile Fra Pacifico was losing all patience. His 
 manly nature rose within him at what he considered No- 
 bili's deliberate cruelty. Inflexible in right, Fra Pacifico 
 was violent in face of wrong. 
 
 " Why did you not let her die ? " he exclaimed, bitterly. 
 " It would have saved her a world of suffering. I thought 
 I knew you, Mario Nobili knew you from a boy," he add 
 ed, contemplating him with a dark scowl. "You have de 
 ceived nae. Every word you utter only sinks you lower in 
 my esteem." 
 
 " It would indeed have been better had we both per 
 ished in the flames ! " cried Nobili in a voice full of anguish 
 " perished locked in each other's arms ! Poor Enrica ! " 
 He turned away, and a low sob burst from his heart of 
 hearts. " The marchesa has destroyed my love ! She has 
 blighted my life ! " Nobili's voice sounded hollow in the 
 dimly-lighted room. At last Nobili was speaking out 
 speaking, as it were, from the grave of his love ! " Yes, I 
 loved her," he continued dreamily " I loved her ! How 
 much I did not know ! " 
 
 He had forgotten he was not alone. The priest was but 
 dimly visible. He was leaning against the wall, his mas 
 sive chin resting on his hand, listening to Nobili. Now,
 
 THE LAWYER BAFFLED. 387 
 
 hearing what he said, Fra Pacifico's anger had vanished. 
 After all, he had not been mistaken in his old pupil ! No- 
 bili was neither cruel nor heartless ; but he had been driven 
 to bay ! Now he pitied him, profoundly. What could he 
 say to him ? He could urge Nobili no more. He must 
 work out his own fate ! 
 
 Again Nobili spoke. 
 
 " When I saw her sweet face turned toward me as she 
 entered the chapel, I dared not look again ! It was too 
 late. My pride as a man, all that is sacred to me as a gen 
 tleman, has been too deeply wounded. The marchesa has 
 done it. She alone is responsible. She has left me no al 
 ternative. I will never accept a wife forced upon me by 
 her never, by Heaven! My father, these are my last 
 words. Carry them to Enrica." 
 
 Count Nobili's head dropped upon his breast. He cov 
 ered his face with his hands. 
 
 " My son, I leave you in the hands of God. May He 
 lead you and comfort you ! But remember, the life of your 
 wife is bound up in your life. Hitherto Enrica has lived 
 upon hope. Deprived of hope, she will die." 
 
 When Nobili looked up, Fra Pacifico was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 FACE TO FACE. 
 
 THE time had now come when Count Nobili must finally 
 make up his mind. He had told Fra Pacifico that his de 
 termination was unaltered. He had told him that his dig 
 nity as a man, his honor as a gentleman, demanded that he 
 should free himself from the net-work of intrigues in which 
 the marchesa had entangled him. Of all earthly things, 
 compliancy with her desires most revolted him. Rather 
 than live any longer the victim either of her malice or her 
 ambition, he had brought himself to believe that it was his 
 duty to renounce Enrica. Until Fra Pacifico had entered 
 that room within which he was again pacing up and down 
 with hasty strides, no doubt whatever had arisen in his 
 mind as to what it was incumbent upon him to do : to give 
 Enrica the protection of his name by marriage, then to 
 separate. Whether to separate in the manner pointed out 
 by Guglielmi he had not decided. An innate repulsion, 
 now increased by suspicion, made him distrust any act 
 pressed upon him by that man, especially when urged in 
 concert with the marchesa. 
 
 Every hour passed at Corellia was torture to him. 
 Should he go at once, or should he remain until the morn 
 ing-? sign the deed? complete the sacrifice? Already 
 what he had so loudly insisted on presented itself now to
 
 FACE TO FACE. 389 
 
 him in the light of a sacrifice. Enrica loved him still he 
 believed Fra Pacifico. The throbbing of his heart as he 
 thought of her told him that he returned that love. She 
 was there near him under the same roof. Could he leave 
 her ? Yes, he must leave her ! He would trust himself 
 no longer in the hands of the marchesa or of her agent. 
 Instinct told him some subtle scheme lay under the urgings 
 of Guglielmi the dangerous civilities of the marchesa. 
 He would go. The legal separation might be completed 
 elsewhere. Why only at Corellia ? Why must those for 
 malities insisted on by Guglielmi be respected? What 
 did they mean ? Of the real drift of the delay Nobili was 
 utterly ignorant. Had he asked Fra Pacifico, he would 
 have told him the truth, but he had not done so. 
 
