•tr-:'V ^''^^-f 
 
 
 .^N(
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 /^ 
 
 
 fA
 
 LA B E A T A. 
 
 VOLUME I.
 
 LA B E A T A. 
 
 BY 
 
 T. ADOLPHUS TKOLLOPE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 " A DECADE OF ITALIAN 'WOMEN," " THE GIKLHOOD OF CATHERINE 
 
 DE MEDICI," " PAUL THE POPE AND PAUL THE FEIAR," 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. T. 
 
 •> > J 
 
 3 ' 
 
 1 a J * 
 
 LOISTDON : 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY. 
 
 1861. 
 
 [ The right of Translation is reserved.']
 
 ... , . • t \' 
 
 :V^-::mv::\:^.yv-^f\i>ry.O-\- 
 
 LOHDON / PRrSTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STKEET.
 
 
 <::) 
 
 \ 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. PAGE 
 
 ^ A STTTDIO IN THE VIA DELL' AMORE .. •• 1 
 
 CHAPTER n, 
 
 THE WIDOW LETI AND HER DAUGHTER .. •• 26 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 DANGER ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAESTRO BORSOLl'S STUDIO.. 
 
 4 c^^^np 
 
 60 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TITO'S IDEA .. .. .. •• •• ..71 
 
 92 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE TATRINGHAMS .. .. •• •• •• ^^4
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. PAGE 
 
 A VISIT TO THE VIS. DELL' AMORE .. .. 151 
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 
 LACDADIO BENINCAJ4, THE WAX CHANDLER .. 185 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DISTINGUISHED PATRONAGE FOR SAINTS AND ARTISTS 218 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE RETURN TO THE OLD HOME .. .. .. 256
 
 LA BEATA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A STUDIO m THE VIA DELL' AMORE. 
 
 It does not follow that all the world who 
 know Florence, " that city of flowers, and 
 flower of cities," are equally cognizant of the 
 Via delV Amove. Not only is a six months' 
 residence in the fair city quite compatible 
 with entire ignorance of the locality in ques- 
 tion, but it is very possible that a long life 
 might be passed on the banks of the Arno 
 without making the oldest inhabitant ac- 
 quainted with it. Many Florentines too 
 may be aware of the existence of such a 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 La Beata. 
 
 street, and yet be ignorant of its somewhat 
 romantic name ; for the Tuscans have an 
 inveterate habit of disregarding the official 
 municipal nomenclature of their venerable 
 cities, and adhering to ancient traditional 
 names or nick-names. Thus a house or 
 shop which modern precision would define 
 as number so-and-so in such-and-such a street, 
 the genuine Florentine cockney, born and 
 bred beneath the shadow of Giotto's campa- 
 nile, persists in describing as " near St. This 
 or St. That," "by the side of such a Log- 
 gia," " opposite Palazzo So-and-so," or " hard 
 by this or that Corner ;" — names of which the 
 origin must be sought probably in Florentine 
 history of the 13th or 14th century, — the 
 Loggia, or open arcade, having long since 
 ceased to exist; the Palazzo being named 
 from some long since extinct family ; and 
 the Corner having been so nick-named from 
 some all-but-forgotten event or individual. 
 It may be, therefore, that the house in the
 
 La Beata. 3 
 
 Via delV Amore, to which I wish to introduce 
 the reader, was known to the generation of 
 Florentines now gradually passing from the 
 scene under some such appellation ; for 
 the dwelling, though the street is an obscure 
 one, was once not altogether destitute of 
 pretension. The city of Florence is, and has 
 always been, wholly without the institution 
 of a West End. There is no exclusively aris- 
 tocratic quarter. Fine old mansions with 
 grand historic names are found in all parts 
 of the city, surrounded by the dwellings of 
 every class of the population. The fact is an 
 interesting indication of the old thoroughly 
 democratic constitution of society, which 
 gained for Florence the appellation of " the 
 most republican of republics." 
 
 The " Via dell' Amore " is in the parish 
 of San Lorenzo ; — in the " Popolo di San 
 Lorenzo'' to use the popular and ancient 
 Florentine phrase ; — the tribe of San Loren- 
 zo, as the word popolo can only be in this
 
 4 La Beata. 
 
 case translated— a plirase cliaracteristic of 
 the times, wlien every local and territorial 
 division was understood to imply a bond of 
 union among its inhabitants, and a separat- 
 ing disunion from all other neighbours. 
 It is not distant from the historical old 
 chui'ch which gives its name to the parish ; 
 and though' the streets are crowded and 
 narroAV in that part of the old city, the fourth- 
 story windows of the house in question look 
 out on the red dome of that chapel at the 
 east end of the chm-ch under which the 
 Medici sleep, apparently at only a few yards' 
 distance. It is to that fourth story that the 
 reader must be invited to climb. But the 
 stair is neither a difficult nor a du-ty one. 
 The house is evidently inhabited by respect- 
 able tax-paying citizens. Everytliing is in 
 decent order and good repair ; and the stone 
 stau- is broad and easy in its acclivity even 
 to the top. The number of these stone stairs, 
 however, would seem to a Londoner or a
 
 La Beata, 5 
 
 Parisian far more than enough to carry him 
 to a fourth story. But Florentine houses 
 are not divided into a number of horizontal 
 slices, each but a little thicker than the 
 average height of a man. To reach the 
 fom-th floor of a good old-fashioned dwelling- 
 house in Florence, it is necessary to ascend 
 in all probability some fifty feet. 
 
 Visitors to the studio of Filippo Lonari 
 had to climb at least to that altitude ; and 
 it must have been extremely provoking to 
 all those unsuccessful climbers, who had co- 
 vered the door and the surrounding white 
 wall with announcements of their visit in 
 pencil or charcoal, — in many cases accom- 
 panied by a caricature portrait of the absent 
 artist, — to have made the ascent in vain. 
 
 Specially such may be supposed to have 
 been the case if all those stairs had been 
 mounted on a very hot Sunday afternoon in 
 August, as the reader must, necessarily for 
 the purposes of om- story, be invited at least
 
 6 La Beata. 
 
 in imagination to do. But he need not, like 
 those other flesh and blood visitors, be kept 
 waiting while a sweet silvery voice, very 
 unlike that which might be supposed to come 
 from the chest of Signor Filip]30 Lonari, 
 demands in answer to the little tinkle pro- 
 duced by pulling a bit of twine passed through 
 a gimlet-hole in the door, " Clii e ?" — who is 
 there ? The applicant for admission replies 
 by the regulation open sesame, " Amici !" — 
 Friends ! — and the door is forthwith opened. 
 The timid Florentine housewife, often alone 
 in her dwelling, seems to fancy that she has 
 thus provided against all danger of admit- 
 ting an unwelcome intruder. But it is dif- 
 ficult to comprehend what should prevent 
 the most evil-minded cut-throat fi-om using 
 the well-known talisman. The simple women 
 seem to imagine that theu' precautionary 
 question would be at once responded to by 
 the answer " Thieves !" if thieves they were 
 who knocked.
 
 La Beata. 7 
 
 The sweet silver voice, however, would 
 probably not have deemed it necessary to go 
 tlirough tliis customary little di'ama on the 
 present occasion ; for its owner was protected 
 by the presence, not only of the master of 
 Jhe dwelling, whom she of the silver voice 
 was wont to consider an amply sufficient 
 guardian against all sublunary evils and 
 dangers whatever, but by that of another 
 member of the stronger sex also. Before 
 proceeding, however, to make acquaintance 
 with the inmates of the studio in the Via 
 dell' Amore, it will be well to obtain a some- 
 what clearer idea of the place itself. 
 
 It was visible at a glance that the painter's 
 home consisted of one room only. But it 
 was a very large and a very lofty one. 
 Many a snug suite of apartments in London 
 or in Paris contains far fewer cubic feet of 
 space than Filippo Lonari's one room. The 
 occupiers, moreover, of such snug and com- 
 paratively costly lodgings would, especially
 
 8 La Beata. 
 
 if artists, be very glad to purchase, at the 
 cost of a double rent, the pure, unbroken 
 light which streamed into the Florentine 
 painter's studio from a very large mndow 
 high in the wall to the north, through which 
 the eye saw notliing but a wide tract of 
 a2nire sky. Another window, at right angles 
 to this, and placed lower in the wall, without 
 the shghtest regard to symmetry of arrange- 
 ment, gave a view, over the tops of the 
 intervening houses, of the red dome of San 
 Lorenzo. Both windows were void of cur- 
 taias, but were furnished ; the smaller and 
 lower one with a bit of matting in the guise 
 of blind on the outside, and the large north 
 window with a huge screen of paper stretched 
 on a light wooden frame, fixed by lunges to 
 the upper part of the window-frame, and so 
 contrived as by means of a string and a 
 puUey to admit the light in whatever degree 
 and at whatever angle might be wished. The 
 matting bhnd and the paper screen are both
 
 La Beata. 9 
 
 entirely drawn down on the present occasion, 
 for the artist is not at work ; and the main 
 object is to exclude as much as possible of 
 the blazing August sunshine and heated 
 outer air, which is making the apartment, 
 Jarge and airy as it is, feel almost like an 
 oven. This heat in summer, and cold quite 
 proportionably excessive in winter, are the 
 great drawbacks to the eligibility of the 
 residence. And the cause of these evils is 
 but too apparent at the first glance. The 
 huge room has no ceiling. The naked tiles 
 of the roof, and the rafters which support 
 them. He in a gently sloping position over 
 the wide extent of it. A ceiling woidd 
 increase the comfort of the dwelling a 
 hundred per cent., raise the rent perhaps ten 
 per cent., and yield twenty per cent, of profit 
 on the outlay to the proprietor. But the 
 proj^rietor is too short of ready money to 
 incur the expense, and the tenant would 
 certainly shrink from any increase of his
 
 10 La Beata. 
 
 rent. So the beat and the cold are endured 
 patiently among other irremediable evils. 
 Some attemjjt, indeed, has been made to 
 alleviate the discomfort in that comer of the 
 room which has been partitioned off by an 
 arrangement of screens, and serves for a 
 bed-chamber. A kind of canopy of matting 
 has been suspended above this portion of 
 the habitation. 
 
 In the middle of the room, well under the 
 light from the great north window, there is 
 a low raised platform, some ten feet square, 
 covered with an old bit of red baize. In 
 the centre of this a lay figure is standing, 
 draped into some resemblance to the well- 
 known figure of Dante in the recently dis- 
 covered fresco on the chapel wall of the 
 Bargello at Florence. At a little distance 
 is an easel with a large -canvas turned with 
 its front downwards. The furniture is very 
 scanty in quantity, and quaint and hetero- 
 geneous rather than shabby in quality. At
 
 La Beata. 11 
 
 a little distance from the platform, and with 
 its back to the larger window, but at a con- 
 siderable distance from the wall, is a sofa 
 with the slender, fluted, gilt legs of the time 
 of the first French empire. Its green sdk 
 Qovering and cushions are in tolerably decent 
 repair. Before it stands one of those oblong 
 tables of ebony, ornamented with inlaid ivory, 
 which are so frequently met with in Florence, 
 and of which so many have been carried 
 thence to fit up rococo di-awing-rooms in 
 Paris and London. A couple of coarse white 
 plates, a broken crust of bread, and an empty 
 flask, with its old discolom-ed rush casing, 
 are on the table, and contrast strangely with 
 its handsome polished sm-face and costly 
 elegance. A few rush-bottomed chairs are 
 ranged round the far back walls of the room ; 
 but in the vicinity of the easel, the sofa, and 
 the table, there are two chairs of a kind 
 which seems to have constituted the only 
 tolerably comfortable seat known to the
 
 12 La Beata. 
 
 world three hundred years ago. They are 
 made somewhat on the principle of a camp- 
 stool of solid old walnut-wood, with a stout 
 bit of once red leather for the seat, and 
 another broad strip of the same material 
 once richly gilt for the back. There is 
 also a small walnut-wood chair with a high 
 carved back, belonging to the same epoch ; 
 astride which, with his arms resting on that 
 high back, sits the master of the house. 
 The brick floor of the great, almost barn- 
 like room is totally uncovered, and — at least 
 to English eyes — adds to the appearance of 
 inhabitable discomfort. In winter, however, 
 a piece of thick matting would supply the 
 place of carpet in that part of the room in 
 which the above-mentioned objects are con- 
 gregated. And in summer the bare bricks 
 are for more than one reason preferable to 
 wooden flooring. 
 
 All round the walls, which are ornamented 
 with large red panels in stucco-coloured
 
 La Beata. 13 
 
 frames painted in jfresco, is hung, and other- 
 wise arranged, a miscellaneous collection of 
 all that not unpicturesque lumber generally 
 found in artists' studios. There are casts of 
 heads, and arms, and legs, torsos and busts 
 i^ plaster of Paris, some placed on brackets, 
 some simply pendent from a nail in the 
 wall. There are unfuiished canvasses in 
 every stage of progress, representing subjects 
 of every description. The majority of these, 
 however, are on the floor, with their faces — 
 unpleasantly commemorative of failure or 
 want of perseverance — turned to the wall. 
 There are sketches in white or coloured 
 chalk on coarse blue or brown paper, hung 
 without the slightest regard to symmetry on 
 all the walls. They are memoranda of ideas 
 to the artist; but to any other eye the 
 strangest phantasmagoric nightmare proces- 
 sion of distorted limbs and caricatm-ed fea- 
 tures imaginable. 
 
 The only conscious attempt at ornament
 
 14 La Beata. 
 
 is manifested in the centre of the wall oppo- 
 site the entrance. There stands one of those 
 well-known carved walnut-wood chests, in 
 which the Florentine brides of three cen- 
 turies since carried with them their outfit of 
 braveries ; no fashions of a season, to be re- 
 fashioned or become a ladies-maid's perqui- 
 sites the next ; but jewelled brocades, and 
 armour-like gold- woven tissues destined to 
 figure fifty years later in the fair owner's 
 last will and testament. Nor have these 
 honestly wi-ought handiworks of fingers, gone 
 to dust three hundred years ago, even yet 
 reached enthely that inevitable consumma- 
 tion ; for on the wall, above the handsome 
 chest, is suspended a piece, some four feet 
 square, of still ifnfaded rich crimson silk, 
 with broken remains of golden embroidery 
 around it. Small doubt but that that piece 
 of silk has rustled in the saloons of some one 
 of the earlier Medicean princes. Now it 
 serves as a background for a couple of hal*
 
 La Beata. 15 
 
 herds and two pair of ancient swords, its 
 contemporaries, and a helmet, surviving from 
 a still earher generation, arranged trophy- 
 wise on the wall of the artist's garret. Above 
 these is a large cast of the well-known bust 
 of Michael Angelo, with a withered wreath 
 of bay-leaves on its plaster brow. 
 
 It is perhaps not strictly correct to say 
 that these objects form the only conscious 
 attempt at ornament in the artist's chamber ; 
 for on the old green silk sofa with the 
 gilded spindle legs is reposing the well- 
 cared-for person of Tito Fanetti, the friend, 
 brother-artist, and comrade of the master of 
 the apartment. And Tito clearly embodies 
 a conscious attempt at being ornamental. 
 His small, plump, well-to-do looking person 
 is encased in a pair of white trousers, sup- 
 ported by a red silk scarf round the waist 
 in lieu of braces, and a jauntily cut and 
 abundantly laced velveteen coat, which, be- 
 ing unbuttoned, discloses the absence of any
 
 16 La Beata. 
 
 waistcoat, and the presence of a perfectly- 
 clean and elaborately embroidered, but not 
 verv fine coloured shirt. His good-humoured 
 fi'esh-coloiu-ed face is ornamented by a care- 
 fully got up light-brown moustache and 
 tuft on the chin, as well as by an intelligent 
 laughing blue eye. And the round, rather 
 bullet-headed, but not badly developed brow- 
 is surmounted by a jauntily set on straw hat 
 ■oith a broad black ribbon band. The entire 
 appearance, ia short, of Tito Fanetti bespeaks 
 a degi'ee of well-being and prosperity which 
 is in unpleasant contrast with that of his 
 companions, and with the general air of 
 their abode. 
 
 " It won't do, Pippo !" exclaimed the more 
 successful artist, springing from his recum- 
 bent position on the sofa, and flinging on 
 the brick floor the end of the cigar he had 
 been smoking ; "it won't do, Pippo. It is 
 not right, and aU the talking m the world 
 won't make it right ! I don't want to be 
 hard on you . . ."
 
 La Beata. 17 
 
 "And I am ready to make all excuses for 
 you !" retorted Pippo, whose attitude on the 
 old-fasliioned, carved chau' has been de- 
 scribed. He was a taller and far handsomer 
 man than his spruce and prosperous friend. 
 ^ The latter might have passed for an English- 
 man. But the genuine Italian type of face 
 of Filippo or Pippo Lonari coidd not be 
 mistaken. It was one of those classical, oval, 
 regular-featm-ed, olive-complexioned faces, 
 with well-shaped, liquid brown eyes, and the 
 usual abundance of black whisker, mous- 
 tache, and beard, which are so undeniably 
 handsome, but so diiScult to remember, and 
 which seem all so like to one another; a 
 monotony of appearance which is doubtless 
 caused by the absence of expression arising 
 from the concealment of the mouth, that 
 tell-tale feature which more than any other 
 reveals the moral natm^e of the man. Pippo 
 was sitting in his shu-t-sleeves, a costume 
 which the heat of that August afternoon 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 La Beata. 
 
 under the tiles rendered agreeable and 
 exeusaLle. But the shii-t was neither as 
 smart nor as irreproachably clean as that of 
 his friend. His long legs, which were stretched 
 out in front of him on either side of the 
 chair he was bestriding, were clothed in a 
 pair of linen trousers, on which a similar 
 remark might be made. And the natty smart 
 red scarf at the waist was also wanting, 
 
 " I am ready to make all excuse for you 
 too !" retorted he, in answer to Tito's objur- 
 gation ; "it is so easy to preach and play 
 the mentor, when one has just had a good 
 dinner, and all goes well, and it must be 
 extremely agi-eeable too, I suppose ; though 
 I never had an opportunity of trying the 
 sensation. But I make allowance for temp- 
 tation, and don't want, as you say, to be 
 hard on you." 
 
 " I avail myself of your indulgence," re- 
 tm-ned Tito, with undiminished good hu- 
 mour, " and proceed with my sermon. I
 
 La Beata. 19 
 
 say that the artist, who paints a picture in 
 imitation of the old masters, with the know- 
 ledge that the dealer for whom he executes 
 the commission will sell it as an old picture, 
 is only one degTee less dishonest than the 
 'dealer." 
 
 " What nonsense to talk of dishonesty !" 
 rejoined Pippo. "Where can be the dis- 
 honesty of executing to the best of one's 
 ability a commission entrusted to one? 
 What have I to do with what my employer 
 does with his purchase afterwards ?" 
 
 "I don't call it honest," persisted the 
 other, "to be so far the accomplice of a 
 fraud as to fm'nish the means without which 
 it could not be committed. All such things 
 are, moreover, exceedingly injm-ious to the 
 dignity of the profession, and so do mischief 
 to us all." 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, friend Tito. It's 
 my opinion that a decent dinner — say a leg 
 and wing of a fowl and half a flask of good
 
 20 La Beata. 
 
 Cliianti — is essential to a proper appreciation 
 of the dignity of the profession. No doubt, 
 you feel it thoroughly. I'll be bound you 
 have nourished the noble sentiment this 
 very day with a good Milanese rice soup, 
 and a prime cut fi*om a forequarter of lamb 
 in addition to the fowl and the Cliianti. A 
 nice morsel of Parmesan, a couple of peaches 
 from Plan di Eipoli, and a cup of cofiee to 
 finish with, have just brought you up to the 
 pitch of professional dignity proper for lec- 
 turing a poor de\dl, who can hardly keep 
 body and soul together. My dmner to-day 
 was a morsel of sausage, a crust, and a couple 
 of baked jDears. And as for La Beata there, 
 I fancy she dined on the sausage skin. Let 
 me tell you that under such circumstances 
 a regard for the dignity of the profession 
 does not come very forcibly home to one." 
 
 " I plead guilty to the good dinner, " re- 
 tm^ned Tito, good-humoiu'edly, " and am far 
 from wishing to deny the fine moral effects
 
 La Beata. 21 
 
 you attribute to it. But joking apart, Pippo, 
 I should not say a word, if I were not sure 
 that you could do better. Look at me now. 
 My work is as regular . . ." 
 
 " Oh yes ! no doubt !" cried Pippo ; " but 
 ^ everybody cannot have the largest pictm-e 
 dealer in Florence for one's brother-in-law. 
 And after all, what is Signor Francesco able 
 to do for you ? Can he sell a picture of your 
 own ? He can keep you gTinding away at 
 copies to sell to English and Americans, who 
 don't know a Eaffael from a Eubens ; and 
 that's all." 
 
 " Eegular work, and regular pay, resulting 
 in regular dinners, and the consequent high 
 condition of moral sentiment which you 
 attribute to them. Not very gratifying to 
 artistic ambition certainly, but still honest 
 work, honestly done. And even at that 
 trade one may work dishonestly, as I need 
 not tell you. There are plenty of second- 
 hand copies, sold as copies from the original.
 
 22 La Beata. 
 
 But when a copy has got ' Copied from the 
 origmal picture by me, Tito Fanetti,' on its 
 back, all Florence knows that there is no 
 mistake about it." 
 
 " But what the devil would you have me 
 do?" urged Pippo, somewhat petulantly. 
 " Besides, I won't admit that there is any- 
 thing dishonest, or approacliiug to dis- 
 honesty, in my work. Old Matteo Zanobi 
 comes hobbling up to my garret here, and 
 asks me to paint him a Flight into Egypt ; 
 — ' a Botticelli, you know, my dear ; on a 
 cii'cular panel. I will send you the panel, 
 myseK; and mind the tone is mellow,' says 
 the old fellow. And then there comes an 
 old worm-eaten panel ; and I set to work 
 and make my picture as much like Botticelli 
 as I can, just as you make your copies as 
 like tlie originals as you can. What wi'ong 
 is there in this ?" 
 
 " The difference in the two cases is in the 
 intention . . ."
 
 La Beata. 23 
 
 " The intention ! " interrupted Pippo ; 
 "that's just what proves the absurdity of 
 your scruples. I paint a picture with the 
 intention of being paid a fair price for my 
 labour. That is my final object. Now we 
 all know that the lawfulness of every act 
 depends, as the Church teaches . . ." 
 
 "Bosh!" interrupted Tito in liis turn. 
 " For goodness' sake do let the Church alone. 
 Who the deuce cares what she teaches ? But 
 you can't forget your old trade." 
 
 The truth was that Filippo Lonari had 
 been educated by an uncle in an ecclesi- 
 astical seminary with a view to the priest- 
 hood. But on the death of that relative, 
 before the time had come for him to receive 
 the first orders, he had deserted the cassock 
 for the brush. He possessed very consider- 
 able and real artistic capabilities, and his 
 pictures were by no means devoid of merit, 
 though they had failed as yet to procure 
 him employment other than in the very
 
 24 La Beata. 
 
 questionable line which he was now attempt- 
 ing to defend, and in which he had been 
 particularly successful. His brother artists 
 declared that he was ruined for life by the 
 misfortune of liis ecclesiastical education ; 
 and were by no means apt to receive favour- 
 ably any of the little manifestations of it, 
 which cropped out occasionally on the surface 
 of his conversation. 
 
 " Never mind the Clim'ch ! I would rather 
 hear what La Beata thinks of the matter, 
 two to one," continued Tito, feeling pro- 
 bably that such an appeal was the most 
 ignominious manner in which the doctrine 
 of the Church could be refuted ; for La 
 Beata was not celebrated in her little world 
 for cultivated powers of intellect. 
 
 Perhaps the reader has been expecting to 
 hear before now something of the owner of 
 the sweet voice, which was wont to ask 
 ' chi e ?' when visitors pulled the bell-string 
 at Filippo Lonari's door. To La Beata
 
 La Beata. 25 
 
 herself, however, it would have appeared 
 quite preposterous, that any notice should 
 have been taken of her, before due attention 
 had been paid to Pippo and his friend of the 
 lordly sex ; or, indeed, that any notice should 
 he taken of her. at all, until she was forcibly 
 brought on the scene, as it were, by Tito's 
 direct appeal to her. But now that it has 
 become absolutely necessary for the reader 
 to make acquaintance mtli her, she shall 
 not be presented to him at the fag end of a 
 chapter.
 
 26 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE WIDOW LETT AND HER DAUGHTER. 
 
 She had been sitting, while the conversation 
 reported in the last chapter had been carried 
 on between the two artists, on a corner of 
 the low red-cloth- covered platform, at the 
 feet of the grotesque lay figm-e Dante, as 
 silent and as motionless as he, were it not 
 for the rapid movement of her fingers indus- 
 triously engaged in knitting a half-completed 
 stocking. This occupation, the mysteries of 
 which appeared just then to necessitate bend- 
 ing down the head and eyes over the work, 
 together with the lowness of her seat, pre- 
 vented any portion of her face from being 
 visible except the even circumference of her 
 marvellously long and regular eyelashes,
 
 La Beat a. 27 
 
 and the ivory white dome of a high and per- 
 fectly rounded but not broad forehead. The 
 abundance of her light chestnut-colom-ed 
 hair was indeed visible enough, and to 
 especial advantage. It was carefully and 
 jikilfully arranged (for it was Sunday), in 
 very large and broad braids on either side of 
 the face, and in a huge and most artistically 
 contrived knot at the back of her head ; and 
 the position which concealed her features 
 caused a stray ray of sunshine, which was 
 finding its way through an interstice in the 
 mat before the window, to faU. du-ectly on 
 the small well-shaped head and delicately- 
 formed back of the neck, and fleck with 
 glistening golden lights the ridges of the 
 undulating braids. The figure was slight 
 and delicately fashioned to a remarkable 
 degree ; and though the bust lacked that 
 development which is deemed an essential 
 attribute of adult womanly beauty, it was 
 impossible not to be struck by the extreme
 
 28 La Beata. 
 
 elegance of the carriage of the head upon 
 the slender but well-rounded shoulders, and 
 by the exquisite beauty of the line which 
 curved from tlie tops of them up to the 
 transparent rose-coloui-ed little ear. The 
 exceeding slenderness of the entire figure, 
 which most connoisseurs would have judged 
 too great for the perfection of female beauty, 
 was not, as La Beata is now presented to 
 the reader, at all concealed or relieved by 
 any of the resources which female art pos- 
 sesses in abundance for such purposes. A 
 dress of cheap and not very fine muslin, but 
 of spotless whiteness, modishly made, and 
 duly stiffened into the approved bell-like 
 amplitude, was indeed at that moment 
 .hanging up, and occupying a very large 
 part of the enclosm-e in one angle of the 
 room, which has been mentioned. But this 
 had been doffed with much precaution im- 
 mediately on retm^ning from mass that 
 morning, to be resumed with equal care
 
 La Beata. 29 
 
 when the hour for the evening 'pasieggiata, — 
 the dearly prized stroll with Pippo about the 
 hour of the Ave Maria, — should have arrived. 
 Neither the temperature nor Florentine 
 bienseance in the class to which our new 
 'acquaintance belonged, at all required that 
 this garment should be replaced indoors by 
 any other. So La Beata remained simplex 
 munditiis in her clean white petticoat, with a 
 black silk handkerchief pinned over her 
 shoulders. It was a disadvantage attending 
 this costume, that it exposed to view an 
 ai-m Avhich, despite its perfect whiteness, the 
 admirers of beautiful arms would not have 
 approved. Fat women only have beautiful 
 arms, and are sm-ely well entitled to this 
 only compensation for the misfortunes of 
 their fatness. But La Beata's, all too lean 
 and angular as it Avas, terminated in a wrist 
 of the most exquisite formation, and a long- 
 slender hand, such as Vandyke would have 
 
 loved to paint. It was decidedly an advan- 
 
 t
 
 30 La Beata. 
 
 tage, too, of the undress in question, that its 
 scantiness permitted to protrude from under 
 it, the toe and instep of one of the prettiest 
 imaginable feet, — a foot just somewhat 
 slenderer in proportion to its length than 
 that which a great statue might own, — a 
 foot, which, unlike so many feet which pass 
 for pretty, was unmistakably so when clad 
 in a coarse cotton stocking, and very un- 
 ornamental loose list slipper. 
 
 Her name, as ascertainable from the 
 registers of the baptistry where the miracu- 
 lous bronze gates of Andrea Pisano are the 
 first which every infant Florentine passes 
 thi-ough after leaving those of his native 
 house, and ascertainable as such by scarcely 
 any other means, was Annunziata Leti. 
 Wliy in the world, then, was she called La 
 Beata ? Wait till she lifts her face, in reply 
 to the appeal made to her by Tito, and you 
 will catch the idea in an instant. Sui-ely if 
 angelic pm-ity was ever expressed by earthly
 
 La Beata. 31 
 
 lineaments, it is to be read in that delicately 
 beautiful pale face. It is almost a perfect 
 oval ; less beautiful, perhaps, and less sug- 
 gestive of the possibilities of latent passion, 
 than those so often assigned by Kaffael to 
 ■fee Madonna, even in Ms earlier manner; 
 but such as Beato Angelico has, when happi- 
 est in the expression of his ideal, given to 
 the angels of the heavenly choir. The 
 featm-es were not calculated to give a physi- 
 ognomist the idea of much intellectual 
 power, still less of energy or force of cha- 
 racter. Unsympathetic critics might have 
 declared that the face in its general effect 
 was wanting in expression ; even that it was 
 chargeable ^vith insipidity. And this verdict 
 might perhaps have been accepted without 
 any violent contradiction by those who had 
 looked on it only while those marvellous 
 long eyelashes were, as was generally the 
 case, veiling the large brown eyes beneath 
 them. We hear of eyes sparkling with
 
 32 La Beata. 
 
 intelligence, eyes eloquent "with the force of 
 strong volition, or flashing with the fire of 
 latent passion. The eyes in question were 
 none of these. But from their unfathomable 
 limpid dej^ths there welled forth with a mild 
 and withal somewhat sad radiance that in- 
 finite capacity of loving, Avhich, let it exist 
 in companionship with whatsoever other gifts 
 or deficiencies it may, is still the divinest 
 thing on earth. 
 
 Preachers have abounded in warnings 
 against the sin of permitting an earthly love, 
 as they are wont to term it, to steal aught of 
 the intensity due only they say to that 
 which has the invisible for its object. But 
 surely such teaching would reduce the earthly 
 love it does permit, to a something which, 
 when thus robbed of its right to infinity, 
 would not be found exalting to humanity in 
 its nature. Surely every love which deserves 
 the name partakes of the nature of worship. 
 And its justification for doing so is to be
 
 La Beata. 33 
 
 found in the fact, that it is to the God-like, 
 visible to the eye of love in its object, 
 whether it be really existing there or not, 
 that such worship is rendered. Illimitable 
 trustfulness, perfect faith, entire belief are as 
 .essentially attributes of such a love, as is 
 unspeakable tenderness. And all these 
 might be read in those large, guileless, 
 gentle eyes, when they spoke forth the 
 innermost secrets of the heart, from which 
 they had their message. 
 
 But this divine capacity of loving, rich 
 with the promise of truly infinite blessedness 
 to both the subject and the object of it, — 
 can it be that it is blind, even as the terres- 
 trial Eros ? Can it be that its want of in- 
 tellectual vision may make it the victim of 
 the grossest illusions, and cause it to become 
 a source of misery and destruction ? AVho 
 does not know, alas! that the answer to 
 such questionings is the oldest of all old 
 stories, the tritest and the saddest of all his 
 
 VOL. I. ' D
 
 34 La Beata. 
 
 world's tragedies ; tragedies to be repeated 
 infinitely till time is at at an end ? — irreme- 
 diable ? Is it the doom of the most God-like 
 natures ever .to run the greatest risk of woe 
 and shipwreck ? Surely such cannot be the 
 law of a God-made world. How if we con- 
 clude that this divinest endowment needs, 
 like every other of man's heritage, the assist- 
 ance «f that other gift, the same which wards 
 the lightning from our roofs, and bids it do 
 our errands ? that to taste in safety of the 
 sweetest fruit of the tree of life we must eat 
 of the tree of knowledge also ? Shall Love 
 be less divine because his eyes are opened ? 
 Shall Love's infinity be rendered finite, his 
 faith be stained with doubt, his worship be 
 abated to a balancing estimation because he 
 sees with understanding the existence of the 
 same qualities, wliich before he saw only in 
 the illusions of his own phantasmagoria? 
 Surely not so. Surely in this matter, as in 
 every other sublunary destiny, we may look,
 
 La Beata. 35 
 
 tliougli it be with far straining gaze to the 
 good time coming. 
 
 But meanwhile inexorable law, with crnelly 
 beneficent teaching, rolls on its Juggernauth 
 car, and the old sad story has to be told 
 again and again. 
 
 La Beata could love much, but she could 
 understand little. She was, in truth, very 
 ignorant, was La Beata. She knew little 
 indeed beyond what that large simple heart 
 of hers could teach her. Not despicable 
 knowledge this, yet not sufficient for the 
 guidance she needed. 
 
 Her little history, up to the time of which 
 our story is speaking, may be very briefly told. 
 Her father had been a keeper, guardian, or 
 whatever such office may be called, at the 
 gallery of the Belle Arte, in Florence. Her 
 mother was an artificial flower maker. 
 Annunziata was their only child, and the 
 small but certain stipend of her father, 
 joined to the earnings of his wife's little
 
 36 La Beata. 
 
 industry, sufficed to supply comfortably 
 enough the simiDle wants of Florentines in 
 that class of life. But Giovanni Leti died 
 when his child vras only three years old, and 
 then came a life of struggle and privation 
 for the widow and Annunziata. Still the 
 woK was kept from the door. By patient 
 industry and careful thrift, Francesca Leti, 
 the mother, still contrived to keep a decent 
 roof over her child and herseK. She in- 
 habited two little rooms on the second floor 
 in the street called the Corso, not, as might be 
 gathered from the name, one of the principal 
 thorouglifares of the city, but a small busy 
 street in the tliickest centre of the town. 
 There she plied her trade, for the purposes 
 of which it was not necessary to keep a shop, 
 seeing that the little manufactory on the 
 second floor was sufficiently well known to 
 her small connection, and the principal part 
 of her business consisted in supplying the 
 shops of the more humble class of milliners.
 
 La Beata. 37 
 
 There also Kttle Annunziata "received her 
 education." But it consisted almost entirely 
 in learning the art and mystery of artificial 
 flower making, in which dainty occupation 
 her delicate little fingers learned at a very 
 early age to render her mother material 
 assistance, and had become before she was 
 sixteen very perfectly proficient. She was 
 Nina in those days, as haK the girls in Tus- 
 cany seem to be familiarly called. It is the 
 pet abbreviation for so many names. Does 
 the reader fail to see the mode of derivation 
 by which Annunziata becomes Nina ? It is 
 quite simple to Tuscan tongues and ears. 
 Annunziata is by abbreviation Nunziata, by 
 the use of the never-failing affectionate di- 
 miautive Nunziatina, and thence, by familiar 
 elision, Nina. 
 
 Nobody in those days thought that the 
 widow Leti's pale, fragile-looking girl was a 
 pretty child. But the whole neighbourhood 
 cited her as a shining example of all a
 
 '68 La Beata. 
 
 loving daughter should be to a widowed and 
 struggling mother. She was, in truth, the 
 one bright sunbeam in the cold pale shade 
 of the widow's declining years. She was 
 devoted to her mother with all the concen- 
 trated devotion of that deeply loving nature 
 which had no other object on which to pour 
 forth all the treasures of its abounding ten- 
 derness. Early and late the delicate little 
 fingers busied themselves with cheerful ac- 
 tivity over the colom^ed paper, the bits of 
 stiffened calico, and the waxed thread, which 
 formed the material of their industry. 
 Summer and winter the pale young face 
 gi'ew paler, and the slender form, now ra- 
 pidly shooting uj) into womanhood, more 
 slight over the light but incessant labour, 
 which made the life of both mother and 
 daughter little better than one long impri- 
 sonment ; but neither of them dreamed that 
 they had an)i;liing to regret or to pine for in 
 that dull obscure life of theirs. The daily
 
 La Beata. 39 
 
 necessities were supplied, on a scale so won- 
 derfully small and simple it is true, that that 
 which appeared decent competence to the 
 Florentine widow and her daughter, would 
 have seemed to the poorest of our better 
 nom-ished population a state of mere pro- 
 longed starvation. But the few small coins 
 needed for the daily expenditure were forth- 
 coming ; and if, when autumn arrived, the 
 hoarded fund for payment of the rent was 
 ready, the mother and daughter asked no 
 more of fate. 
 
 Nor had the poor widow failed to do her 
 duty by her child to the best of her power 
 and lights. She had received a good reli- 
 gious education, had La Nina. Due care 
 had been taken, when she had reached her 
 seventh year, to have her properly anointed 
 with holy oil on the forehead on occasion of 
 making her first solemn confession to Mother 
 Chm-ch of the sins human nature is apt to 
 fall into at that period of life. The sacred
 
 40 La Beata. 
 
 unction had been duly bound on to her little 
 forehead for the space of three days with a 
 wliite fillet marked with a blood-red cross. 
 No pams had been spared to send her to her 
 first communion five years later, with a 
 spotless new white frock, a pair of wliite 
 satin slippers, and a wreath of white rose- 
 blossoms on her brow. Never did the widow 
 and her pale tall giii fail to attend early 
 mass at a neighbouring church on every 
 Sunday and holiday, whether it were " a day 
 of entu-e obHgation," or not, — not the dissi- 
 pation of a mid-day mass, when smart 
 toilettes are exhibited, and the world is 
 there to see them, but a drowsy, utterly un- 
 amusing early morning mass at an obscure 
 chm'ch, where there was neither necessity 
 for, nor temptation to, the smallest exhibition 
 of crinoline. Never in the widow's tiny 
 household was the necessary farthing want- 
 ing for the supply of the glimmering spark 
 of lamp before the black Kttle picture of the
 
 La Beata. 41 
 
 Madonna, of which it was impossible to dis- 
 tinguish anything save the shimmer of the 
 tarnished gilt crown on the Virgin's head, 
 even though that farthing had to be squeezed 
 out of the price of the daily pittance of bread. 
 Never had Nina, from the day of that first con- 
 fession of her shortcomings, been so thought- 
 less as to pass this venerated talisman, which 
 hung in the dark little passage opposite the 
 door of entrance, without crossing herself 
 and bending her gracious head. And above 
 her own narrow and scantily furnished 
 paUet, surmounting a small cross, and a 
 couple of withered sprigs of olive bough, 
 which in Tuscany does duty for the palm- 
 branch,^ hung a French lithographed portrait 
 of the Virgin of seven sorrows, with seven 
 poniards plunged symmetrically m her bosom. 
 And Nina used to think, as she preferred to 
 this portraiture of her patroness her nightly 
 petition for the successful completion and 
 prosperous sale of the forget-me-nots and
 
 42 La Beata. 
 
 lilies-of-the-valley, which had been the object 
 of her clay's labom% that she could never 
 refuse aught to the appeal of eyes which 
 looked on her with a glance so full of infinite 
 love and ineffable sadness as that portrayed 
 in the much-loved print. 
 