 To meet Enrica in the morning ; to meet her again in 
 the presence of her detested aunt ; to meet her only to sign 
 a deed separating them forever under the mockery of 
 mutual consent, was agony. Why should he endure it ? 
 
 Nobili, wrought up to a pitch of excitement that al 
 most robbed him of reason, dares not trust himself to think. 
 He seizes his hat, which lay upon the table, and rushes out 
 into the night. The murmur of voices comes dimly to 
 him in the freshness of the air out of a window next his 
 own. A circle of light shines on the glistening gravel be 
 fore him. There must be people within people watching 
 him, doubtless. As the thought crosses his mind he is 
 suddenly pinned to the earth. Argo is watching for him 
 stealthy Argo Argo springs upon him silently from be 
 hind ; he holds him tightly in his grip. The dog made no 
 sound, nor does he now, but he has laid Nobili flat on the 
 ground. He stands over him, his heavy paws planted upon 
 his chest, his open jaws and dripping tongue close upon his 
 face, so close, that Nobili feels the dog's hot breath upon 
 his skin. Nobili cannot move ; he looks up fixedly into 
 Argo's glaring, bloodshot eyes. His steady gaze daunts the
 
 390 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 dog. In the very act of digging his big fangs into Nobili's 
 throat Argo pauses ; he shrinks before those human eyes be 
 fore which the brutish nature quails. In an instant Nobili's 
 strong hands close round his throat ; he presses it until the 
 powerful paws slacken in their grip until the fiery eyes 
 are starting from their sockets. 
 
 Silent as is the struggle the other dogs are alarmed 
 they give tongue from different sides. Footsteps are rap- 
 id\y approaching the barrel of a gun gleams out of the 
 darkness a shot is fired the report wanders off in end 
 less reverberation among the rocks another shot, and an 
 other, in instant succession, answer each other from be 
 hind the villa. 
 
 With a grasp of iron Nobili holds back gallant Argo 
 Argo foaming at the mouth ; his white-coated chest heav 
 ing, as if in his last agony ! Yet Argo is still immovable 
 his heavy paws upon Nobili's chest pressing with all his 
 weight upon him ! 
 
 Now the footsteps have turned the corner ! Dim forms 
 already shape themselves in the night mist. The other 
 dogs, barking savagely, are behind they are coming 
 they are at hand ! Ah ! Nobili, what can you do now ? 
 Nobili understands his danger. Quick as thought Nobili 
 has dealt Argo a tremendous blow under the left ear. He 
 seizes him by his milk-white hair so long and beautiful, he 
 flings him against the low wall almost insensible. Argo falls 
 a shapeless mass. He is -stunned and motionless. Before 
 the shadow of Adamo is upon him before the dogs' noses 
 touch him Nobili is on his feet. With one bound he has 
 leaped through the window the same from which the 
 voices had come (it has been opened in the scuffle) in an 
 instant he closes the sash ! He is safe ! 
 
 Coming suddenly out of the darkness, after the great 
 force he had put forth, Nobili feels giddy and bewildered. 
 At first he sees nothing but that there is a light in the centre
 
 FACE TO FACE. 391 
 
 of the room. As his eyes fix themselves upon it the light 
 almost blinds him. He puts his hand to his forehead, 
 where the veins had swollen out like cords upon his fair 
 skin. He puts up his hands to shade his dazzled eyes before 
 which clouds of stars dance desperately. He steadies him 
 self and looks round. 
 
 Before him stands Enrica ! 
 
 By Pipa's care the bridegroom's chamber had been 
 chosen next the bride's when she prepared Count Nobili's 
 room. Pipa was straightforward and simple in her notions 
 of matrimony, but, like a wise woman, she had held her 
 tongue. 
 