 And now the reader is as completely ac- 
 quainted with the entire mind, heart, and 
 soul of Nunziatina Leti as if he had made 
 her daily life his study fi-om her cradle up- 
 wards. Nay, had he possessed a spell by 
 which to scan each innermost thought and 
 movement of the heart, he would have dis- 
 covered nothing beyond the combinations of 
 ideas and emotions deducible from these 
 simple elements. There was absolutely 
 nothing else in that young heart and brain. 
 Yes ! it must decidedly be admitted that La 
 Beata was lamentably, wonderfully ignorant. 
 
 It was not till she was about sixteen that 
 the neighbom-s and few acquaintances of the 
 widow Leti began to find then- observation
 
 La Beata. 43 
 
 attracted by the appearance of her daughter. 
 It was not even then that any of these ob- 
 servers had the smallest idea that she was 
 beautiful. Form and featui-e of quite a 
 different mould would have seemed to them 
 absolutely necessary to any such pretension. 
 Yet there was a something, which, had they 
 ever given a thought to the matter would 
 have remained inexplicable to them, that 
 did attract their eyes, and did excite emotion 
 of some sort in then- breasts, when they 
 allowed them to rest on the gui. What the 
 deuce could it be ? She was not like other 
 girls ! She was certainly in some way out 
 of the common. Old Beppo Vanni, the 
 artists' colourman, who kept a large shop in 
 the Corso, just opposite the widow's dwell- 
 ing, seemed to have brought the greatest 
 amount of intelligent meditation to the sub- 
 ject, when he declared that Nina Leti always 
 somehow put him in mind of that Saint 
 Cecilia the foreigners were for ever having 
 copied.
 
 44 La Beata. 
 
 Just about that time the widow Leti's eye- 
 sight began to fail her so much, that she was 
 becoming very rapidly incapable of working 
 at her occupation. In vain she sat in the 
 full light of her little window and strained 
 the old eyeballs till they ached in the en- 
 deavom* to distinguish the delicate shades of 
 colour which her manufacture required. 
 The produce of the painful but futile effort 
 was valueless and unsaleable. In vain, too, 
 did poor Nunziatina strive by increased toil 
 to supply the deficiency in their means which 
 resulted from her mother's incapacity. She 
 had done her utmost before, and could not 
 therefore now succeed in doing more. At 
 last the wolf was at the door in earnest ; and 
 the old woman and the young girl looked 
 into the hopeless future with hopeless terror. 
 
 It was then that that notion of Nina's 
 likeness to the Saint Cecilia fructified in 
 kindly old Beppo Vanni's mind, as he sat 
 one evening at his own door, "taking the 
 freshness," as the Tuscans say, and medi-
 
 La Beata. 45 
 
 tating what could be done for that poor 
 widow Leti and her daughter. If the girl 
 was so like many of the faces he had often 
 seen in pictures, was it not possible that she 
 might be the very model a painter might 
 wish? He knew pretty well all the artists 
 more or less ; and at all events it would cost 
 nothing to try. He would go over the way 
 and broach the subject to the Avomen at 
 once. 
 
 So he did. And pother and daughter 
 listened to his proposal both with blank 
 amazement, the mother with little of hope, 
 and the daughter with much of shrinking 
 terror. But old Vanni talked on, rising 
 gradually into a most absolute authority on 
 all subjects connected with art and artists, 
 as he became aware of the utter ignorance 
 of his hearers. He assured the widow that 
 many most respectable young women of his 
 acquaintance earned a comfortable subsist- 
 ence by such means. And he pointed out
 
 46 La Beata. 
 
 with most satisfactory clearness to Nina 
 herself, that it was only beauties who were 
 wanted to sit for goddesses and nymphs and 
 all that class of characters, who went, saving 
 their presence, almost naked ; that her line 
 of business would evidently be of a very 
 different sort, — merely saints and such-like, 
 who always were draped from the chin to 
 the toes. So at length the rhetoric of the 
 worthy colom'man, assisted by the yet more 
 persuasive eloquence of dire necessity, so far 
 prevailed, that he was commissioned to 
 mention the matter to some of the artists 
 who frequented his shop. 
 
 The upshot of the negotiation was that 
 Nina was engaged by om- friend Tito to sit, 
 or rather kneel, for a j3icture of a Eoman 
 girl praying at a road-slu-ine of the Madonna 
 for the recovery of her sick lover. That 
 was her first engagement in her new pro- 
 fession. The simple idea was within her 
 comprehension; and the feeling to be ex-
 
 La Beata. 47 
 
 pressed, one, with wliich she could entu-ely 
 sympathize. She looked the part to per- 
 fection accordingly. The picture made a 
 success, and so did the model. From that 
 time she had no difficulty in finding quite 
 ag much occupation in her new business as 
 her strength would enable her to undertake ; 
 and that, as old Beppo Vanni had prophesied, 
 without being called on to represent any of 
 that class of personages, which "the beau- 
 ties," as the old man said, are required to 
 sit for. 
 
 Nina was at that time all but sixteen 
 years old; and it was two years previous 
 to the time when we have found her, too 
 evidently at home, in Pippo Lonari's studio. 
 
 She very soon became well known and an 
 universal favourite in the artist world, which 
 her new vocation obliged her to frequent. 
 It was a world, as will be readily understood, 
 far more able to appreciate her peculiar 
 beauty, than that wliich had alone seen her
 
 48 La Beata. 
 
 previously. And just about that period lier 
 pure, unearthly, saintly beauty grew and 
 increased, and became day by day more 
 wonderful. The too slender figure gained 
 but little itt development. But a deeper 
 expression came into those strange sad eyes ; 
 and the slightest possible tint of rose-colour 
 was added to the pale cheek. There could 
 be little doubt that the new model was 
 beautiful, though she was still as little 
 adapted as ever to sit for that class of female 
 subjects, for which, according to the dictum 
 of old Beppo Vanni, "the beauties" were 
 required. For a different class of subjects 
 she was soon pronounced by the Florentine 
 artist world to be invaluable. It was then 
 that she received from these new patrons 
 the sobriquet of La Beata. It was one of 
 those nicknames, which, from their evident 
 and striking fitness, at once tlirust into ob- 
 livion the names whose place they take, 
 and adhere thenceforward indelibly to the
 
 La Beata. ^ 49 
 
 persons so happily designated by them. La 
 Beata was very soon wholly unknown by 
 any other appellation. 
 
 And what about the result of all this un- 
 protected companionship, and familiar ac- 
 q^iaintance with the artist world of Florence 
 on the moral character and conduct of La 
 Beata? How did the innocent and pure- 
 hearted but wholly inexperienced and very 
 ignorant girl steer her course among the 
 manifold dangers of such a manner of life ? 
 It may appear at fii-st sight perhaps unin- 
 telligible and incredible, but it is neverthe- 
 less a certain truth, that the dangers which 
 lay around La Beata's path were very much 
 less than they would have been had she 
 been similarly cu-cumstanced in some other 
 cities where a far higher standard of morality 
 is professed, and a stricter rale of conduct 
 enforced; less, it must be understood, as 
 long as the maiden was fancy-free ; not so, 
 perhaps, when such should cease to be the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 La Beata. 
 
 case. Many an offer of heart and hand, un- 
 connected with any allusion to legal or 
 ecclesiastical ratification, may no doubt have 
 reached her ear. But they called no blush 
 of shame to the cheek, awakened no pang of 
 moral indignation in the breast, and were 
 rejected by the heart-whole maiden as simply 
 as the most strictly proper matrimonial pro- 
 posals might be by ladies living under a 
 different dispensation. And such rejections 
 would have been submitted to, with neither 
 more nor less of rebellion against them, 
 than is wont to be exhibited by aspirant 
 husbands. Snares, cunningly contrived pit- 
 falls, arts of seduction, there would have 
 been none. Nor — most important considera- 
 tion of all — would any consciousness of being 
 surrounded by an atmosphere of vice have 
 sullied the ignorant purity of her soul. A 
 loveless union, brought about by any kind 
 of consideration or temptation whatever, 
 would have seemed to her imagination simply
 
 La Beata. 51 
 
 impossible, and altogether out of the ques- 
 tion ; while the absence of such union when 
 mutual affection existed would have appeared 
 equally unintelligible. So sadly ignorant 
 was La Beata ! The non-performance of the 
 marriage rite would have seemed to her 
 mind to entail a social position about as 
 much inferior to that of people married with 
 a low mass, as the latter was inferior to the 
 condition of such as were made man and 
 wife with all the ceremonial of a full choir. 
 But the dangers, the imprudence of such a 
 tie, not only unsanctioned by divine, but im- 
 protected by human law ! Even supposing 
 her poor mind to have been in such a state 
 of heathen darkness as to have been in- 
 capable of appreciating the higher considera- 
 tions of Christian morality, could she have 
 been ignorant, that a tie lawlessly formed 
 to-day might be lawlessly broken to-morrow ? 
 Were there no warning instances of broken 
 vows, if not of broken hearts, of deserted
 
 52 La Beata. 
 
 motliers and nameless childi-en even in the 
 small social envii'onment which made her 
 little world? 
 
 In truth such beacons were not wanting. 
 But to the moral feeling as well as in the 
 phraseology of that little world, such sad 
 cases were " disgrazie," and not " disgraces." 
 " Disgrazia," a misfortune, a regretable cir- 
 cumstance arising from the absence of " gra- 
 zia," or favour, and in no wise implpng 
 either want of "gi-ace" in our theological 
 sense of the term, or " disgrace " in the ac- 
 ceptation given to the word by the robuster 
 moral sense of a Protestant population, is 
 received by nations taught to expect their 
 well-being from the special protection of 
 favouring saints, as a full and sufficient ac- 
 count and explanation of very much evil of 
 all sorts which people whose teaching has 
 been that conduct makes fate, speak of by a 
 different name. And then La Beata was not 
 prudent; had no tincture of that highly-
 
 La Beata. 53 
 
 valued virtue among tlie simple elements of 
 her singularly incomposite nature. When she 
 might give her heart it was but too certam 
 that it would be given without any prudential 
 considerations respecting future contingen- 
 cies, which would appear to her as wholly 
 beyond the range of possibility as the wildest 
 reversal of the order of nature. Calculate the 
 chances that love might by lapse of time 
 grow cold! Quite as soon would she have 
 thought of counting how many more years 
 the mighty dome might last, beneath whose 
 shadow she had been bom and lived. Both 
 appeared to her equally and necessarily 
 eternal. But those other luckless cases, 
 those unfavoured loves, on which the saints 
 had not smiled ? Might not that which had 
 happened to others befall her also ? Alas ! 
 when did youth ever so reason ? 
 
 So La Beata walked the path of her new 
 life in simple unsuspiciousness of evil, uncon- 
 taminated at least by any consciousness of the
 
 5.4 La Beata. 
 
 proximity of sin or shame, and safe, like Una 
 with her lion, as long as she trod it heart- 
 whole and fancy free. 
 
 And tliis safety |asted for more than a 
 year from the time she had first entered on her 
 new profession. It had been found impos- 
 sible by more than one among the best of 
 those with whom she had been thrown into 
 intimacy, to effect a lodgment in a heart al- 
 ready fully occupied by one great love. Dur- 
 ing all that time La Beata had lived but 
 for her mother. The widow had become en- 
 tirely dependent upon her exertions and care ; 
 and this changed relationship added a new 
 element to the tender love, which had all the 
 strength of a soHtary and life-long passion. 
 Her mother too was evidently declining in 
 strength and health, and before long a painful 
 anxiety was added to the daughter's preoccu- 
 pation. Under these ciiTumstances her heart 
 had been closed against the approach of 
 strangers, and all her thought throughout the
 
 La Beata. 55 
 
 livelong clay was centered on the evening liour, 
 when she should retm-n to the little lonely 
 home in the Corso, learn how her mother had 
 got through her solitary day, enjoy the one 
 pleasure of her life in striving to cheer her, 
 «ilnd expending her earnings in Kttle pm-chases 
 for the increase of the invalid's comfort. 
 
 And this lasted, as has been said, for more 
 than a year. Then came a change. Old 
 Francesca Leti reached the termination of 
 her pilgrimage, and went to her rest in the 
 common grave opened for that 'day's " un- 
 distinguished " dead in the bleak dreary 
 cemetery of Trespiano, some three miles up 
 the Apennine on the Bologna road. There 
 is no following of the dead by mourning rela- 
 tives in that last journey of the Florentine 
 citizen. Death's harvest is each day ga- 
 thered in an " asylum for the dead," as the 
 dismal place is called — somewhat strangely 
 to our ears ; — and at midnight each day in 
 the year, the day'# tribute is despatched on
 
 56 La Beata. 
 
 its solitary journey, imaccompamed save by 
 the driver of that tmly "omnibus" van. 
 Some two hours later it is received at its 
 destination by the solitary capucliui friar 
 appointed to this dreary duty ; the few pre- 
 scribed prayers are said, or not said, accord- 
 ing to tlie delicacy of his conscience ; and 
 the new citizens in that dead Florence are 
 by next day's dawn even less " distinguished," 
 or distinguishable, than they were among the 
 crowd of the living. 
 
 And La Beata was alone in the httle dwell- 
 ing, where all her life had passed, dm-ing 
 the long hours of that night. 
 
 Then came her kind old neighbour, Beppo 
 Vanni the colourman, with such words of 
 comfort, and proffers of service, as he was 
 able to afford. And it was settled between 
 them that La Beata should find a home in 
 his house at all events for the present ; — an 
 arrangement projiosed by the worthy colour- 
 man in a truly friendly spnit, yet possibly
 
 La Beata. 57 
 
 not altogether without a' kirkuig thought 
 that it might be useful to him in his artist 
 comiection; for La Beata was already be- 
 coming known in the art community as an 
 invaluable model in her own especial hue. 
 ^ So the past year's life was resumed ; and 
 La Beata soon found her time so fully oc- 
 cupied, that she had to keep count of the 
 applications for her services, in order that 
 each patron might be duly attended to, as it 
 came to his turn. Beppo Yanni was delighted 
 at so decided a success. 
 
 But he could not make his protegee as 
 delighted with it as he felt she ought to be. 
 In truth all seemed changed and void to 
 her ; the whole interest and meaning of her 
 life had passed out of it. The one hour of 
 her daily existence, which gave value to the 
 rest, was gone. That return home to the 
 little room and its expecting inhabitant each 
 day at " the twenty-four," as the old world 
 Florentine still terms the hour of sunset.
 
 58 La Beata. 
 
 though he has long since left off using that 
 obsolete mode of reckoning the hours in any 
 other case ; — that return, the expectation of 
 which had been the entire interest of the 
 day, came now only to bring with it painfully 
 contrasting memories of the days gone for 
 ever. Life was void and purposeless to 
 La Beata, because love had died out of it. 
 That gi'eat, craving heart was empty ; and 
 the days when she could tread the path of 
 her life in safety were consequently gone. 
 Some being to love ! some creature, some- 
 thing, if better were not, to fill the aching 
 void, to be the recipient of all that abound- 
 ing wealth of tenderness, which must by 
 fiat of Him who gave it be expended, under 
 penalty of its turning to life-destroying 
 poison if shut up in forced sterility ! some 
 food for the yearning sickening hunger for 
 sympathy ! 
 
 That was the cry, imperious, refusing to 
 be silenced, of the heaven-ordained needs of
 
 La Beata. 59 
 
 the heart; inarticulate, as are the behests 
 of Nature, addressing themselves, not intel- 
 ligibly to the understanding, but prompting 
 by uncomprehended solicitings, and enfor- 
 cing obedience by remorseless infliction of 
 suffering. 
 
 So the hour of " danger " in the path had 
 come. And La Beata went forth to meet it 
 on her way, unsuspicious, unwarned, with no 
 moral compass-card to guide her, in all the 
 innocence of her boundless ignorance, and 
 no spell against all shapes of evil save the 
 unsullied purity and guileless simplicity of 
 her maiden heart.
 
 60 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DANGER 
 
 ! 
 
 Occasions which seem quite special in 
 their precise aptitude to bring about the 
 events afterwards attributed to them, are 
 never wanting, when causes of more mde 
 and general operation have rendered such 
 events inevitable. " There is a fate in these 
 things," as the professors of a short and 
 easy system of philosophy express it with 
 perfect satisfaction to themselves. 
 
 It so happened, accordingly, that one of the 
 first engagements La Beata was called on 
 to fulfil after her return to her work, was to 
 sit to our friend Pippo Lonari for an Annun- 
 ciation. The pictiu-e had been ordered by a
 
 La Beata. 61 
 
 well-known dealer, well known to a certain 
 class of artists, and a certain class of pur- 
 chasers, whom it was the great object of his 
 life to keep from ever becoming acquainted 
 with each other; and the picture is doubtless at 
 this moment the treasured possession of some 
 English or American lover of high art, on 
 whose walls it figm-es as a fine and undoubted 
 specimen of this or the other " quattrocen- 
 tista " master, whose life and style have been 
 carefully got up from Vasari by the fortu- 
 nate purchaser, since he had " the luck to 
 pick it up." The picture would not be a 
 disgrace to any purchaser's wall, did it ap- 
 pear there as the work of an obscure artist, 
 one Filippo Lonari. But that name, at all 
 events, it is very certain was not the one 
 applied to it. 
 
 La Beata sat for both the figures, the 
 angel announcing the wondrous tidings, and 
 the submissive "handmaid of the Lord" 
 who receives them. And admirably had she
 
 62 La Beata. 
 
 conceived and presented the sj)iritual mean- 
 ing and fit expression of either figure. The 
 picture was a success ; not, it will of course 
 be understood for the artist who had painted 
 it, and still less for the unknown model who 
 had contributed so much to its merit, but 
 to the dealer who sold it ; — a success, which 
 was so far reflected on the former, as that it 
 made the dealer willing to tempt the pain- 
 ter's honesty by fresh commissions of the 
 same discreditable sort. 
 
 The twofold sitting for this picture had of 
 course been a long affair, occasioning much 
 continued intercourse between the painter 
 and his invaluable model. The quickness 
 and genuinely poetical feeling with which 
 she had entered into and succeeded in ex- 
 pressing the sentiment required in the pic- 
 ture, had had the effect of promoting the 
 mere model almost to the position of an ad- 
 viser. Plans of new pictures had been dis- 
 cussed between them ; and the artist had
 
 La Beata. 63 
 
 been led to appreciate at their true value the 
 latent aesthetic capabilities of his model, and 
 the important services wliich she might ren- 
 der him. And there was a charm for La 
 Beata in this intercourse, which it is not 
 ^cult to understand. For the first time 
 in her life, appeal had been made to the 
 higher capacities of her nature. They had 
 been called into activity by the only means 
 which the utterly uncultivated state of her 
 intelligence left possible, by an appeal to the 
 poetry of the heart. The apparently arid 
 rock had been smitten, and the waters of a 
 true poetic temperament had gushed forth in 
 abundance. The mere fact, too, of the crea- 
 tion of a new interest in the void of her life, 
 of a somethmg for thought to rest on outside 
 the weary round within which it had since 
 the death of her mother been confined, was 
 a source of unrecognized but very pleasur- 
 able relief to the intolerable emptiness of 
 the weary days.
 
 64 La Beata. 
 
 Easy to understand tliat all this must 
 have been pleasant ! Equally evident, alas ! 
 that prudence would have classified such 
 pleasures as " doubly hazardous !" If only the 
 Pygmalion to whose lot it fell to animate 
 
 the lovely statue had been somewhat worthier 
 of the fortune, than poor Pippo Lonari ! 
 