 Nobili and Enrica are alone. A furtive glance passes 
 between them. Neither of them moves. Neither of them 
 speaks. The first movement conies from Enrica. She 
 sinks backward upon a chair. The tangle of her yellow 
 hair closes round her face upon which a deep blush had 
 risen at sight of Nobili. When that blush had died out she 
 looked resigned, almost passionless. She knew that the 
 moment had come which must decide her fate. Before the} 7 
 two parted she would hear from the lips of the man she 
 loved if they were ever to meet again ! Her eyes fell to 
 the ground. She dared not raise them. If she looked at 
 Nobili, she must fling herself into his arms. 
 
 Nobili, standing on the same spot beyond the circle of 
 the light, gazes at Enrica in silence. He is overwhelmed 
 by the most conflicting emotions. But the spell of her 
 beauty is upon him. His pulses beat madly. For an in 
 stant he forgets where he is. He forgets all but that Enri 
 ca is before him. For a moment ! Then his brain clears. 
 He remembers every thing remembers oh, how bitter 
 ly ! that, after all that has passed, his very presence in 
 that room is an insult to her ! He feels he ought to go 
 yet an irresistible longing chains him to the spot. He 
 moves toward the door. To reach it he must pass close to
 
 392 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Enrica. When he is near the door he stops. The light 
 shows that his clothes are torn that there is blood upon 
 his face and hands. In scarcely articulate words Nobili 
 addresses her. 
 
 " Enrica countess, I mean " Nobili hesitates " par 
 don this intrusion. You saw the accident. I did not know 
 that this was your room." 
 
 Again Nobili pauses, waiting for an answer. None 
 comes. Would she not speak to him ? Alas ! had he de 
 served that she should ? Nobili takes a step or two toward 
 the door. With one hand upon the lock he pauses once 
 more, gazing at Enrica with lingering eyes. Then he turns 
 to leave the room. It is all over ! he had only to depart ! 
 A low cry from Enrica stops him. 
 
 " Nobili," Enrica says, " tell me oh ! tell me, are you 
 hurt?" 
 
 Enrica has risen from the chair. One hand rests on the 
 table for support. Her voice falters as she asks the ques 
 tion. Nobili, every drop of whose blood runs fevered in 
 his veins, turns toward her. 
 
 " I am not hurt a scratch or two nothing." 
 
 " Thank God ! " Enrica utters, in a low voice. 
 
 Nobili endeavors to approach her. She draws back. 
 
 " As I am here " he speaks with the utmost embar 
 rassment " here, as you see, by accident " his voice rests 
 on the words " I cannot go " 
 
 As Nobili speaks he perceives that Enrica gradually re 
 treats farther from him. The tender delight that had come 
 into her eyes when he first addressed her fades out into a 
 scared look a look like a defenseless animal expecting to 
 receive a death-wound. Nobili sees and understands the 
 expression. 
 
 His heart smites him sorely. Great God ! has he be 
 come an object of terror to her ? 
 
 " Enrica ! " she starts back as Nobili pronounces her
 
 FACE TO FACE. 393 
 
 name, yet he speaks so softly the sound comes to her al 
 most like a sigh " Enrica, do not fear me. I will say no 
 word to offend you. I cannot go without asking your par 
 don. As one who loved you once as one who loves " 
 He stops. What is he saying ? " I humbly beseech you 
 to forgive me. Enrica, let me hear you say that you for 
 give me." 
 
 Still Enrica retreats from him, that suffering, saint-like 
 look upon her face he knows so well. Nobili follows her. 
 He kneels at her feet. He kneels at the feet of the woman 
 from whom, not an hour before, he had demanded a separa 
 tion! 
 
 " Say can you forgive me before I go ? " 
 
 As Nobili speaks, his strong heart goes out to her in 
 speechless longings. If Enrica had looked into his eyes 
 they would have told her that he never had loved her as 
 now ! And they were parted ! 
 
 Enrica puts out her hand timidly. Her lips move as if 
 to speak, but no sound comes. Nobili rises ; he takes her 
 hand within both his own. He kisses it reverently. 
 
 " Dear hand " he murmurs, " and it was mine ! " 
 
 Released from his, the dainty little hand falls to her side. 
 She sighs deeply. There is the old charm in Nobili's voice 
 so sweet, so subtile. The tones fall upon her ear like 
 strains of passionate music. A storm of emotion sweeps 
 across her face. She has forgotten all in the rapture of his 
 presence. Yes ! that voice ! Had it not been raised but 
 a few hours before at the altar to repudiate her ? How can 
 she believe in him ? How surrender herself to the glamour 
 of his words ? Remembering all this, despair comes over 
 her. Again Enrica shrinks from him. She bursts into tears 
 and hides her face with her hands. 
 
 Enrica's distrust of him, her silence, her tears, cut No 
 bili to the soul. He knows he deserves it. Ah ! with 
 her there before him, how he curses himself for ever having
 
 394 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 doubted her ! Every justification suddenly leaves him. 
 He is utterly confounded. The gossip of the club Count 
 Marescotti and his miserable verses the marchesa herself 
 what are they all beside the purity of those saint-like 
 eyes ? Nera, too false, fickle, sensual Nera a mere thing 
 of flesh and blood he had left her for Nera ! Was he 
 mad? 
 
 At that moment, of all living men, Count Nobili seemed 
 to himself the most unworthy ! He must go he did not 
 deserve to stay ! 
 
 " Enrica before I leave you, speak to me one word of 
 forgiveness I implore you ! " 
 
 As he speaks their eyes meet. Yes, she is his own En 
 rica unchanged, unsullied ! the idol is intact within its 
 shrine the sanctuary is as he had left it ! No rude touch 
 had soiled that atmosphere of purity and freshness that 
 floated like an aureole around her ! 
 
 How could he leave her ? if they must part, he would 
 hear his fate from her own lips. Enrica is leaning against 
 the wall speechless, her face shaded by her hand. Big tears 
 are trickling through her fingers. Unable to support her 
 self she clings to a chair, then seats herself. And Nobili, 
 pale with passion stands by, and dares not so much as to 
 touch her dares not touch her, although she is his wife ! 
 
 In the fury of his self-reproach, he digs his hands into 
 the masses of thick chestnut curls that lie disordered about 
 his head. 
 
 Fool, idiot! had he lost her? A terrible misgiving 
 overcomes him ? It fills him with horror. Was it too late ? 
 Would she never forgive him ? Nobili's troubled eyes, that 
 wander all over her, ask the question. 
 
 " Speak to me speak to me 1 " he cries. " Curse me 
 but speak to me ! " 
 
 At this appeal Enrica turns her tear-bedewed face tow 
 ard him.
 
 FACE TO FACE. 395 
 
 " Nobili," she says at last, very low, " would you have 
 gone without seeing me ? " 
 
 Nobili dares not lie to her. He makes no reply. 
 
 " Oh, do not deceive me, Nobili ! " and Enrica wrings 
 her hands and looks piteously into his face. " Tell me 
 would you have come to me ? " 
 
 It is only by a strong effort that Nobili can restrain him 
 self from folding Enrica in his arms and in one burning kiss 
 burying the remembrance of the miserable past. But he 
 trembles lest by offending her the tender flower before him 
 may never again expand to the ardor of his love. If Fra 
 Pacifico has not by his arguments already shaken Nobili's 
 conviction of the righteousness of his own conduct, the 
 sight of Enrica utterly overcomes him. 
 
 " Deceive you ! " he exclaims, approaching her and seiz 
 ing her hands which she did not withdraw " deceive you ! 
 How little you read my heart ! " 
 
 He holds her soft hands firmly in his he covers them 
 with kisses. Enrica feels the tender pressure of his lips 
 pass through her whole frame. But, can she trust him ? 
 
 " Did I not love you enough ? " she asks, looking into 
 his face. She gently disengages her hands from his grasp. 
 There is no reproach in her look, but infinite sorrow. " Can 
 I believe you ? " And the soft blue eyes rest upon him full 
 of pathetic pleading. 
 
 An expression of despair comes into Nobili's bright 
 face. How can he answer her? How can he satisfy her 
 when he himself has shaken her trust ? Alas ! would the 
 golden past never come again? The past, tinted with the 
 passion of ardent summer ? 
 
 " Believe me ? " he cries, in a tone of wildest passion. 
 " Can you ask me ? " 
 
 As he speaks he leans over her. Love is in his voice 
 his eyes his whole attitude. Would she not understand 
 him ? Would she reject him ?
 
 396 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Enrica draws back she raises her hand in protest. 
 
 " Let me again" Nobili is following her closely " let 
 me implore your forgiveness of my unmanly conduct." 
 