 Then, just as the intercourse which had 
 arisen in the manner described was growing 
 into intimacy, another incident occurred with 
 the " fatality " usual in such cases, of a na- 
 ture to render the escape of the limed bird 
 well-nigh impossible. Pippo had been living 
 ever since he commenced his career as an 
 artist with an only sister. Her constant 
 presence in the studio had no doubt facili- 
 tated the terms of easy familiar intercoiu-se 
 on which La Beata had fallen into the habit 
 of visiting it. Almost immediately after the 
 completion of the picture of the Annuncia- 
 tion, Assunta Lonari was taken ill. What 
 was to be done in the narrow little lodging
 
 La Beata. 65 
 
 consisting of just two rooms then occupied by 
 the artist and his sister ? Nothing can be 
 conceived more helpless than a man in such 
 a position. If the male member of a house- 
 hold so constituted falls ill, his companion, 
 be she sister, or wife, or mother, tends him 
 as a matter of course. But neither brother, 
 husband, nor son can transform himself into 
 the "ministering angel" required by the 
 needs of a sick chamber. If sickness like 
 other iUs came mto the world by woman's 
 fault, that at least, as weU indeed as most of 
 the others, is rendered tolerable only by her 
 tending and sympathy. 
 
 Of course the nursing of Assunta Lonari 
 feU to the lot of La Beata. She never made 
 formal offer of her services to Pippo on the 
 occasion ; nor did he either ask for, or spe- 
 cially accept them. It seemed to all parties 
 a matter of com-se. She was " neighbour " 
 to the sick woman ; and in devoting to her 
 nights and days of watching and attendance, 
 
 VOL. I. y
 
 66 La Beata. 
 
 did under the circumstances no more after 
 all than almost any one of her station, coun- 
 try, and sex would have done. 
 
 But here was another element of " dan- 
 ger " in the path. Here was a community 
 of alternating hopes and fears, and petty 
 cares. Here was daily, nightly, almost hour- 
 ly isolated companionship durmg the short 
 but constantly recurring minutes of anxious 
 consultation, of necessary refreshment, of 
 mutual consolation and encouragement. But 
 greater danger was yet behind. The end 
 came at last. Assuuta Lonari died. And she, 
 too, was within twelve hom^s on her silent 
 though not solitary journey to Trespiano. 
 
 Then it seemed to the man and woman 
 left face to face within the narrow walls of 
 that small dwelling, as if a vast solitude had 
 suddenly been made around them. Sud- 
 denly, that which had stood between them 
 as it were a veil, mitigating the sense of ab- 
 solute face to face presence and spiritual
 
 La Beat a. 67 
 
 contact, was removed by the removal of the 
 dead. Even as the smallest parapet on the 
 edge of a precipice makes all the difference 
 to the imagination of one who walks its 
 brink, so to the two left together in that 
 room the withdrawal of that third, though 
 but a dying woman scarcely conscious of 
 their presence, nay, though but the dead 
 form from which the spirit had fled, made 
 a difference in then* position, which each felt 
 to be wonderful, inexplicable. It seemed 
 as if the magnetic currents of sympathy, the 
 hidden influences of soul on soul, the mys- 
 terious speaking of eye to eye, had hitherto 
 passed thi-ough an interrupting medium, 
 wliich had modified, mitigated, and dead- 
 ened the violence of their meeting ; whereas 
 now they met full and direct, with a result 
 like that of an electric shock, startling to 
 both of them, and shaking the weaker to the 
 very centre of her being. They stood before 
 each other in the great void around them,
 
 68 La Beata. 
 
 even as the first pair stood in the solitude 
 of the new-made world ; and as in Eden, so 
 in that mean chamber, the relationship in 
 which alone it appeared possible that they 
 must thenceforth stand towards each other 
 revealed itself to them. 
 
 Then words had to be spoken, tears to be 
 shed and dried, consolations to be given, 
 out-looks towards the future, to which youth 
 so instinctively turns from past sorrow, to be 
 shared ; then hands to be clasped, and vows 
 to be exchanged — and a '' fatality " to be 
 accomplished. 
 
 The Chiu-ch, too, did her part, not, alas ! at 
 the altar, but in the confessional. The old 
 curato, to whose little heeding ear the 
 simple diary of La Beata's life had been 
 duly from time to time communicated for 
 many a year, on receiving the graver conti- 
 nuation of his penitent's life-narrative, se- 
 riously urged on her the duty of persuading 
 her lover to regularize their union, pointing
 
 La Beata. 69 
 
 out that the Church's dues were not so heavy 
 as to be prohibitory. He also enjoined reci- 
 tations of penitential psalms and rosaries. 
 But on rising from the seat of his spiritual 
 office he smoothed, as of yore, with his ve- 
 nerable hand the braids of her hair as he 
 bade God bless her. And the psalms were 
 duly repeated, and the rosaries punctually 
 said, all paid with the scrupulous honesty of 
 a conscientious debtor ; and as to the advi- 
 sability of investing money in purchasing in 
 more formal shape that blessing, which her 
 old confessor had already given her, in the 
 manner which he had advised, why that was 
 a matter which Pippo understood best. 
 Whatever he did was surely right — Pippo 
 knew. 
 
 And the gossips of the neighbourhood said 
 to each other, " La Nina ha preso Pippo 
 Lonari il pittore per clamo, sai" 
 
 " Speriamo che la menera a huonfine, pove- 
 retta!"
 
 70 La Beata. 
 
 "Nina, you know, has taken up ^ith 
 Pippo the painter for her sweetheart." 
 
 " Poor little thing, let's hope it will turn 
 out well." 
 
 And that was all. 
 
 Charitable English reader, to whom much 
 has assm-edly been given, remember that it 
 is from such that much will be expected ; 
 and weigh not with your well regulated 
 balance the errors of a sister, whose inno- 
 cence and giiilt, and knowledge of either of 
 them were about upon a par with those of 
 Tarico the poor Indian girl in the ballad.
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 TITO's IDEA. 
 
 " Never mind what the Church says ! I 
 would far rather hear what La Beata thinks 
 about the matter," said Tito Fanetti. The 
 matter, it will be remembered, was that 
 question of the degree in which an artist is 
 guilty of dishonesty, who accepts com- 
 missions to paint imitations of ancient pic- 
 tures, to be sold to deceived pm-chasers as 
 the productions of other hands. This was 
 the industry by which Pippo Lonari had 
 supported himself and La Beata since the 
 day described at the end of the last chapter, 
 a department of art requiring talent of really
 
 72 La Beata. 
 
 no inconsiderable kind, but miserably paid, 
 as is always all work which dare not avow 
 and show itself in the broad light of day. 
 It must be added that, in a very secondary 
 degree, the accusation of aiding and abetting 
 a dishonest traffic might also be brought 
 against La Beata ; for her share in the pro- 
 duction of these mock ancient pictures had 
 been no unimportant one. The expression, 
 sentiments, and feeling of those devout pre- 
 Eafifaellite painters of the " ages of faith " 
 would hardly have been imitated so success- 
 fully by our friend Pippo without the aid of 
 such a model. Hardly would it have been 
 possible to find a second so admirably 
 adapted for the pm-pose by speciality of form 
 and featm-e, no less than by the genuine 
 child-like purity and simplicity of heart, 
 which informed those features with an ex- 
 pression unassumable by art, and by the 
 quick sensibilities of a truly poetic idiosyn- 
 crasy, which enabled her to seize and assi-
 
 La Beata. 73 
 
 milate tlie idea intended to be represented. 
 Clearly, La Beata was an accomplice in the 
 production of forged Crivellis, Beato Angeli- 
 cos, and Botticellis. What had she to say- 
 on the subject in answer to Tito Fanetti's 
 lyicompromising morality ? 
 
 " Certainly, 'gnor* Tito," she said, raising 
 her large brown eyes from her loiitting, and 
 throwing- back the long silken fringe above 
 them till it touched the delicate brow above ; 
 " certainly Pippo knows better than I ; and 
 what you say about not minding what the 
 Chui'ch says cannot be right in any way. It 
 is true," she added, after a pause, " that I 
 should not Kke any one to ask Pippo if he 
 had painted such a picture, and that he 
 should be obliged to say No when it was 
 really liis work. But Pippo knows best," 
 she added, ever swinging round her sheet- 
 anchor of confidence and faith. 
 
 "Brava, La Beata!" cried Tito, "that is 
 
 * Floreutine cockney for Signer Tito.
 
 74 lia Beata. 
 
 just it. Can it be well, Pippo, to put your, 
 self in a position which may compel you to a 
 falsehood, and that falsehood the denial of 
 your own work ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! brava La Beata ! bravo Tito ! 
 bravi one and all," grumbled Pippo, a little 
 irritated. " It is all very fine, but one must 
 live — not to mention two" he added, uncon- 
 sciously allo-s\dng in his crossness just a little 
 tip of the cloven hoof to become \4sible ; 
 " and I am sure I don't see how that is to 
 be managed except by accepting old Mattel's 
 work." 
 
 "Would your excellency condescend," 
 said Tito, with a slight intonation of satire 
 in his voice, " to make an honest coj:)y, call 
 it a copy, and sell it as a copy, I should like 
 to know ?" 
 
 " Wliat's the good of talking in that way," 
 rejoined Pippo, testily, " when you know I 
 could not sell the copy when made — at this 
 time of year, too, when there is not a blessed
 
 La Beata. 75 
 
 stranger in all Florence. Of course I'd copy, 
 and be thankful, too, if I could get a 
 chance." 
 
 "Well," said Tito, "the fact is I have an 
 idea." 
 
 /'You don't mean it," interrupted the 
 other ; " poor Tito ! W^at will become of 
 the good dinners and the regular work? 
 What business has a copyist with an idea ? 
 It will be the ruin of you; strangle it at 
 once, my Tito, before it begets a brood of 
 others. They increase and multiply, the 
 pernicious things ! You don't know what 
 it is to have one idea ; you don't know the 
 danger of it. Once consent to nourish it, 
 and foster it, and it will soon turn you from 
 a comfortable, regular-working copyist, eat- 
 ing excellent dinners, and lecturing on the 
 dignity of the profession, into — into as poor 
 a devil as myself," he concluded, throwing 
 up his handsome head, and passing his 
 fingers through liis long black hair, with an
 
 76 La Beata. 
 
 air and attitude meant to express the sublime 
 martyrdom of a genius too exalted to earn 
 the wages of a plodder by plodding work. 
 The tirade, however, was only one part cox- 
 combical to tliree parts satirical. It was an 
 opportunity for a little bit of revenge on 
 Tito for his lecturing, and for working off 
 the ill humour which it had generated. It 
 was, nevertheless, true that Pippo was the 
 cleverer man of the two, and had more of 
 original talent and spontaneity than his 
 steady-going and well-to-do friend. But 
 Tito had not only abundant good sense, and 
 sufficient self-knowledge to be quite aware 
 that this was the case, but also an inex- 
 haustible stock of that good humour which 
 arises from bemg well contented with oneself 
 and with the world around one. 
 
 " True ! my poor Pippo !" he rejoined, in 
 the same tone ; " true every word of it, my 
 hapless Michael Angelo under a wet blanket ! 
 Heaven forbid that I should change my
 
 La Beata. 77 
 
 journeyman's work, fat capons and Cliianti, 
 for ideas, dry crusts, and cold sausage ! I 
 was about to rid myseK of my idea by offer- 
 ing it to you. One more or less will make 
 no difference to you, who are eaten out of 
 house and home by legions of them. My 
 idea is simply this. I know of a commission 
 for a certain copy, for which a handsome 
 price would be paid ; and I think I see how 
 you may get the job." 
 
 "But why do you not take it yourself?" 
 said Pippo, feehng a little ashamed of his 
 ill humour, as Tito's friendly intentions be- 
 came evident. 
 
 "Because I can't execute it," said Tito, 
 quietly. 
 
 " And you think I can ?" said Pippo, per- 
 fectly restored to his complacency by the 
 apparent compliment. 
 
 " Yes !" continued Tito, " I think perhaps 
 you can ; if La Beata will lend her help." 
 
 Again the large inquiring brown eyes
 
 78 La Beata. 
 
 looked up, while the long, delicate fingers 
 continued their work as rapidly and uninter- 
 ruptedly as before. 
 
 " "VMiat the deuce," cried Pippo, " can La 
 Beata have to do with it, if it is to be a 
 copy? 
 
 "Why the case is this," answered Tito. 
 " An English milordo left a commission last 
 winter with my brother-in-law for a copy of 
 the Madonna del Cardellino. But it must 
 be a copy from the origuial." 
 
 "And how does the Enghshman mean 
 to get it?" rejoined Pippo. "Does he 
 know that every turn for a copy of the Car- 
 dellino is bespoken for years to come ; and 
 that the man who is now copying it, whoever 
 he may be, must have put his name down on 
 the list something like ten years ago? 
 Ridiculous, isn't it, that these foreigners will 
 have endless copies of a certaiu half-dozen 
 or so of pictm-es ? so that while the rest of 
 the gallery is nearly empty, it is impossible
 
 La Beata. 79 
 
 to get place for an easel before one of the 
 favourites without waiting years for your 
 turn. If I ever have a son I shall put his 
 name down for all the crack pictures the 
 same day he is baptized." 
 
 "If the Englishman does not know aU 
 that, my brother-in-law knows it weU enough. 
 And he knows that an original copy of the 
 CardeUino must be paid for," said Tito. 
 
 " But how on earth am I, of aU men in 
 Florence, to make such a copy ?" returned the 
 other ; " and, above aU, what in the world 
 has La Beata there to do with it? Do 
 exj)lain your riddle at once !" 
 
 " I should have explained it by this time, 
 if you would have a minute's patience, and 
 hear me out," said Tito. " This is my plan. 
 The next now on the Hst 'at the gaUery for 
 copying the CardeUino is old Francesco 
 Borsoh. Now if you could induce him to 
 give up his turn to you ?" 
 
 "Bah! a very promising scheme truly!
 
 80 La Beata, 
 
 to me too! Why he would as soon think 
 of—" 
 
 "But you won't hear! do listen. You 
 remember when there was to be a new vice- 
 president at the academy last year how 
 furious old Borsoli was because he was passed 
 over. He made sure he was to have the 
 appointment. Well, he has been furious 
 ever since ; and he means to take a revenge 
 which is to crush all his enemies to powder. 
 He is going to paint a picture, which shall 
 at the same time be a proof of the injustice 
 done him and its punishment. It is to 
 represent Astrsea leaving this earth, and 
 especially the city of Florence, for ever. 
 Sundry portraits are to be introduced, 
 damned to an immortality of pillory, in the 
 lower part of the tanvas. But the Goddess 
 of Justice was to have been La Beata. Now 
 you see it ?" 
 
 It must be explained, that La Beata, from 
 the day on which she had given herseK to
 
 La Beata. 81 
 
 Pippo, had declined all engagements to sit 
 as a model to any other artist. Some unde- 
 fined sentiment, some newly-awakened 
 timidity had from that time forth made the 
 occupation, which had previously been indif- 
 ferent, insuperably distasteful to her. The 
 only one point on which she had uttered any 
 word to Pippo respecting the arrangement 
 and conditions of the hfe they were thence- 
 forth to lead in common, was a gentle sug- 
 gestion that she should for the future sit 
 only to him. And to this he had readily 
 agreed, partly because the time had not 
 yet come when he would have opposed 
 any wish of hers, and partly because it 
 seemed to liim no small advantage to be 
 the monopohst of so valuable a model. So 
 there was a three days' outcry of vexa- 
 tion and disappointment among the Flo- 
 rentine artistic community. This, that, and 
 another pictiu-e, for which the sitting of 
 La Beata had been counted on, were, their 
 
 VOL. I, G
 
 82 La Beata. 
 
 designers declared, henceforward not capable 
 of execution. 
 
 Loudest and most despairing among these 
 complainants was the disappointed candidate 
 for the vice-presidency of the Academy. WTiat 
 was to become of that picture on which he 
 had set his heart ? What was to become of 
 his anticipated vengeance ? \^Tiere was he 
 to look for an Astrsea who should in any way 
 embody his conception? Was injustice 
 always to triumph and come off scot-free? 
 He was half inclined to believe that La 
 Beata's retirement from the profession of a 
 model had been schemed by his enemies for 
 the sole purpose of frustrating the righteous 
 retribution with which he was preparing to 
 overwhelm them. 
 
 Now you see it! as Tito said. Now it 
 became apparent to Pippo and La Beata, as 
 well as to the reader, how her assistance was 
 necessary to Tito's plan. The irate old 
 painter was to be induced to cede to Pippo
 
 La Beata. 83 
 
 Lonari his turn of the privilege of copying 
 the celebrated Madonna del Cardellino in 
 the Tribune at the gallery of the Uffizi, on 
 condition that La Beata should sit for 
 Astrsea in the act of abandoning the world 
 for good and all, in his picture, 
 
 "And now what do you think of my 
 idea ?" cried Tito. " You see, when regular- 
 going comfortably-fed fellows like me do 
 have ideas, they are apt to be of a practical 
 and less dangerous sort than those you were 
 warning me against. I will guarantee that 
 my brother-in-law will be glad enough to 
 give you the commission, if you can contrive 
 to get the means of making the copy. And 
 really I don't see any other chance of his 
 getting an original copy for his pui-chaser. 
 "VNTiat do you say to it ?" 
 
 " I say the idea is a good one, and say, 
 also, that you are a good fellow. I'll make 
 the copy, and make a good one, your brother- 
 in-law may depend on it."
 
 84 La Beata. 
 
 "But what says La Beata?" pursued 
 Tito. " Does she consent to her part in the 
 plot?" 
 
 La Beata looked up with a bright, pleased 
 smile on her pale face. 
 
 " Of course she does !" said Pippo. " Poor 
 Tina will be only too glad to help me to get 
 such a chance." 
 
 And "Pippo knows," said poor Tina, 
 using her favourite phrase to express the 
 correctness of his statement, that of course 
 she would do anytliing he could ask of her. 
 
 Tina, it must be understood, was short for 
 Beatina, which was diminutive of Beata. It 
 is impossible that an Italian girl's name 
 should not by some process be brought to 
 some such pleasant sounding and easily 
 spoken pet appellation. A similar process 
 to that which had made Annunziata into 
 Nina, now made Beata, itself a nickname, 
 but too formal and stately a one for the 
 every-day use of domestic intercom-se, into
 
 La Beata. 85 
 
 Tina. It was already "of course" with 
 Pippo, that " poor Tina " should make no 
 opposition to his slightest behest. 
 
 •' So now it only remains," said Tito, " to 
 open the negotiations with Borsoli. And 
 that I will undertake. I shall in all'proba- 
 bility see him to night at the cafe. What 
 are you others going to do this evening ?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Pippo, " we thought of going 
 to the Goldoni to see a new farce they have 
 brought out there. They say one gets a 
 lira's worth of laughing for one's half-paul." 
 
 The poor couple, it will be observed, who 
 had dined on a   crust and a sausage, could 
 nevertheless find the means of indulging in 
 the theatre, at least on Sunday evening. 
 But this was only after the ordinary usage 
 of Florentine life ; according to which, it 
 has been said, the requirements of humanity, 
 ranged in order of their necessity, would 
 stand thus : 1st, a somewhat more than de- 
 cent dress for festa-days ; 2nd, the theatre ;
 
 86 La Beata. 
 
 and 3rd, daily bread. The half-paul, for 
 which the second of these necessities can be 
 enjoyed, represents, it is true, only about 
 twopence-halfpfinny of our money. But that 
 even this sum should be expended on it by 
 many who are absolutely short of daily food, 
 as is the case, certainly indicates in a very 
 remarkable degree a preference for intellec- 
 tual over purely sensual satisfaction, not to 
 be met with among a similar class of any 
 other population, 
 
 " Well ! I'll tell you how it shall be then," 
 said Tito. "After you have brought La 
 Beata home from the theatre, you come on 
 and meet me at the cafe Michael-Angiolo, in 
 the Via Larga. In all probability I shall 
 have seen Borsoli, and will tell you the re- 
 sult." 
 