 She presses her hands to her bosom as if in pain, but 
 not a sound comes to her lips. 
 
 " Believe me," he urges, " I have been driven mad by 
 the marchesa ! It is my only excuse." 
 
 "Am I?" Enrica answers. "Have I not suffered 
 enough from my aunt ? What had she to do between you 
 and me ? Did I love you less because she hated you ? Lis 
 ten, Nobili " Enrica with difficulty commands her voice 
 " from the first time we met in the cathedral I gave my 
 self to you you you only." 
 
 " But, Enrica love you consented to leave me. You 
 sent Fra Pacifico to say so." 
 
 The thought that Enrica had so easily resigned him 
 still rankled in Nobili's heart. Spite of himself, there is bit 
 terness in his tone. 
 
 Enrica is standing aloof from him. The light of the 
 lamp strikes upon her golden hair, her downcast ej T es, her 
 cheeks mantling with blushes. 
 
 " I leave you ! " a soft dew came into Enrica's eyes as 
 she fixed them upon Nobili a dew that rapidly formed 
 itself into two tears that rolled silently down her cheek 
 " never never ! " 
 
 Spite of the horrors of the past, these words, that look, 
 tell him she is his ! Nobili's heart leaps within him. For 
 a moment he is breathless speechless in the tumult of his 
 great joy. 
 
 " Oh ! my beloved ! " he cries, in a voice that penetrates 
 her very soul. " Come to me here to a heart all your 
 own ! " He springs forward and clasps her in his arms. 
 " Thus thus let the past perish ! " Nobili whispers as his 
 lips touch hers. Enrica's head nestles upon his breast. 
 She has once more found her home.
 
 FACE TO FACE. 397 
 
 A subdued knock is heard at the door. 
 
 " Sangue di Dio ! " mutters Nobili, disengaging himself 
 from Enrica "what new torment is this? Is there no 
 peace in this house ? Who is there ? " 
 
 " It is I, Count Nobili." Maestro Guglielmi puts in his 
 hatchet face and glaring teeth. In an instant his pier 
 cing eyes have traveled round the room. He has taken in 
 the whole situation Count Nobili in the middle of the 
 floor flushed agitated furious at this interruption ; En 
 rica revived conscious blushing at his side. The inves 
 tigation is so perfectly satisfactory that Maestro Guglielmi 
 cannot suppress a grin of delight. 
 
 " Believe me, Signore Conte," he says, advancing cau 
 tiously a step or two forward into the room, a deprecating 
 look on his face " believe me this intrusion " Gugliel 
 mi turns to Enrica, grins again palpably, then bows " is 
 not of my seeking." 
 
 " Tell me instantly what brings you here ? " demands 
 Nobili, advancing. (Nobili would have liked beyond meas 
 ure to relieve his feelings by kicking him.) 
 
 " It is just that " Guglielmi cannot refrain from another 
 glance round before he proceeds (yes, they are recon 
 ciled, no doubt of it. The judgeship is his own ! Ewiva ! 
 The illustrious personage so notoriously careful of his 
 subjects' morals who had deigned to interest himself in 
 the marriage, might possibly, at the birth of a son and heir 
 to the Guinigi, add a pension who knows ? At this re 
 flection the lawyer's eyes become altogether unmanageable) 
 " it is just that," repeats Guglielmi, making a desperate 
 effort to collect himself. " Personally I should have de 
 clined it, personally; but the marchesa's commands were 
 absolute: 'You must go vourself, I will permit no dep- 
 uty.' 
 
 " Damn the marchesa ! Shall I never be rid of the 
 marchesa ? "
 
 398 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 Nobili's aspect is becoming menacing. Maestro Gu- 
 glielmi is not a man easily daunted ; yet once within the 
 room, and the desired evidence obtained, he cannot but 
 feel all the awkwardness of his position. Greatly as Gu- 
 glielmi had been tickled at the notion of becoming himself 
 a witness in his own case, to do him justice he would not 
 have volunteered it. 
 
 " The marchesa sent me," he stammers, conscious of 
 Count Nobili's indignation (with his arms crossed, Count 
 Nobili is eying Guglielmi from head to foot). " The mar 
 chesa sent me to know " 
 
 Nobili unfolds his arms, walks straight up to where Gu 
 glielmi is standing, and shakes his fist in his face. 
 
 " Do you know, Signore Avvocato, that you are commit 
 ting an intolerable impertinence ? If you do not instantly 
 quit this room, or give me some excellent reason for remain 
 ing, you shall very speedily have my opinion of your conduct 
 in a very decided manner." 
 
 Count Nobili is decidedly dangerous. He glares at 
 Guglielmi like a very devil. Guglielmi falls back. The 
 false smile is upon his lips, but his treacherous eyes express 
 his terror. Guglielmi's combats are only with words, his 
 weapon the pen ; otherwise he is powerless. 
 
 " Excuse me, Count Nobili, excuse me," he stammers. 
 He rubs his hands nervously together and watches Nobili, 
 who is following him step by step. "It is not my fault I 
 give you my word not my fault. Don't look so, count; you 
 really alarm me. I am here as a man of peace I entreated 
 the marchesa to retire to rest. I represented to her the 
 peculiar delicacy of the position, but I grieve to say she 
 insisted." 
 
 Nobili is now close to him ; his eyes are gathered upon 
 him more threateningly than ever. 
 
 " Remember, sir, you are addressing me in the presence 
 of my wife be careful."
 
 FACE TO FACE. 399 
 
 What a withering look Nobiii gives Guglielmi as he 
 says this ! He can with difficulty keep his hands off him ! 
 
 " Yes yes just so just so I applaud your senti 
 ments, Count Nobiii most appropriate. Now I will go." 
 
 Alarmed as he is, Guglielmi cannot resist one parting 
 glance at Enrica. She is crimson. Then with an expres 
 sion of infinite relief he retreats to the door walking back 
 ward. Guglielmi has a strong conviction that if he turns 
 round Count Nobiii may kick him, so, keeping his eyes 
 well balanced upon him, he fumbles with his hands behind 
 his back to find the handle of the door. In his confusion 
 he misses it. 
 
 " Not for worlds, Signore Conte," says Guglielmi, ner 
 vously passing his hand up and down the panel in search of 
 the door-handle " not for worlds would I offend you ! Be 
 lieve me (maledictions on the door it is bewitched !) " 
 
 Now Guglielmi has it ! Safely clutching the handle 
 with both his hands, Guglielmi's courage returns. His 
 mocking eyes look up without blinking into Nobili's, fierce 
 and flashing as they are. 
 
 " Before I go " he bows with affected humility 
 " will you favor me, count, and you, madame " (Guglielmi is 
 clutching the door-handle tightly, so as to be able to escape 
 at any moment), " by informing me whether you still desire 
 the deed of separation to be prepared for your signature in 
 the morning ? " 
 
 " Leave the room ! " roars Count Nobiii, stamping furi 
 ously on the floor " leave the room, or, Domine Dio ! ' 
 
 Maestro Guglielmi had jumped out backward, before 
 Count Nobiii could finish the sentence. 
 
 " Enrica ! " cries Nobiii, turning toward her he had 
 banged-to the door and locked it " Enrica, if you love me, 
 let us leave this accursed villa to-night ! This is more than 
 I can bear ! " 
 
 What Enrica replied, or if Enrica ever replied at all, is, 
 and ever will remain, a mystery !
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OH BELLO ! 
 
 AN hour or two has passed. A slow and cautious step, 
 accompanied with the tapping of a stick upon the stone 
 flags of the floor, is audible along the narrow passage lead 
 ing from the sala to Pipa's room. It is as dark as pitch. 
 Whoever it is, is afraid of falling, and creeps along cau 
 tiously, feeling by the wall. 
 
 Pipa, expecting to be summoned to her mistress Pipa, 
 wondering greatly indeed what Enrica can be about, and 
 why she does not go to bed, when she, the blessed dear, 
 was so faint and tired, and crying oh, so pitifully ! when 
 she left her Pipa, leaning against the door-post near the 
 half-open door, dozing like a dog with one eye open in case 
 she should be called listened and looked out into the pas 
 sage. A figure is standing within the light that streams 
 out from the door, a very well-remembered figure, stout and 
 short a little bent forward on a stick with a round, rosy 
 face framed in snowy curls, a world of pleasant wickedness 
 in two twinkling eyes, on which the light strikes, and a 
 mouth puckered up for any mischief. 
 
 f " Madonna ! " cries Pipa, rubbing her eyes " the cava- 
 liere ! How you did frighten me ! I cannot bear to hear 
 footsteps about when Adamo is out ; " and Pipa gazes up 
 and down into the darkness with an unpleasant conscious 
 ness that something ghostly might be watching her. 
 