 So it was settled. And Tito, after having 
 very carefully arranged his hair, beard, and 
 moustache, and settled the set of his hat to 
 his satisfaction before a fragment of mirror
 
 La Beata. 87 
 
 on Pippo's wall, went to exhibit himself in the 
 "Lungarno," where all the bourgeois world 
 were by this time taking their evening stroll, 
 and enjoying that cool evening hour, the in- 
 finite delight of which can only be appre- 
 ciated by the dwellers in a southern clime. 
 
 It was near midnight before the two artists 
 met at the rendezvous indicated by Tito, in 
 the Via Larga. 
 
 Florence is not the gay rake that Venice 
 is — or was, rather, before the life was utterly 
 crushed out of her by her trembling tyrants. 
 Popular manners and modes of life have 
 a wonderfully obstinate -vitality in them, not 
 observable about the apex of the social pyra- 
 mid. And the thrifty old Eepublic on the 
 banks of the Arno has never learned to imi- 
 tate the dissipated Queen of the Adriatic, in 
 her inveterate habit of not going home till 
 morning. When the cool night-breeze is 
 rippling the lagoon, and the moon is flood- 
 ing the piazza of St. Mark with silver light
 
 88 La Beata. 
 
 the small hours are in pleasure-loving Venice 
 the most full of life of any in the twenty- 
 four. But when the bell in Giotto's match- 
 less tower has boomed out midnight over the 
 silent city, sober Florence has gone to bed ; 
 or has at least gone home, — " although the 
 girls are pretty, and although the moon 
 shines bright," as the rakish old song has it. 
 The Via Larga accordingly was silent and 
 well-nigh deserted when Pippo, having left 
 La Beata at home in the Via dell' Amore, 
 went to his appointment at the cafe Michael- 
 Angiolo, the favourite resort of the Floren- 
 tine artist community. The little tables in 
 front of the cafe standing on the pavement of 
 the public way, and entirely monopolizing the 
 footpath — not in defiance of, but in happy 
 ignorance of street police-law — were almost 
 all deserted ; and yawning waiters were pre- 
 paring to shut up for the night. Tito, how- 
 ever, true to his tryst, was still sitting on 
 the moonlight street in front of the cafe.
 
 La Beata. 89 
 
 patiently smoking his cigar, and studying 
 the lines of perspective, sharply jnarked by 
 the black shadows thrown by St. Mark's 
 Church on the white pavement. 
 
 "Well," said Pippo, coming up, "what 
 success for the idea ?" 
 
 "All right!" 
 
 " The old fellow accepts then, and gives up 
 his turn in the Tribune, for which he has been 
 waiting for heaven knows how many years ?" 
 
 "It goes upon wheels, I teU you," re- 
 turned Tito, using the Tuscan metaphor, 
 equivalent to our more maritime expression, 
 going swimmingly. " The old boy jumped 
 at it. He is as furious as ever. He don't 
 care a straw about the Cardellino, or any 
 other pictm-e on earth, save the picture, 
 which is to heap confusion on the heads of 
 his enemies." 
 
 " It will be a very large composition, by 
 all accounts, if all those he considers such 
 are to be pilloried in it."
 
 90 La Beata. 
 
 " Poor old Borsoli ! I shouldn't wonder if 
 he were to paint a better picture than he 
 has ever painted yet." 
 
 " Nor I. Indignation may paint pictures 
 as well as make verses perhaps," said school- 
 bred Pippo. 
 
 " If it can," said Tito, on whom his friend's 
 bit of classicality was utterly thro^Ti away, 
 " he will do it this time. He is boiling over." 
 
 " When does he want to begm ?" asked 
 Pippo. 
 
 " Instantly ! La Beata will have enough 
 to do to satisfy liim. I should have stayed 
 with him all night if I had waited to hear all 
 that is to be expressed in the face of Astrsea. 
 The mouth is to be eloquent with a whole 
 chapter of invective against charlatans, pre- 
 tenders, time-servers, and academy-directors 
 of all sorts. One eye is to look up to heaven 
 with despaii'ing sorrow, and the other to 
 flash -Rdthering indignation earthwards. The 
 nose, of course, is to be turned up with in-
 
 La Beat a. 91 
 
 effable contempt ; the toe, as she rises from 
 earth, to overturn the Academy with a part- 
 ing kick !" 
 
 " Poor Tina ! And when can I begin at 
 the CardeUino ?" 
 
 ' "On Monday. Carlo Fermi is at work 
 there now : his time is up on Satm-day. To- 
 morrow we will go to my brother-in-law and 
 settle the matter. I know you will find the 
 terms good." 
 
 "I shall be content, I have no doubt. 
 But how can I ever thank you, my dear 
 fellow ? "said Pippo, feeKng really very grate- 
 ful to Tito for his genuine kindness. 
 
 " Only by kicking that old rascal Mattel 
 down stairs, when he next comes to bespeak 
 a Giotto or a Gaddo Gaddi. Good night !" 
 
 "Good night! I am to call for you at ' 
 your place to-morrow morning. What hour?" 
 
 " Say ten. Good night, mio caro .'"
 
 92 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 'MAESTKO BORSOLl's STUDIO. 
 
 In due course of time both pictures were 
 painted ; the copy of the favourite Madonna 
 del Cardellino by Pippo Lonari, and the 
 great expression of retributive justice by old 
 Maestro Borsoli. The first was completed 
 to the entire satisfaction of Signer Tanari 
 the dealer, Tito's brother-in-law, in due time, 
 to be weU dry by the arrival of his English 
 customer, who was expected in the Autumn. 
 It was admitted on all hands to be an admir- 
 ably successful copy. 
 
 It may be that Pippo's practice in drawing 
 from the pure outlines and eminently 
 spiritual beauty of La Beata's features had
 
 La Beata. 93 
 
 been a good preparation for the task of re- 
 producing the master-piece of Raffael. At 
 all events his success in doing so was com- 
 plete. And as the expected customer was 
 rather an important person in the Florence 
 art-market, and well known to be a very- 
 competent judge of painting, as well as a 
 liberal purchaser, Signor Tanari was exceed- 
 ingly well pleased to have been able to 
 execute so satisfactorily a commission, which 
 he had feared he would not be able to 
 execute at all. In short om- friend Pippo 
 had made a hit. 
 
 Signor Borsoli's picture was also com- 
 pleted entirely to his own satisfaction, if not 
 to the utter defeat and destruction of his 
 enemies. Every morning while the two 
 works were in contemporaneous progress, 
 Pippo, as he went to the gallery, accom- 
 panied La Beata to the door of the old 
 painter's studio. And many a laugh they 
 had together over his exigencies, and in-
 
 94 La Beata. 
 
 structions to his model. Xevertheless she 
 contrived to acquit herseK on the whole to 
 the old man's satisfaction. 
 
 Towards the end of the work they had 
 become very good friends ; and La Beata 
 had discovered that irritable vanity and 
 much absm-dity were not incompatible ^vith 
 a large amount of kindliness, and even of 
 sound good sense on matters unconnected 
 with art and its disappointed ambitions and 
 jealousies. Every day about one o'clock he 
 used to have a Kttle cup of black coffee, and 
 a small roll brought him fi'om a neighbour- 
 ing cafe ; and then there was haK an hour's 
 rest for the model as well as for the painter. 
 And La Beata, deposed from acting goddess 
 on her platform, used to subside into a very 
 meek and modest little mortal, and jduU out 
 her knitting-needles to put the vacant time 
 to profit as she sat on the corner of her stage. 
 But after thi-ee or fom- days, two little brass 
 porringers, and two little coffee-cups, and
 
 La Beata. 95 
 
 two tiny measures full of powdered sugar, 
 appeared on the Kttle oval brass tray from 
 the coffee-house. 
 
 " I hoped, mia cara," said the old painter, 
 with as stately a courtesy as a master of 
 ceremonies might have used to a duchess, 
 " that you would do me the favour of saving 
 me the discomfort of taking my collation 
 alone." 
 
 So thenceforth the half-hom-'s repose was 
 passed in a little of that quiet chat, of which 
 Tuscans of every class are so fond ; and for 
 the subject of which, be the parties ever so 
 much strangers to each other, they never 
 seem to be at a loss. Very quickly, how- 
 ever, old Borsoli and La Beata grew to be 
 intimate. And one day on laying down his 
 maulstick, as the regular tap at the door 
 announced the arrival of the boy from the 
 cafe, the old man said as he poured out his 
 portion, and handed the other miniature little 
 bright brass coffee-pot to his guest, " Well,
 
 96 La Beata. 
 
 Beatina mia, and how do you and Pippo 
 get on together?" 
 
 It was the first time he had ever made 
 any allusion to her jjosition in her home, or 
 to any part of her affahs unconnected with 
 the business of the painting-room. The 
 question would have been an offensive one 
 from any, save the most intimate friend, of 
 her own or nearly her own time of life ; but 
 was perhaps permissible from one old enough 
 to be her grandfather. Nor was there any 
 feeling at La Beata' s heart (poor ignorant 
 ^ little Yarico that she was), which made the 
 question seem more embarrassing to her, 
 than it might have appeared to any bride of 
 less than a year old standing. Still there 
 was a startled expression in her eyes, as they 
 looked up in answer, and a slight increase of 
 rose-colom- in her pale cheeks. And it was 
 probably in obedience to these hints, that he 
 was treading on tender ground, that he 
 added before she had time to reply :
 
 La Beata. 97 
 
 "I should think the studio under the 
 roof there, must be hotter than can be 
 pleasant, when the cicale are singing. But 
 that is over now for this year." 
 
 The subject was thus skilfully brought 
 back within the limits of easy and indiffer- 
 ent gossip ; and La Beata was able to 
 answer — 
 
 " Yes ! one was not cool up there in 
 July and August. The nights were hot. 
 But what would you have ? We are poor 
 folks, 'gnor Cecco ; * and can't pay much 
 rent. And the air is so fresh; and the 
 light is so good for Pippo." 
 
 " Ay ! has he been paintiug anything at 
 home lately ?" 
 
 " No ! He is hard at work on his copy at 
 the GaUery." 
 
 " Ah ! and a capital copy, I am told, he is 
 making of it. Friend Pippo knows what a 
 picture is, which is more than can be said 
 
 * Tuscan for Signer JFrancesco, 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 La Beata. 
 
 of most of his seniors. Pippo Lonari will 
 make liis way yet ! Say an old man told 
 you so." 
 
 "Do you tliink so, really?" cried little 
 Tina, looking up with an amount of pleasure 
 sparkling in her eyes which rarely visited 
 them. " Davvero, davvero, — truly, truly," she 
 added, " there is nobody whom I would 
 rather hear say as much." And it was, 
 truly, truly ; for the old artist's pretentious 
 talk on all art matters, during the hours 
 La Beata had spent in his studio, had been 
 accepted by her at the full value of its 
 author, and joined to liis kindness, had im- 
 pressed her with a very high estimate of her 
 employer's artistic merits. 
 
 " Yes," continued the old man musingly, 
 looking with kindly interest at her innocent 
 face, beautified bv the excitement of her 
 gratification, " yes, Pippo will make his way. 
 And when he has made it, or is beginning 
 to make it, he won't be content to live in a
 
 La Beata. 99 
 
 garret under the tiles with a little saint- 
 faced Beatina for model, cook, housemaid, 
 and — all." 
 
 The kindly old man was sorely puzzled 
 how to come to what he was earnestly 
 minded to say to the simple-hearted child, 
 who was still looldng up into his face un- 
 suspiciously, delighted with his prognostica- 
 tions of Pippo's futm-e fortunes. He thought, 
 when he began, that it would be very easy 
 to say the few words of grave advice, not 
 censm-e, which he was anxious to impress on 
 her, as to the desirability of making her 
 union with Pippo what it ought to be, before 
 any change in the young painter's position 
 might make it less easy to accomplish such 
 a step. But he found his benevolent pm-pose 
 unexpectedly difficult in the execution of it. 
 There was a purity of heart shining out of 
 those mild honest eyes, that were looking 
 up into his, a , guileless innocence in her 
 utter unconsciousness of the evils and
 
 100 La Beata. 
 
 dangers of her position, which made him 
 shrink from uttering the plain words that 
 should destroy all this, as a soft-hearted 
 surgeon might shrink from striking the 
 knife into the delicate limb of a gentle child. 
 So he cast about for some indirect mode of 
 approaching the subject, some ambiguous 
 insinuation, which, without too abruptly 
 rending the veil of innocence-preserving 
 illusion, might gradually awaken her mind 
 to the considerations he wished to place 
 before it. But the old painter was bad at 
 such subtleties of language, and La Beata 
 lent Mm no assistance. He was foiled by 
 the utter absence of flaw in the perfection 
 of her trustfulness. 
 
 ' " Ah, yes !" said she in reply to his first 
 attempt, " that one understands ; those who 
 earn can spend. If we grow to be ladies 
 and gentlemen, we must say good-bye to 
 the dear old studio under the tiles." 
 
 " To be sure, to be sm-e !" said he ; *' la-
 
 La Beata. 101 
 
 dies and gentlemen! husbands and wives, 
 and comfortable family homes ! That is the 
 happy life to look forward to !" 
 
 There ! thought the old man, I have done 
 it now ! the insinuation seemed too broad, as 
 soon as it had passed his lips ; and he 
 glanced sharply at his com]3anion under his 
 eyebrows to see the effect it would produce 
 on her. But no result of the somewhat 
 clumsily fired point-blank shot was to be 
 traced on the fortress he was attacking. 
 
 She was so stupidly slow-witted, was La 
 Beata ! 
 
 Good old Borsoli was a bachelor. And the 
 fact was, that La Beata's quick sympathy 
 was representing to her the contrast between 
 the old man's solitary home, and the happier 
 position of Pippo and herself, to which she 
 fancied he was regretfully alluding. 
 
 " It is so, indeed, to my mind," said she ; 
 " but, dear sir, many are very happy, who 
 have never married."
 
 102 La Beata. 
 
 Now, thought he, the course is clear. To 
 think that the little puss should defend her- 
 self so coolly. 
 
 " Perhaps they may be," he returned 
 gravely ; " but, my dear Tina, the world is 
 harder to women than to men in this matter. 
 For them, at all events, a union not sanc- 
 tioned in the regular way by the Church, 
 very rarely, if ever, leads to a happy life ; 
 far more often it leads to infinite misery." 
 
 Now at last she understood him. But his 
 words produced no shock of the kind he had 
 anticipated, 
 
 " Do you think, Signor Cecco," she asked 
 with calmly inquiring eyes, "that the ring 
 and the blessing at church can be of so much 
 importance ? I know there can be no hap- 
 piness without the Church's blessing. But I 
 had that at confession from dear old father 
 Benedetto. And I know, that the Church 
 dues ought to be paid. But Pippo will do 
 that, when he thinks it best ; and I have
 
 La Beata. 103 
 
 said all the aves father Benedetto gave me 
 as a penance for not going to church to be 
 married." 
 
 The worthy old painter found that he had 
 embarked in a larger business than he had 
 bargained for. He had intended to say a 
 few words of warning to a thoughtless girl 
 of principles lax enough to live in defiance 
 of the laws of decency and morality. And 
 now he seemed to be called upon to impro- 
 vise a treatise beginning ah ovo, on the sanc- 
 tity and necessity to society of the marriage 
 tie. Feeling, however, somewhat unpre- 
 pared to undertake this on the spur of the 
 moment, he preferred confining himself in 
 his reply to the simpler and purely pruden- 
 tial part of the considerations involved in 
 the subject. 
 
 " But, my dear child," he said, " one of the 
 reasons why it is so very necessary to be 
 married properly at church is that then it 
 cannot be undone again. Now, if Pippo
 
 104 La Beata. 
 
 chose to leave you, he might do so any day ; 
 and what would you be ? neither maid, nor 
 wife, nor widow, you know." 
 
 Here the shot told. But, as it was in a 
 manner, and at a point in the conversation 
 quite unexpected by the old painter, he did 
 not perceive it. Two large tremidous tears 
 gathered silently in the still up-looking eyes, 
 and rolled slowly over the more than usually 
 pallid cheeks. It was not the prospect of a 
 contingency, which her whole heart and 
 soul rejected as impossible beyond all con- 
 ceivable impossibilities, which moved her; 
 but simply the utter wretchedness of the 
 idea presented to her imagination — as one 
 may weep at a tragedy, the sorrows of which 
 can by no remotest chance ever fall upon 
 our own heads. 
 
 " But, you know. Signer Cecco, that can 
 never happen to Pippo and me," said she 
 after a minute's pause, choking down the 
 emotion which was welling up into her
 
 La Beata. 105 
 
 throat. " That could never, never be. It is 
 impossible. We are bound to each other 
 till one — ay, till both shall have been laid at 
 Trespiano. Do you think of me, 'gnor 
 Cecco, that I could . . . Those things 
 pay happen to light-hearted loves that be- 
 gin in a laugh at a merenda in the Cascine, * 
 to end in tears in the way you say. No ! we 
 may have done wrong to put off j)aying the 
 church fees, which ought to be paid ; but 
 there is no chance of misery from any such 
 cause as that." 
 
 " Poor Tina !" had probably never before 
 uttered so many words consecutively. Yet 
 she had not said a tenth part of what was in 
 her heart. She felt as a reproach the sup- 
 position that she could have formed a con- 
 nection not utterly indissoluble ; though she 
 would have been much puzzled to reduce 
 
 * Merenda : luncheon, a picnic meal in the Flo- 
 rentine Hyde Park— the great holiday delight of the 
 Florentine cockneys.
 
 106 La Beata, 
 
 her feelings on the subject to words. The 
 sanctity of the marriage tie, and the true 
 agreement of its behests with the needs, 
 promptings, ancl asj^irations of the best and 
 purest human hearts, could not receive more 
 forcible confirmation or more coniancing 
 proof than they were then receiving from 
 the dumb and half-understood suggestions 
 of the heart of that poor sinner against 
 them. Her ignorance left her altogether 
 undismayed in presence of the fatal unob- 
 servance of legal and ecclesiastical forms. 
 For they have been provided by society as 
 the only possible means of securing that 
 which La Beata thought in her innocence 
 might be so securely trusted to the heart 
 she deemed a counterpart to her own. But 
 unassisted nature sufficed to tinge her cheek 
 with the hue of shame, at the bare thought, 
 that she could be supposed to have entered 
 on a union not indissoluble by its own in- 
 trinsic virtue.
 
 La Beata. 107 
 
 Maestro Borsoli looked up at the sound 
 of the little gasp poor Tina's emotion had 
 caused to escape her, and saw that his words 
 had struck a sensitively vibrating chord, 
 though they had altogether failed to pro- 
 duce the warning effect he had intended. 
 It was necessary to proceed; but he felt 
 that he must use his moral scalpel cau- 
 tiously and delicately. 
 
 " God grant that you and Pippo may be 
 safe from any such evils, my dear child !" 
 said he, replying to her last words. " But 
 there are n^any reasons why the completion 
 of all that is needful to make you legally 
 man and wife should not be delayed. Pippo, 
 as I was saying, will make his way in the 
 world. He will come very likely to live 
 among a different class of people from his 
 present associates ; — people who will . . . 
 perhaps . . . that is . . . who will cer- 
 tainly, my poor Tina, think evil of a wife, 
 who the Church says is no wife. Such a
 
 108 La Beata. 
 
 union will be very inconvenient to him too ; 
 — ay! very disadvantageous, when his cir- 
 cumstances are so changed. And how would 
 you feel if you knew that his position was 
 injured by your connection with him ?" 
 
 La Beata felt then very distinctly what 
 her feelings would be, should such a horrible 
 vision be ever realized. She felt that the 
 "connection" between her and Pippo (as 
 good old Borsoli phrased it, most painfully 
 to her, though she would have been at a loss 
 to say why) would then, indeed, be disso- 
 luble, and would sm*ely be dissolved in a 
 manner, which not even that " other class " 
 of peoj)le could object to ; — by her own 
 speedy vanishing from the bright face of 
 earth, and finding concealment and obli^aon 
 beneath the cold clods of Trespiano. Not 
 for all the world, however, could she trans- 
 late her feelings into words. But again the 
 choking spasm rose in her throat, and the 
 big clear tears gathered in her eyes, as these
 
 La Beat a. 109 
 
 unimagined forms of misery seemed to rise 
 on tlie horizon of lier future like hideous 
 spectres, vague, menacing, and but in- 
 distinctly visible. 
 
 " What then ought we to do, dear Signor 
 Francesco ?" she said ; " you have lived 
 longer in the world than we have. What 
 ought we to do ?" 
 
 " Do ! my dear simple child," said the old 
 painter ; " why, just go to chm-ch and be 
 married in due form like other people. It 
 will be all right then ; and you will have no 
 cause to look forward to the future with 
 dread and misgiving." 
 
 " But if ever a day should come, when I 
 should be— what you say, Signor Francesco, 
 — when I should be — disadvantageous to Pip- 
 po !" sobbed poor Tina, clasping her slender 
 hands together, and looking the very picture 
 of a Madonna adolorata. 
 
 "But, my child, you could not be so, but 
 quite the contrary, if you were his legal
 
 110 La Beata. 
 
 wife," insisted wortliy Signer Borsoli. " AU 
 his best friends would delight to see him 
 married to such a one as you. But this 
 paying of the thurch-dues, which you seem 
 to think so httle of, is absolutely necessary ; 
 and no saying of penitential psalms and 
 countiag of rosaries, you Httle simpleton, 
 can in any way make up for it. You must 
 teU Pippo this. You must make him under- 
 stand that you cannot consent to your mar- 
 riage being any longer deferred." 
 
 The idea of Tina not consentiag to aught 
 that Pippo chose to ordain ! The prepos- 
 terous absurdity of such a notion struck her 
 so forcibly, that a doubt occurred to her, 
 whether perhaps, after all, good old Signor 
 Borsoli might not be talking of matters 
 he knew very little about. Had he really 
 understood all these things, could he 
 have contemplated the possibility of her not 
 consenting " to do as Pippo might wish and 
 advise? She contented herself, therefore,
 
 La Beata. Ill 
 
 with recuiTing to her favourite formula; 
 " Pippo knows best," she said. The vast ex- 
 tent of his knowledge, as compared to her 
 own extreme ignorance, had probably counted 
 for much among the attractions which had 
 ^ven him so complete an ascendency over 
 her heart, and had added to love the element 
 of reverence and unbounded trust. Poor 
 little Yarico ! It needed small experience of 
 womanhood to foresee, that the day which 
 should force on her the perception of the 
 clay substratum of her golden idol, would, 
 in making worsliip no longer possible, break 
 also the heart to wliich it was so necessary 
 an emotion. i» 
 
 " Pippo knows best," she said. " He will 
 do about what you say, 'gnor Cecco, what- 
 ever ought to be done." 
 
 " Pippo knows !" returned the old artist, 
 with some little irritation in his manner; 
 "yes, no doubt Signer Pippo knows very 
 weU. He knows the truth of all I have
 
 112 La Beata. 
 
 been sapng ; and he onght not, therefore, to 
 have phiced you in the position you now 
 occupy. Oh yes ! Pippo knows well enough !" 
 There was nsore than enough in these few 
 words to undo all the good that the weU- 
 meaning old man had accomplished by his 
 attempt to open the eyes of La Beata to the 
 real nature of her position. It was insinuated 
 that Pippo had acted wrongly ; and wrongly 
 towards her too ! To La Beata this sounded 
 like flat blasphemy. The god of her idolatry 
 was attacked. He who could so sjDeak was 
 a heretic, ignorant of the true faith ; and as 
 such, could not be trusted or beHeved, — on 
 that sacred subject at fll events. So she 
 replied, not with any feeling of hostihty, for 
 her gentle nature had not in it self-assertion 
 and force of opposition sufficient for that ; 
 but in a tone that expressed her entne per- 
 suasion of her interlocutor's total outer-court 
 ignorance of the blessed mysteries of that 
 home sanctuary he had presumed to criticise.
 
 La Beata. 113 
 
 " Yes ! Pippo knows best," she said, " and 
 win certainly do whatever is best." 
 
 "Heaven send he may, my poor little 
 Tina ! At all events, you will speak to him 
 of what we have been talking of?" 
 
 ^ " Oh, yes ! I will teU him," retm-ned she, 
 with a little smile of compassionate supe- 
 riority at the pitiable ignorance on all such 
 subjects of the old bachelor, who could 
 imagine it possible that such a conversation 
 could take place and not be shared by her, 
 at the earliest opportunity, with him who 
 was the partner in all her thoughts, joys, and 
 sorrows. 
 
 "And now, little one, we wiU just re- 
 touch that floating bit of hair behind ; and 
 then I think we may bring our sittings to an 
 end." 
 
 So Astrsea mounted to her platform ; and 
 Signor Borsoli worked away at his canvas 
 till dusk. 
 
 At that time Pippo was wont every evening 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 114 La Beat a, 
 
 to call for her, as he came from his work at 
 the Gallery. 
 
 "How has the work gone to-day, amor 
 mio?" she said, hanging herself on to his 
 arm, and looking uj) mto his face with 
 loving eyes. " I supjiose another day or two 
 will finish it?" 
 
 " It is finished, I may say," replied Pippo ; 
 " there are one or two touches I left for the 
 prime of the light to-morrow morning. Tito 
 Fanetti was there with Tanari to-day. They 
 were astonished! It is not every copy, 
 though I say it, that can stand examination 
 with the original by the side of it. Tanari 
 is delighted with his bargain ; and, to say 
 the truth, well he may be. I suppose your 
 job with old Borsoli is nearly at an end 
 too?" 
 
 " Quite at an end. The pictm-e is almost 
 finished ; and he will not want me any more. 
 We said our good-byes this evening." 
 
 " Best so ! I shall take something in hand
 
 La Beata. 115 
 
 now to work on at home ; something I shall 
 want you for." 
 
 " What a pleasure to be together again all 
 day at home ! Yes, I am glad the Astrsea is 
 finished." 
 
 " What sort of an animal did you find the 
 old fellow on the whole? He must be a 
 queer fish, I should think." 
 
 " Well, I don't know. There never was a 
 word spoken as long as the work went on ; 
 only while we were at luncheon. I told you, 
 you know, of his offering me a cup of coffee 
 when he took his of a day. Every day there 
 was my cup on the tray, when his came in. 
 That was certainly very good-natured. Then 
 we used to talk for half an horn- wliile we 
 rested." 
 
 ''What did the old fellow find to talk to 
 you about, I wonder ?" 
 
 " Oh ! about paintings and painters. He 
 belittles almost every one's pictures. He has 
 a high opinion of you, though, I can tell
 
 116 La Beata. 
 
 you. For all that, I should have liked him 
 better, if we had parted before the talk we 
 had over our coffee to-day." 
 
 " Why, you don't mean that he said any- 
 thing to offend you? The old wretch! I 
 swear by all the saints in the calendar, if he 
 did—" 
 
 " No ! Pippo ; he is not an old wretch, 
 poor Signer Cecco! But he did say what 
 offended me to-day." 
 
 "Why, what the devil did he say then? 
 Come, out with it." 
 
 La Beata hesitated a little. It had seemed 
 to her, in Signer Borsoli's studio that morn- 
 ing, quite a matter of course to tell Pippo 
 all that had passed between her and the old 
 painter. And now she had not the slightest 
 idea of not doing so. Yet, for some reason 
 or other, she felt a difficulty in speaking on 
 the subject. She would have been utterly 
 at a loss to explain the fact to herself ; but 
 so it was, that she was conscious of an em-
 
 La Beata. 117 
 
 barrassment in entering on her story, which 
 she had never felt in speaking to Pippo be- 
 fore. She was vexed at feeling thus, and 
 almost alarmed at the new phenomenon ; as 
 if the words which the old painter had spoken 
 had already operated, like an evil spell, to 
 raise a something between her and Pippo, 
 which had never existed heretofore. And it 
 was with some degree of irritation against 
 Signer Borsoli, as the cause of this uncom- 
 fortable sensation, that she replied : 
 
 " Why, he began talking about you and 
 your copy of the Cardellino, what a good 
 picture it was ; and then about me . . . 
 about us . . . and then ... I don't 
 know how he brought it round to that . . . 
 he began saying that it was very bad that 
 we should not have been married at church." 
 
 " Oh ! he began about that, did he ?" in- 
 terjected Pippo in no pleasant tone. 
 
 " Yes ! and I did not so much mind about 
 that, though he did say, that all sorts of
 
 118 La JBeata. 
 
 sorrow and misery would come by not paying 
 the cliurch the lawful marriage perquisites ; 
 for, as I told liim, I was quite sure, you knew 
 best . . ." 
 
 " I should think so, indeed !" again inter- 
 rupted Pippo. 
 
 " But then he said, yes, that you knew 
 weU enough ; and that it was wrong of you 
 to . . .to have me with you otherwise," 
 faltered she, drawing herself up closer to his 
 side, and looking wistfuUy up into his face ; 
 " and that made me angry," she continued. 
 
 "I should think it did too!" growled 
 Pij^po ; " angry ! why didn't you tell the old 
 fool to mind his own business? an imper- 
 tinent, hypocritical, meddling old mischief- 
 maker ! I'll teach him to put his spoon into 
 other folks' porridge !" 
 
 " I did tell him, Pippo, that it was quite 
 certain you would do whatever was most 
 right," pleaded poor Tina, who was sm'j)rised 
 at the amoimt of anger he appeared to feel
 
 La Beata. 119 
 
 on the occasion ; and who felt as if she too 
 were visited by some portion of it. 
 
 " Of course I shall ! " said Pippo, still an- 
 grily. " I know my own affairs best. I know 
 what can be done, and what can't be done. 
 Have you ever found, Tina, that I have been 
 unm indful or careless in doing all I could 
 for you . . . everything that circumstances 
 would permit ? Have I not done my best to 
 make you happy ?" 
 
 An accurate and true estimate of the ba- 
 lance of good offices and advantages rendered 
 and received by the parties might have stood 
 somewhat thus. 
 
 For the consideration of the entire being, 
 — body, heart, and soul, — together with un- 
 counted and imcountable treasures of ines- 
 timable love and boundless confidence made 
 over hi fee simple, um-eservedly, u-revocably, 
 and indefeasibly by the weaker to the 
 stronger vessel, including the ungTudging 
 payment of suit and service in every what-
 
 120 La Beata. 
 
 soever need, requirement, and exigence of 
 the latter, it is agreed, that shelter and such 
 modicum of sustenance as may consist with 
 the convenience and previously supplied ne- 
 cessities of the stronger vessel shall be pro- 
 vided for the weaker dmang the good pleasure 
 of the stronger. It is nevertheless under- 
 stood that no withdrawal of such shelter and 
 sustenance shall in any wise enable or au- 
 thorize the former party to withdraw, suspend, 
 or determine the above recited redevances 
 of undying love, and perfect belief, trust, and 
 confidence. 
 
 It may be that this kind of contract, which 
 somehow does not read pleasantly, has for 
 that reason never been reduced to this plain 
 form. But it is nevertheless a very, very 
 common one ; well known to all social sys- 
 tems in every age and every clime ; and the 
 terms of it are always the same. 
 
 This would have been, alas ! the accurate 
 statement of the relationship between Pippo
 
 La Beata. 121 
 
 and La Beata. • But the makers of such 
 contracts are not wont to consider the pro- 
 visions of them accurately, — not even the 
 comparatively prudent and calculating party, 
 who gives so Kttle to receive so much ; and 
 tar less she who is giving away her all. 
 
 So La Beata made answer to her lord's 
 queries respecting his performance of the 
 conditions due from him, by a look up into 
 his face eloquent with overflowing tender- 
 ness. 
 
 " Ever and always, my own beloved, my 
 best treasure !" she said ; " always you have 
 striven to make me happy ; and very, very 
 happy have you made me, Pippo, — me who 
 never knew happiness till I knew you !" 
 
 La Beata was duly performing her part of 
 the bargain. They almost always do, — those 
 weaker vessels ! 
 
 " Well then," rejoined Pippo, as they 
 reached the door of the house in the Via delV 
 Amove, and began to mount the long ascent
 
 122 La Beata. 
 
 to their home, " do not let us suffer mischief- 
 makers to interfere to spoil our happiness. 
 Be assm^ed that I shall act for the best ; and 
 let me hear no more of the opinions of other 
 people on the subject." 
 
 " No, Pippo ! never !" said poor Tina, sub- 
 missively. " But you are not displeased with 
 me, my own best love ?" she added. For 
 there was a something in his manner, which 
 grated painfully in her mind, although she 
 could not explain to herseK clearly what it 
 was. 
 
 " Displeased ! No, Tina mia ! Not with 
 you, at least. Come, let us get in." 
 
 He put his arm round her waist, and 
 stooped to kiss her on the forehead, as they 
 entered their home. And La Beata tried to 
 think she was comforted. But she felt as if 
 the talk of the old pamter was already 
 bearing evil fruit. There was a kind of vague 
 shadow, unintelligible to her, which seemed 
 to have sprung up like an unwholesome ex-
 
 La Beata. 123 
 
 halation from some evil thought, and to 
 spread itseK as a separating veil between 
 her and Pippo. 'Wdoi difference could there 
 be between his thoughts and feelings and 
 hers on all these matters % None assuredly, 
 iLa Beata said to herself. 
 
 But the dim veil would stand between her 
 heart and his ; and the consciousness of its 
 presence made her HI at ease.
 
 124 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE PATEINGHAMS. 
 
 About a month after the date of the con- 
 versation recounted in the last chapter, the 
 autumnal weather in Florence was beginning 
 to have more of winter than of summer in 
 its composition. The season of emptiness, 
 vacancy, and summer idleness was coming 
 to an end ; and Florence was expecting her 
 usual immigration of winter guests. Strik- 
 ing is the change the physiognomy of the 
 fair city undergoes at this period of the 
 year ! And to the taste of those who love 
 her more unsophisticated native graces, the 
 local colouring of her genuine Italian life, 
 and the unstarched ease of her own undis-
 
 La Beata. 125 
 
 guised character, the change is not wholly 
 for the better. The difference is like that 
 between the charming woman in the easy, 
 confidential intercourse of her deshabille in 
 the boudoir, and the same lady armed cap-a- 
 pid for conquest, chaperonship, or other 
 weighty duty in the full-dressed arena of the 
 ball-room. But the lazy, out-of-doors, laisser- 
 aller southern summer life must come to an 
 end. The annual flight of strangers are at 
 the city gates, and Florence must gird up 
 her loins to the serious business of making 
 her livelihood out of them. 
 
 So the lodging-houses are spruced up and 
 painted; the shops get in their stocks of 
 goods from London and Paris ; the hotels 
 put themselves on full war establishment ; 
 the artists give the last touches to the works 
 they liave been engaged on ; and the 
 picture-dealers and owners of "galleries" 
 set their wares in order, and strive to meet 
 the coming season with an array of new and 
 special attraction.
 
 126 La Beata. 
 
 From Florence in her summer undress, 
 .to Florence in her winter company toilet, 
 the transformation mutatis mutandis is not 
 unlike that froLi Oxford in the long vacation 
 to Oxford in term time. In both cases the 
 change indicates to the most superficial 
 observer that the serious business of the 
 place is about to begin. In both anxious 
 speculations are rife as to the probable ful- 
 ness of the tide of arrivals on which the 
 activity and prosperity of the place depend. 
 
 These anxiously expected and eagerly 
 observed arrivals may be classed in three 
 categories; all valuable, and received with 
 glad welcome, but with an amount of re- 
 joicing proportioned to their fertilizing pro- 
 perties. The lowest class consists of the 
 waifs and strays, rambling young bachelors, 
 strong-minded migratory old maids, or small 
 parties of modest pretensions, who come by 
 the diligences and railways. Next above 
 these are the vetturino travellers, families 
 occupying all the four inside and two out-
 
 La Beata. 127 
 
 side places of one of those gi-eat heavy- 
 carriages, wliich travel from one end of Italy 
 to the other, making easy daily journeys 
 with the same four hardy long-tailed black 
 roadsters. If the horses be indeed fom-, and 
 not two or three merely, and if the mountain 
 of luggage secured to the huge platform 
 behind by a chain and screw contrivance 
 capable of squeezing a portmanteau in half, 
 be of a respectable height, arrivals of this 
 class will be received with much ringing of 
 hall bells, and running of waiters and 
 porters, and admission to first-floor rooms 
 at the Hotel Vittoria, the Arno, the Nuova 
 York, or the Gran Brettagna. But the real 
 first-class prize, the arrival which is discussed 
 that same night by the lodging-house owners, 
 and touters of aU kinds, is the fine large 
 English family in its own travelling carriage, 
 with papa and son and heir on the box, 
 mamma with abundant daughters inside, 
 and man-servant and maid-servant in the
 
 128 La Beat a. 
 
 rumble, all complete. Great is the joy in 
 Florence over the advent of such a prize as 
 this. But still the anxious question has to 
 be asked, " Here for the winter, or going on 
 to Eome ?" For the position of fan- Florence 
 on the highway to the eternal city is the 
 cause of many a sad slip between the cup 
 and the lip in these matters. 
 
 One of the first arrivals in the latter part 
 of the autumn, which followed the events 
 that have been narrated, was of the above 
 described valuable class. The family party 
 in question was not developed to the full 
 proportions attained by the finest specimens 
 of the kind. It consisted only of one elderly 
 gentleman on the box, one middle-aged and 
 one young lady in the carriage, and a couple 
 of servants in the seat behind. 
 
 It was very evident, to those familiar with 
 such matters, that the party were not alto- 
 gether strangers in Florence. The English 
 man-servant directed the postilions in fluent
 
 La Beata. 129 
 
 but most wonderfully constructed and pro- 
 nounced Italian, which was heard as gravely 
 and understood as perfectly by them, as if it 
 had been some mutually recognized and 
 familiar tongue, to drive, not to any one of 
 the hotels, but to a private house in the 
 piazza Pitti. And when the carriage reached 
 its destination it was evident that its occu- 
 pants were known and expected there. In 
 fact, the only stranger to Florence was the 
 younger lady. Mr. and Mrs. Patringham 
 had passed the pre\aous winter there ; and 
 had returned during the summer to England 
 to bring out with them their daughter, who 
 had just, as the phrase goes, completed her 
 education. 
 
 Miss Patringham — Mary, as her father 
 called her, and Molly, as her lady-mother 
 would, despite all remonstrances, persist in 
 naming her — was one of those persons from 
 whom it is difficult to remove the glance 
 that has chanced to light on them. She 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 La Beata. 
 
 had that complete harmonious beauty of 
 feature, figure, and carriage, which is as- 
 suredly more often to be found among the 
 higher classes of our countrywomen, than in 
 any other race, clime, or caste in the world. 
 She possessed in especial perfection that 
 exquisite formation of the extremities, both 
 hands and feet, which is so frequently de- 
 clared to be the peculiar mark and pri^dlege 
 of liigh-born beauty. Mr. Patringham, how- 
 ever, had made his large fortune as a calico- 
 printer ; and his worthy wife had been the 
 daughter of a member of the same trade in 
 a much smaller way and humbler position, 
 than her now wealthy husband. 
 
 Such were the facts ; and as facts will not 
 bend to theories, theories must accommodate 
 themselves, as best they may, to facts. 
 " Fortes gignunter fortibus et bonis ;" and 
 pointer pups point as soon as they can stand, 
 no doubt. Spanish grandees also by perfec- 
 tion of high-breeding become attenuated
 
 La Beata. 131 
 
 into imbecility, mental and corporeal. Our 
 lads and lasses, on the otlier hand, have a 
 chance of intellectual and bodily vigoiu- and 
 beauty, proportioned to their deficiency in 
 " quarterings." And genealogists, if they 
 tell the truth, may assist puzzled physiolo- 
 gical theorists to account for the fact, that 
 specimens of every species of personal per- 
 fection are to be met with in every social 
 class of our population, by pointing out the 
 thorough mixing of aU the cm-rents of 
 Anglo-Saxon blood, occasioned by the vicissi- 
 tudes of our healthily ebbing-and-flowing 
 social system. 
 