 " Pipa," says the cavaliere, putting his finger to his nose
 
 OH BELLO! 401 
 
 and winking palpably, " hold your tongue, and don't scream 
 when I tell you something. Promise me." 
 
 " O Gesu ! " cries Pipa in a loud voice, starting back, 
 forgetting his injunction "is it not about the signorina?" 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Pipa, or I will tell you nothing." 
 
 Pipa's head is instantly close to the cavaliere's, her face 
 all eagerness. 
 
 "Yes, it is about the signorina the countess. She is 
 gone ! " 
 
 " Gone ! " and Pipa, spite of warning, fairly shouts now 
 "gone!" at which the cavaliere shakes his stick at her, 
 smiling, however, benignly all the time. " Holy mother ! 
 gone ! O cavaliere ! tell me she is not dead ? " 
 
 (Ever since Pipa had tended Enrica lying on her bed, 
 so still and cold, it seemed reasonable to her that she might 
 die at any instant, without warning given.) 
 
 " Yes, Pipa," answers the cavaliere solemnly, his voice 
 shaking slightly, but he still smiles, though the dew of 
 rising tears is in his merry eyes " yes, dead dead to us, 
 my Pipa I fear dead to us." 
 
 Pipa sinks back in speechless horror against the wall, 
 and groans. 
 
 "But only to us (don't be a fool, Pipa)" this in a 
 parenthesis " she is gone with her husband." 
 
 Pipa rises to her feet and stares at Trenta, at first wildly, 
 then, as little by little the hidden sense comes to her, her rosy 
 lips slowly part and lengthen out until every snowy tooth 
 is visible. Then Pipa covers her face with her apron, and 
 shakes from head to foot in such a fit of laughter, that she 
 has to lean against the wall not to fall down. " Oh bello ! " 
 is all she can say. This Pipa repeats at intervals in gasps. 
 
 " Come, Pipa, that will do," says the cavaliere, poking 
 at her with his stick " I must get back before I am missed 
 no one must know it till morning least of all the mar- 
 chesa and Guglielmi. They are shut up together. The
 
 402 THE ITALIANS. 
 
 marchesa says she will sit up all night. But Count Nobili 
 and his wife are gone really gone. Fra Pacifico managed 
 it. He got hold of Adamo, who was running round the 
 house with a loaded gun, all the dogs after him. Take 
 care of Adamo when he comes back to-night, Pipa. He is 
 fastening up the dogs, and feeding them, and taking care 
 of poor Argo, who is badly hurt. He is quite mad, Adamo. 
 I never saw a man so wild. He would not come in. He 
 said the marchesa had told him to shoot some one. He 
 swore he would do it yet. He nearly fought with Fra 
 Pacifico when he forced him in. Adamo is quite mad. 
 Tell him nothing to-night ; he is not safe." 
 
 Pipa has now let down her apron. Her bright olive- 
 complexioned face beams in one broad smile, like the full 
 moon at harvest. She is still shaking, and at intervals 
 gives little spasmodic giggles. 
 
 " Leave Adamo to me " (another giggle) ; " I will man 
 age him " (another). " Wh}% he might have shot the si- 
 gnorina's husband the fool ! " 
 
 This thought steadies Pipa for an instant, but she bursts 
 out again. " Oh bello ! " Pipa gurgles like a stream that 
 cannot stop running ; then she breaks off all at once, and 
 listens. " Hush ! hush ! There is Adamo coming, cavaliere 
 hush ! hush 1 Make haste and go away. He is coming 
 Adamo; I hear him on the gravel." 
 
 " Say nothing until the morning," whispers the cava 
 liere. " Give them a fair start. Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Pipa nods. Her face twitches all over. As Cavaliere 
 Trenta turns to go, Pipa catches him smartly by the shoul 
 der, draws him to her, and speaks into his ear : 
 
 " To think the signorina has run away with her own 
 husband ! Oh bello ! " 
 
 THE END.
 
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 from which it was borrowed