 I do not intend to describe Mary Patring- 
 ham more particularly to the reader, for I 
 fear we shall not see enough of her to make 
 it necessary. He knows what a charming 
 English girl is without being told. But if 
 he is an untravelled Englishman, he may 
 be told, that he might travel the world in 
 vain in search of anything nearly so delight-
 
 132 La Beata. 
 
 fill, — unless perhaps he were to look on the 
 fmther shore of the Atlantic, where similar 
 causes are actively producing similar results. 
 Mr. Patringham was very far from having 
 any pretensions to be called a gentleman 
 some forty years ago, when he was beginning 
 active life ; but he was not so far from de- 
 serving that appellation, in its best sense, 
 at the time when we make acquaintance 
 with him. Of Mrs, Patringham,' worthy 
 good soul, and excellent wife and mother as 
 she was, it is impossible to say as much. 
 WTiether it be that the education of the 
 mind and feelings is completed, and becomes 
 indelible at an earlier age in women than 
 in men ; or whether the fact is, that we 
 imperatively demand certain graces and ele- 
 gances in women, the absence of which we 
 allow to be compounded for in the case of 
 men, by mental cultivation and the dignity 
 of moral worth ; certain it is, that men who 
 have risen notably in the world, are far more
 
 La Beat a. 133 
 
 often able to bring their outward appearance 
 into congruity with their changed position, 
 than are the partners of their fortunes. 
 
 Mr. Patringham was not only a man of 
 intelligence — without which he would not 
 have made ten thousand a year by printing 
 calico, — but he was a man of very superior 
 intelligence, without which he would not 
 have made liimself very fau-ly fit to asso- 
 ciate with the class of society in which the 
 possession of such an income ranged him. 
 He had a strong natural taste and feeling 
 for art; which, studiously appKed to the 
 lower branches of it, had contributed much 
 to his success in his business. Later in life, 
 he had made the study of its higher mani- 
 festations his occupation and amusement. 
 Retired leisure can hardly get comfortably 
 along without a hobby ; and Mr. Patringham 
 had cultivated his favourite pursuit into a 
 hobby, up to his weight, and able to carry 
 him very pleasantly along his easy road.
 
 134 La Beata. 
 
 " Law bless you !" said good ]\Irs. Patring- 
 ham, " my husband couldn't live without 
 picturs. He would go without his dinner 
 any day, Patringham M'ould, to look at a 
 new pictur !" 
 
 Now Mr. Patringham was the " milordo 
 Inglese " who had in the preceding spring 
 ordered the copy of the Madonna del Car- 
 dellino. 
 
 "You may guess, Mary," said he to his 
 daughter, as the family-party sat at break- 
 fast the next morning, "how I have been 
 looking forward to the pleasure of going 
 through the galleries with you. Here we 
 are in the very capital and head-quarters of 
 art. This day, if you have a real love for 
 art in you, ought to be one of the most 
 memorable of your life. Which shall it be 
 first, the ' Uffizi,' or the ' Pitti ?' There you 
 have it close at hand, opposite your windows. 
 But I think it must be the Ufiizi to-day ; 
 for I want to have a look at mv favourite 
 Cai'dellmo."
 
 La Beata. 135 
 
 "Ah! that's the picture that you have 
 ordered to be copied, papa, is not it ? I 
 shall like to see that." 
 
 " But I don't know whether I shall get my 
 copy ; Tanari said that he could by no means 
 undertake to get it for me." 
 
 " Fiddle-stick's end, Mr. Patringham ! 
 That's only to charge the more for it. You 
 find the good English guineas, and I'll go 
 baU you'll have your pictur fast enough." 
 
 "Well, my dear, perhaps you will turn 
 out to be right : I am sure I hope so. And 
 I'll tell you what, Mary, while you put on 
 yom* things, I'll just run as far as Tanari's 
 and see what has been done about it." 
 
 " No ! dear papa ! I shall be ready in two 
 minutes. Let me go with you to the picture- 
 shop. I am so impatient to see something 
 of the town. Don't shut me up here till 
 you come back." 
 
 " WeU, my dear, run and put your things 
 on, and we will go together. And what will
 
 136 La Beat a. 
 
 you do, my love ?" added lie, turning to liis 
 wife. 
 
 Mrs. Patringham was a stout, comfortable- 
 looking, round, brown lady. She was always 
 brown ; her unvarying toilette consisting of 
 a rich coffee-coloured silk dress in the morn- 
 ing, replaced by one of satin or velvet of the 
 same colom* in the evening ; with a " front " 
 of little brown curls to match across her 
 forehead, and ribbons en suite in her cap. 
 
 " Oh ! I shall stay at home, Mr. P. There's 
 lots to be done and seen to, before all's 
 straight and comfortable here. But I say, 
 P. my dear, there's one word I want to say 
 about Mary. She is as good a girl, Mr. P., 
 though I say it that shouldn't, and as inno- 
 cent, for all the gi'eat eddication she has 
 had, as innocent as a sucking dove, is Mary 
 Patringham." 
 
 " My dear," replied Mr. Patringham, as 
 methodically as if he were answering a cor- 
 respondent's letter of business, paragraph by
 
 La Beata. 137 
 
 paragraph, " I am sure Mary is a very good 
 girl ; and I don't see why you should not say 
 so : I have no belief myself in any incom- 
 patibility between innocence and education ; 
 and young doves, my love, are not fed after 
 ^he manner of the mammalia." 
 
 "Don't you believe any such thing, Mr. 
 P. Depend on't all God's creatures are fed 
 after the manner of their mamma's, one way 
 or t'other. However, that's neither here nor 
 there. But I'm anxious about Mary." 
 " Why, what's the matter, my dear ?" 
 " Well, this is what sticks in my throat, 
 Mr. P. Mary is come out here to study art. 
 Now I am not going to say anything against 
 art ; it would not become me, you being so 
 keen after it. Art is a very fine thing for 
 them as have the money for it, — and a very 
 genteel thing too : and picturs are very 
 pretty furnitur, if they wouldn't put into 
 them things that everybody knows ain't fit 
 to be seen. I don't half like our Mary going 
 to stare at a lot of picturs and images of men
 
 138 La Beata. 
 
 and women, as naked as tlie day they were 
 born ; and a-going, too, to the shops and 
 places among the people that make such 
 things. Think what sort of folks they must 
 be as have those picturs copied off 'em !" 
 
 " To the pure all things are pure, my 
 dear," replied her husband, didactically. 
 *' Depend upon it, the contemplation of fine 
 art refines and elevates the mind. And 
 as to people, trust me Mary shall not be 
 brought into contact with anything objec- 
 tionable. Now then, my dear, let us be off," 
 he added to his daughter, as she returned to 
 the room, ready for her walk ; " I am anxious 
 to know whether I am to have my copy or 
 not." 
 
 So off went the father and daughter, arm- 
 in-arm, as pleasant-looking, and unmistake- 
 ably English a couple as ever walked the 
 streets of Florence ; — the tall, stout, active 
 figure, rather broad-brimmed hat, gi'ey hair 
 and whiskers, smoothly-shaved chin, light- 
 blue eye, ruddy face, and plain straight-cut
 
 La Beata. 139 
 
 garments of the father, being all as clearly- 
 legible certificates of British origin, as the 
 pretty beaver hat, with its white feather, 
 beaming healthy face beneath it, grey vel- 
 vet-trimmed cloak, scarlet petticoat, exqui- 
 sitely booted foot, and firm elastic step of 
 the daughter. 
 
 England, upon this occasion at least, had 
 no cause to be ashamed of the specimen of 
 her sons and maidens, as the old Lanca- 
 slure manufactm-er and his daughter walked 
 through the streets of Florence, causing most 
 heads to turn as they passed, and occasioning 
 the often-repeated observation — 
 
 " New English comers ! Per Bacco I quante 
 ee rUl di belief ra queste Inglesine /" * 
 
 So they went on, turning out of the Piazza 
 Pitti, by the Sdrucdolo t de' Pitti, and so up 
 
 * " How many beauties there are among these 
 English girls !" 
 
 t Literally, the sUppery path leading to the Pitti. It 
 is a narrow street opening into the piazza directly 
 in front of the magnificent fagade of the Pitti palace.
 
 140 La Beata. 
 
 the Via Maggio, over the Ponte a Santa Tri- 
 nity. There Mary came to a full stop as they 
 reached the crown of that most beautiful of 
 bridges. Looking down the river, the sun was 
 tipping the far distant and rugged outline of 
 the Carrara mountains, and gilding the beau- 
 tiful masses of the Cascine woods in the 
 foreground. In the other direction was the 
 peculiar and very striking fabric of the Ponte 
 Vecchio, the only remaining specimen in 
 Europe of that once common mode of con- 
 struction, which turned a bridge into a street 
 by loading it with dwellings, as was once the 
 condition of old London Bridge. The irre- 
 gular and singularly picturesque masses of 
 this structure were in shadow; but the 
 glimpse of the viQa-covered hills beyond, 
 seen through the open arches, that divide the 
 line of buildings on the crown of the Ponte 
 Vecchio, were flecked with capricious gleams 
 on dark cypresses and wliite walls. And 
 Arno at that autumn time was looking his
 
 La Beata. 141 
 
 best. In truth, it was a point of view, to be 
 equalled in its kind by few cities on eartli. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! you never led me to expect 
 anything half so lovely as this !" cried Mary, 
 as she paused and pressed her father's arm. 
 "'Wliat a beautiful city! I declare myself 
 in love with Florence; — a regular case of 
 love at first sight !" 
 
 " Perhaps to be followed by proportionable 
 disappointment, and hatred, like most other 
 cases of the same sort, my dear," quoth 
 sober fifty to enthusiast eighteen. 
 
 " Now, papa, do not be detestable ! I am 
 sure old fogy-ism must be out of character 
 at Florence." 
 
 "My love, it is the nature of papas to be 
 detestable ; and I have every reason to be- 
 lieve old fogy-ism to be a world-wide insti- 
 tution. I should have been disappointed for 
 all that, if you had passed the Ponte Santa 
 Trinita for the first time without being struck 
 by it. But now that you have done the
 
 142 La Beata. 
 
 proper enthusiasm veiy prettily in the right 
 pleice, and uttered the regulation ohs ! and 
 ahs ! with perfect propriety, come along and 
 let us look after my picture." 
 
 "Caustic old fogy!" she hissed into her 
 father's ear, administering at the same time 
 a shai-p pinch on his arm. 
 
 " My dear ! The want of sensibility, which 
 characterizes fogy-ism, does not extend to 
 the epidermis. I take it, indeed, that as it 
 recedes from the heart, it is apt to concen- 
 trate itseK in the skin." 
 
 " In that case I think you may bear a few 
 pinches yet, ^vithout much extra suffering." 
 
 And so the jDair, each of whom thought 
 the hours spent in companionship with the 
 other the pleasantest in their Kves, went on, 
 Mary gazing and asking questions at every 
 step, through the Piazza Santa Trinita, and 
 so to the picture gallery in the neighbour- 
 hood of the Piazza Santa Maria Novella, of 
 which Mr. Patringham was in search.
 
 La Beata. 143 
 
 We kuow the agreeable sm*prise wliich 
 was in store for him there. Pippo had not 
 yet varnished his picture ; and the practised 
 eye of the j)urchaser appreciated all the skill 
 with which the expression of the original had 
 been reproduced, and the tone imitated. As 
 for Mary, she was enchanted, not only with 
 her father's purchase, but with a hundred 
 other pictures and works of art, exliibited in 
 the extensive gallery, which had once been 
 part of the cloisters and adjoining halls of a 
 monastery ; — statuettes, bronzes, terra-cottas, 
 &c. &c. &c., the inexhaustible debris of the 
 wealth of Italy in her palmy day. While 
 her father was critically examining Pippo 
 Lonari's work, and settUng with Signer Tanari 
 about the liberal price to be paid for it, she 
 was ranging through the rooms and galleries, 
 from object to object, gathering new ideas 
 and impressions as readily and greedily as 
 a bee collects its store in a varied flower bed. 
 At one moment she was gazing with more of
 
 144 La Beata. 
 
 curiosity than admiration at a quaint speci- 
 men of the art of the " trecentisti," with its 
 long emaciated figures on a gold ground, and 
 handsomely restored, gothic carved frame, 
 hung high on the wall of what had once 
 been the monks' chapter-house. In the next 
 she was charmed by a little bit of landscape 
 backgi'ound in an Annunciation by Crivelli, 
 placed "on the line" with other special 
 treasures in a little sanctum, that had for- 
 merly been a chapel. Then she was crouch- 
 ing to examine the delicate arabesque tracery 
 on a fragment of carved walnut- wood ; and 
 anon detecting with true artistic instinct the 
 lines of beauty in a sadly mutilated but still 
 precious terra cotta Madonna, propped up 
 against the wall of the quondam cloister. 
 
 At last she paused longer than her im- 
 patience and the variety of novelty around 
 her had yet permitted her to do, before a 
 small, unframed picture, which she had 
 found among several other equally undistin-
 
 La Beata. 145 
 
 guislied canvases, on the gromid leaning 
 against the wall. Evidently it had not been 
 deemed worthy of any prominent place, 
 where it would have been likely to attract 
 a pm'chaser's attention. It was very clearly 
 a modern pictm-e, and represented a yonng 
 mother with her sick child, before a picture 
 of the Madonna in a chm-ch. The infant, 
 wrapped in swaddling clothes, was laid on 
 the pavement at the foot of the shrine, and 
 a ray from the lamp suspended above it fell 
 on the sick worn face, and told plainly 
 enough the object of the mother's prayers. 
 She was kneeling with the child in front of 
 her, towards wliich she was stretching both 
 extended arms as recommending the little 
 suffering one to the pity of her who had 
 known the sorrows of a mother ; while the 
 upper part of the figure was raised to its 
 extent; and the head, thrown back in an 
 agony of supplication, showed an upturned 
 face of rare and very impressive beauty, com- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 La Beata. 
 
 bined mtli an intensity of woe and passionate 
 entreaty. It was one of those pictures from 
 which a sympathetic gazer removes his eyes 
 with difficulty, and which he still less readily 
 succeeds in dismissing from his memory. 
 
 Mary remained entranced before it for 
 several nunutes, till the tears gathered in her 
 eyes. Then returning to the room, where her 
 father and Signor Tanari were still talking 
 about the famous copy, she said : 
 
 " Papa ! you must come and look at a 
 picture I have found here in another room. 
 There is a world of interesting and beautiful 
 things of all sorts. I should have been so 
 sorry to have missed coming here. But this 
 one little picture has struck me more than 
 all the rest. I dare say in my ignorance I 
 may have bestowed my admiration ver}^ 
 much amiss. But I must declare that it ap- 
 pears to me the very poetry of painting." 
 
 So saying she led her father, with Signor 
 Tanari following them, to the remote corner 
 in which she had found the little picture.
 
 La Beata. 147 
 
 " Ah ! Is that the picture which has so 
 pleased the Signorina ?" said Signer Tanari, 
 well contented that his wealthy customer's 
 daughter should ni^nifest so promising a 
 disposition as an amateur, but perhaps rather 
 disappointed that her admiration had not 
 fallen on some more important object. 
 "Yes; the Signorina shows her judgment. 
 It is a very pretty little thing." 
 
 Meantime Mr. Patringham had lifted the 
 picture and placed it on an easel ; and was 
 carefully examining it. 
 
 "Indeed, Mary," said he, "I think you 
 have shown your judgment. It is a very 
 pretty thing, — a very pretty picture, indeed. 
 I suppose I must reward your discrimination 
 by making you a present of it, eh ?" 
 
 "Oh, papa, I should so like to have it !" 
 said Mary. 
 
 " Pray, Signer Tanari," said Mr. Patring- 
 ham, speaking slowly and distinctly in not 
 very incorrect, though very Britishly pro-
 
 148 La Beata. 
 
 nounced Italian, " by -wliom is tliis picture ; 
 and what is the price of it ?" 
 
 Now Signor Tanari understood English 
 YGTj tolerably, and couid speak it at need 
 quite as well as ]\Ir. Patringham could 
 speak Italian. When there was no such 
 need, he was wont to keep his linguistic 
 acquirements in the background. So he 
 answered in Italian, after a moment's con- 
 sideration — 
 
 " It is a strange coincidence, truly, that 
 the Signorina should have been attracted by 
 this little pictm-e among all there are here ; 
 for it is by the very same artist who made 
 the copy of the CardeUino for Vossignoria ; 
 a very meritorious young artist. His name 
 is Lohari." 
 
 " Singular enough, indeed !" said Mr. 
 Patringham. " I must make Signor Lonari's 
 acquaintance. What is the price of the 
 pictm-e ?" 
 
 " Only forty scudi !" returned the dealer.
 
 La Beata. 149 
 
 " It would be worth more, but that the artist 
 is quite a young mari !" 
 
 The picture had not been bought by 
 Signer Tanari. It had only been left in his 
 galleiy by the painter, on the very remote 
 chance of finding a purchaser. And Pippo 
 would have been glad enough to meet with 
 one at about sixteen dollars instead of forty. 
 Now it would depend on Signer Tanari's 
 generosity how much of the forty scudi 
 would find its way into the artist's pocket ; 
 on his generosity stimulated in some degree 
 by the reflection that it was under the 
 circumstances very possible that the painter 
 might learn the price paid from the purchaser 
 himself. 
 
 Picture dealers do not approve of acquaint- 
 anceship between picture purchasers and 
 painters ; but when Mr. Patringham at once 
 agreed to take the picture at the price 
 named, and then added, taking out his 
 pocket-book and pencil, " Wliat did you
 
 150 La Beata. 
 
 say, Signor Tauari, was the name and ad- 
 dress of the young artist?" there was no 
 avoiding the evil. 
 
 " Filippo Loiiari is his name," said he ; 
 " and if Vossignoria will permit he shall wait 
 on you." 
 
 " No ! no !" persisted Mr. Patringham, 
 with his pencil still in his hand ; " a painter's 
 studio is always the best place to see him 
 in. Tell me where I shall find him." 
 
 So ^' Filijjpo Lonari, Casa Barhini, Via 
 delV Amore, 3° piano" was carefully entered 
 in the pocket-book of the old man of busi- 
 ness. And he and Mary returned to the 
 Piazza Pitti, talking all the way of the 
 charm of their new purchase.
 
 151 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A VISIT TO THE VIA DELL' AMOEE. 
 
 The reader will have had no difficulty in 
 guessing whose were the features that had 
 been reproduced on the canvas which had 
 so powerfully excited the interest of Mary 
 Patringham. Pippo had painted the picture 
 shortly after the death of his sister, during 
 the first ardour of his admiration for La 
 Beata's peculiar beauty, and while the es- 
 pecial aptitude of her features and turn of 
 character, for the expression of high and 
 pure tragic sentiment, was fresh and vivid 
 in his mind. The idea of the subject did 
 credit to Pippo's intelligence ; for the emo- 
 tions required to be represented were just 
 such as La Beata had been at once able to
 
 152 La Beata. 
 
 comiDrehend and make her own. She had 
 tin-own herself into the conception \vith all 
 the force of her heart and soul. Pippo had 
 veiy ably transferred to canvas what he had 
 seen before him ; and a picture most admi- 
 rably true to nature, and irresistibly appeal- 
 ing to the sympathies of aU who saw it, was 
 the result. 
 
 The copy of the Cardellino was not to be 
 sent home till it had been varnished. But 
 the new purchase was, at Mary's express de- 
 sire, delivered at the apartment of the Piazza 
 Pitti that same evening. IMrs. Patringham 
 cordially expressed her full approval and 
 admhation of the little picture : and though 
 she raised some objection to the " young 
 woman kneeling to say her prayers before 
 an image," admitted that there were at least 
 none of those " tilings not fit to be seen in 
 pictm's or out of them," which had some- 
 times offended her in works of " high art." 
 
 Mary was eager for the projected visit to
 
 La Beata. 153 
 
 the artist's studio. But her father, though 
 by no means likely to forget his intentions 
 with regard to Signer Lonari, was unwilling 
 to defer the high pleasure he had promised 
 liimself, of introducing his daughter to the 
 ^reat Florence galleries. So the next three 
 or four days were passed in initiating Mary 
 into that new world, the glories of which 
 almost, but not quite, made her forget her 
 own little art treasure at home. 
 
 Meanwhile, the rising fortunes of Pippo 
 Lonari had been the talk of many a knot of 
 struggling brother-artists, at the cafe Mi- 
 chael- Angiolo, or the Bottegone.* It w'as 
 told how his copy of the Cardellmo had 
 been sold to a great English " milordo," at 
 a fabulous price ; and how it had been ad- 
 mired to such a degree, that the enthusiastic 
 " milordo " had immediately made diligent 
 inquiry for any other existing works of the 
 
 * Literally " great shoi?," a much frequented cafd, 
 on the piazza of the cathedral, so called.
 
 154 La Beata. 
 
 same artist, and bad inst^tly bought, for 
 the monstrous sum of forty dollars, a little 
 bit of a thing ; — quel quadrettino, sai, che feee 
 della Beata in atto di preghiera davanti alia 
 Madonna* 
 
 "Yes, be painted it in the first days of 
 bis love-affair with the poor little thing," 
 answered another. 
 
 " Gia ! lo feee con amm'e ; ed era hellocdo, 
 ve' /"t added a third. 
 
 And so Pippo Lonari's great luck was the 
 talk and envy of his little world ; and none 
 of his compeers doubted but that a career of 
 success and fortune was oj^en before him. 
 
 There had been also, as may be imagined, 
 speculations, hopes, and castle-building in 
 the studio in the Via dell' Amore. Not that 
 Pippo had been informed of the important 
 circumstance of the great " milordo " ha\dng 
 
 * That little picture, thou knowest, that he made 
 of La Beata in prayer before the Madonna. 
 
 t Yes ! he painted it " con amore ;" and it was a 
 bit to charm the eye, I can tell you.
 
 La Beata. 155 
 
 asked for his adcbess, and taken note of it 
 in his pocket-book. Worthy Signor Tanari 
 had not judged it opportune to communicate 
 that fact unnecessarily. The EngKshman 
 might mean little or nothing by asking for 
 
 * 
 
 the address. He might forget all about it : 
 such things occiu'red every day. The painter 
 and the customer might never come face to 
 face after all, if he said nothing to Pippo of 
 the inquiries that had been made. The pro- 
 posed visit, therefore, which Mary was look- 
 ing forward to with so much curiosity, was 
 altogether unexpected in the Via dell' Amore. 
 None the less had Pippo and La Beata 
 eagerly discussed the hopes to which the 
 purchase of the little picture was calculated 
 to give rise, Pippo was most sanguine in his 
 expectations. With the overweening vanity 
 and self-glorification of a temperament more 
 French than Italian in this respect, he 
 doubted not that his genius had at last been 
 recognized, and that a career of fame and
 
 156 La Beata. 
 
 fortune was before him. La Beata, even 
 had she doubted, could not have found it in 
 her heart to mar the happiness of his day- 
 dreams by a word of misgiving. But her 
 faith in him was far too absolute to admit 
 the possibility of any such doubt. His every 
 word was gospel to her simple hero-worship. 
 Nor was her mind ever once struck by the 
 unvarpng selfishness of those brilliant out- 
 looks into the future, which would have been 
 painfully apparent to any thii'd person who 
 should have overheard these conversations. 
 Had poor Tina thought of looking for her 
 own figure, in the bright phantasmagoric 
 views of Pippo's vanity-lighted magic-lant- 
 horn, she must have been struck by the 
 total absence of it. There was no " you " 
 in his castle-building ; scarcely the faintest 
 appearance of "we;" it was all "I, I, L" 
 But Pippo's heart and thoughts were exclu- 
 sively full of himself. Little Tina's were as 
 entirely occupied by the same subject. So
 
 La Beata. 157 
 
 tliere was no clasliing in their day-dream- 
 ing. 
 
 Meantime Pippo and his connsellor and 
 model had planned a new picture, which was 
 to be the second stepping-stone on liis road 
 ^o fortune. This time La Beata was 'o per- 
 sonate the heroine of a well-known legend, 
 which tells of a gud who lost her reason on 
 hearing tidings of the death of her lover in 
 a far country, and who passed her whole sub- 
 sequent life in ceaseless expectation of his 
 retui-n. Again the subject was well chosen, 
 with reference to the special capabilities of 
 the model. In front of a humble dwelling, 
 in one of those strangely situated and pic- 
 turesque hill tillages of Tuscany, which look 
 out from amono- the chestnut woods over far- 
 winding valleys below, an aged couple were 
 represented, watching with wistful, loving 
 eyes the poor lost one, who, with hand up- 
 raised to enjoin silence, was bending forward 
 with strainius: ear and eve, from a rock
 
 158 Jja Beata. 
 
 wMch commanded the valley and its road 
 far beneath, absorbed in the intense longing 
 which had swallowed u^ all the other powers 
 of the mind. 
 
 The picture was as yet only just sketched 
 in on the canvas ; but the comj)Osition 
 ah-eady promised well. La Beata had tho- 
 roughly entered into the spirit of her part. 
 Her attitude and expression were admirable. 
 K only the painter could succeed in trans- 
 ferring to his canvas the conception as she 
 embodied it for him, it would assm-edly be a 
 telling picture. But the so perfect assump- 
 tion of the part assigned to her in this little 
 drama was by no means costless to La 
 Beata. The intense identification of herself 
 with its sufferings, by which alone she was 
 able so completely to express them, was too 
 real while it lasted, for the ideas evoked to 
 be summarily dismissed at pleasure from the 
 imagination. And often, in the effort to free 
 herself from the oppression of them, she
 
 La Beata. 159 
 
 shuddered at the thought, that agony, such 
 as she had been imagining, was the portion 
 of some, and might be her own. 
 
 That a fate yet more chreadful than that 
 of the unfortunate, whose lot so terrified, 
 her, — that a separation more cruel than that 
 caused by death could be possible, was be- 
 yond -the limited powers of La Beata's ima- 
 gination. 
 
 One bright November morning, while the 
 pamter was at his easel, and Tma was " in 
 position" before him, thoroughly absorbed 
 in the deep tragedy of her part, they were 
 disturbed by an unusually violent pull at 
 the little bell which hung inside the door. 
 
 "Chi h?' cried she, suddenly recalled 
 from the world of imagmation to that of her 
 own little domestic duties; while Pippo 
 uttered an exclamation not implying be- 
 nevolent feelmg towards the applicant for 
 admission. 
 
 There was no reply of "amici" in the
 
 160 La Beata. 
 
 proper open sesame form ; but on opening 
 the door she saw a servant in liveiy, wlio in 
 very Englisli Italian inquired if Signor 
 Lonari lived there. 
 
 Pippo's heart beat fast as he heard the 
 question, and sprung to the door to answer 
 it himself. It was coming then, the fortune 
 he had looked for ! • An English stranger 
 was seeking him out in his obscurity. The 
 great career was opening before him. He 
 was a little disappointed at finding that it 
 was a servant only at the door; but liis 
 golden visions shone out clearer than ever, 
 when Mr. Patringham's card was put into 
 liis hand, and the servant told him that his 
 master and mistress were below, and re- 
 quested permission to visit his studio. 
 
 " There is a carriage \dt\i two ladies, 
 Pippo !" cried Tina, who had run to peep 
 down into the street from the window ; " will 
 they come up, too ?" 
 
 " Of course they will come up !" said
 
 La Beata. 161 
 
 Pippo ; " what else do you suppose tliey are 
 there for? Put things in order a little, 
 quick ! Thi-ow those plates and the flask 
 into the bed-room! Put that copy of the 
 Fornarina pn the easel ;" he added, as he 
 hurried, maulstick in hand, down stairs to 
 receive his visitors. 
 
 Mr. Patringham announced himself as the 
 pui'chaser of the admu-able copy of Eaffael's 
 great pictui-e which Signer Lonari had been 
 so good as to make for him, saying he was 
 come to thank liim for it, and had brought 
 his wife and daughter to see his studio. 
 
 Pippo proceeded to usher the party up 
 stairs, " confoimding himself in excuses," as 
 the French say, on the steepness, darkness, 
 and length of the way which led to his 
 abode; excuses which, indeed, appeared to 
 be called for by the evident difficulty with 
 which the elder lady performed the ascent. 
 She struggled on bravely, however, till she 
 reached the top ; but arrived there with very 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 La Beata. 
 
 visible signs of "distress," in wind and 
 limb. 
 
 La Beata was standing, as the party 
 entered the studio, at the furthest pai't of 
 the large room, and looked as if she would 
 very willingly have retreated still fuiiher, 
 through the wall of it. The strangers ad- 
 vanced towards the easel in the middle of 
 the room, and Pippo stepped forward to do 
 the honours of his studio. But La Beata 
 observing the laborious panting of the stout 
 brown lady, could not refrain from gliding 
 noiselessly to her side, and timidly inviting 
 her to sit on the green silk sofa, which has 
 been celebrated in a previous chapter. 
 
 The offer was gladly and graciously ac- 
 cepted : and the attention of the visitors was 
 at the same time drawn, not a little to her 
 discomfiture, on poor little Tina. 
 
 Shyness is not an ordinaiy characteristic 
 of Italians of any class or age. Then- free- 
 dom from it is occasioned by no extra endow-
 
 La Beata. 163 
 
 ment of boldness or self-confidence, but 
 simply by an absence of self-consciousness. 
 Their minds are in general too objective in 
 their nature to be liable to the embarrass- 
 ment suffered by more subjective idiosyn- 
 crasies, under the consciousness of being ex- 
 posed to observation. But there was a 
 shrinking timidity in La Beata's nature, 
 which had been unduly increased by the 
 influence of a life passed in the twilight 
 shade of almost complete seclusion, — a seclu- 
 sion of feeling and thought, which, as has 
 been seen, had continued even after she had 
 been constrained to mix personally with the 
 seK-contained little artist's world, by her 
 avocations as a painter's model. May it 
 not, perhaps, have been also, that some of 
 those words, which had fallen from old 
 Maestro Borsoli in the course of that memo- 
 rable conversation in his studio had produced 
 a greater effect on her mind, when they 
 recurred to her afterwards, than they had
 
 164 La Beata. 
 
 seemed to do at the time, and that they 
 were now bearing their fruit ? Those " people 
 of a different class," who, as the old painter 
 warned her, would be sure to consider her 
 position there in Pippo's studio-home a dis- 
 graceful one, — may not the idea have pain- 
 fully suggested itself to her, that these 
 strangers were probably of that unknown 
 class ? And if so, it may be supposed that 
 Tina was then for the first time experiencing 
 — vaguely and imperfectly — a sentiment, 
 which a few more lessons in civilized morality 
 would render intolerable to her. 
 
 It is ciu-ious, too, that it was Mary Patring- 
 ham of whom she seemed to herself to be 
 most afraid. She thought she should feel 
 less embarrassed if she were only called upon 
 to stand before the kind-looking elderly 
 couple, whose eyes were now resting on her. 
 Yet Mary assuredly did not look otherMise 
 than kind. But the causes and som-ces of 
 our emotions hide themselves in so many
 
 La Beata. 165 
 
 strange ways, — of femiuine emotions more 
 especially, — that it is often difficult to guess 
 in what remote corner of the heart to look 
 for them. 
 
 " M Leicester etait la /" was the thought, 
 which gave its sweetness to Queen Mary's 
 triumph over her rival ; and we all remem- 
 ber the thrill produced by the words, as 
 uttered by the great tragic actress who 
 personated the hapless queen. Was there 
 operating in Tina's heart, quite unconsciously 
 to herself, some result of an inverse, but 
 analogous feeling? Was there a latent 
 consciousness, that her poor little frail 
 person, with its pale delicacy and almost 
 ghostly beauty, was effaced into absolute 
 nothingness by the splendid radiance of the 
 blooming English girl ? and that " Pippo 
 was there " the while ! 
 
 Whatever may have been the hidden 
 sources of the feeling Tina was suffering the 
 new sensation of very painful shyness ; and
 
 166 La Beata. 
 
 the matter was not mended by tlie evident 
 and marked attention, and even curiosity, 
 with wliich both Mr. and Miss Patringham 
 were regarding her. Mary had absolutely 
 started when her eyes first lighted on 
 La Beata's face. The cause of her surprise 
 may be easily guessed. She had at once 
 recognized the original of the figure, which 
 had so much impressed her, in the treasured 
 picture her father had bought for her in the 
 gallery of Signer Tasari ; and a glance of 
 mutual intelligence between the father and 
 the daughter had shown that Mr. Patringham 
 had been equally quick to see the resem- 
 blance. It would have been easy for 
 them to exchange their remarks on the 
 subject in English, as our aristocratic 
 countrymen in Italian studios and such 
 places are too apt to do. But Mary pre- 
 ferred the more direct and more gracious 
 com'se of at once claiming acquaintance 
 with the owner of features already so well
 
 La Beata. 167 
 
 known to her. So she stepjDed forward to 
 the shrinking Italian girl with a frank 
 smile ; and, with that correct and academi- 
 cally constructed, but most wonderfully 
 spoken Italian, which well educated English 
 young ladies imj^ort into Italy, said — 
 
 " I think, Signora, that I may claim to be 
 acquainted with you in some degree, though 
 I never had the pleasm'e of seeing you be- 
 fore. I know weU. by heart every feature of 
 a certain young mother in prayer before the 
 Virgin, with her sick child on the church 
 pavement in front of her." 
 
 "In truth," said Mr. Patringham, less 
 grammatically but more fluently than his 
 daughter, "the picture is one to impress 
 itself on the memory. I came here with the 
 hope of making acquaintance with the artist 
 who painted it ; but I am doubly fortunate," 
 he added, tm-ning and bowing with old- 
 fashioned gallantry to poor little Tina, " ia 
 meeting at the same time with the original 
 of that very charming figure."
 
 168 La Beata. 
 
 Pippo was in a heaven of gratified vanity 
 and golden hopes. " It was truly the greatest 
 pleasure a poor artist could have," he said, 
 " to be so appreciated by such a connoisseur." 
 Yes ! He had painted the little picture that 
 had been fortunate enough to meet his lord- 
 ship's approbation, con amove. It was sentito, 
 and that, perhaps, was the secret of its suc- 
 cess. 
 
 " With the rare advantage of such a sitter 
 as the Signora Lonari," rejoined Mr. Patriag- 
 ham, who seeing that Tina was evidently at 
 home in the artist's studio, concluded that 
 she was of course his wife, " success was at 
 least half insured." 
 
 The Signora Lonari ! The words spoken 
 so much as a matter of course, struck a chord 
 that vibrated unpleasantly in the hearts both 
 of Pippo and La Beata, and caused them to 
 exchange a rapid glance, partly of mutual 
 intelligence, but in much greater part of 
 mutual observation, each being eager to
 
 La Beata. 169 
 
 mark how tlie stranger's error affected the 
 other. As for La Beata, her suspicion was 
 confii'Died, that these rich and grand visitors 
 most assm-edly belonged to that unknown 
 world with whose disapprobation she had 
 been threatened. It seemed, moreover, as if 
 the apparently very trivial circumstance of 
 the utterance of that hitherto unpronounced 
 title, which had never before fallen on her 
 ear, nor suggested itseK to her imagination, 
 had in some mysterious way exercised a 
 power of opening her intelligence to the na- 
 ture of her false position to a degree, which 
 neither her own vague ideas of right and 
 wrong, nor worthy Maestro BorsoK's warnings 
 had availed to effect. It opened to her a new 
 view of the matter, and one, more compre- 
 hensible and tangible to her than the more 
 elevated considerations on wliich it really 
 depended. She was not the Signora Lonari. 
 She was only La Beata ! She was assuming, 
 then, a position to which she had no right.
 
 170 La Beata. 
 
 She was living on false pretences ; — j^'^^tend- 
 ing to be what she was not ! She was de- 
 ceiving these English strangers. And quick 
 as thought in the track of these newly sug- 
 gested ideas, came ^^th a pang never felt 
 before a dread of being found out, a fear of 
 exposure, a sense of shame, all new, and ex- 
 quisitely painful in the lightning-Kke rapidity 
 of their sudden stab. 
 
 It was clear, however, at all events, that 
 she was safe for the present from the ill 
 opinion and disparaging observation of the 
 strangers. But her safety rested on gi-ounds 
 by no means calculated to lessen the embar- 
 rassing shyness she felt in their presence. 
 
 While these painful thoughts were rushing 
 through poor Tina's mind, and Pippo was 
 showing and explaining his new sketch to 
 Mr. Patringham, Mary, pleased with the 
 opportunity of bringing her Italian to bear 
 on a genuine native, was persevering in her 
 determination to improve her acquaintance
 
 La Beata. 171 
 
 with La Beata. She was really attracted 
 towards the Italian girl by one of those spon- 
 taneous sympathies which, however capricious 
 they may seem, do not, we may well believe, 
 manifest themselves without the existence of 
 good and sufficient reasons, which influence 
 our emotional nature more quickly than 
 slower paced judgment can recognize or give 
 any account of them. 
 
 A more striking contrast can hardly be 
 imagined between two young girls so nearly 
 of the same age, than that presented by 
 Mary Patringham and La Beata. A thousand 
 similes might be found to illustrate it. They 
 were to each other, as the rose to the lily of 
 the valley ; as brilliant, warm sunlight to the 
 pale moonbeam, &c. &c. It was not in per- 
 sonal appearance alone, but in everything 
 that constitutes an individuality that the 
 same marked contrast existed. In intellec- 
 tual cultm-e, in station, in destiny, in bodily 
 temperament, in habiliments it was equally
 
 172 La Beata. 
 
 striking. Mary was a brilliant brunette. 
 Her magnificent hair was several shades 
 darker than, and almost as abundant as La 
 Beata's chestnat-brown tresses. Both girls 
 were beautiful ; — beyond question eminently 
 so. But most men would have deemed pro- 
 bably that the pale face and slenderer 
 figure of the Italian in her humble dress, 
 almost as void of modish shape as those of 
 the lengthy saints whom she so often per- 
 sonated, served as a foil to the English girl's 
 perfection of radiant youth and beaming 
 health ; while some few might have felt 
 that all this brilliance was an advantageous 
 background for throwing into relief the ex- 
 quisite delicacy and marble purity of La 
 Beata's more spiritual type of beauty. 
 
 It would have been impossible for a much 
 less gentle spirit than that of poor Tina to 
 resist the kindliness of Mary Patringham's 
 advances. And by the time her father had 
 finished his conversation with Pippo, and
 
 La Beata. 173 
 
 had arranged that the artist should call on 
 him in the Piazza Pitti on the next day but 
 one for the purpose of talking over a com- 
 mission for copying a certain picture in the 
 Corsini gallery, the bashfulness of La Beata 
 had been conquered, and the curiously con- 
 trasted j)air were friends. 
 
 It is not necessary to follow the talk that 
 ensued between Pippo and Tina, as soon as 
 the former returned from conducting the 
 visitors to their carriage. They were in per- 
 fect accord in praising the artistic taste, 
 courtesy, and liberality of the English 
 family. But it was remarkable that no allu- 
 sion was made by either to that mistake of 
 Mr. Patringliam's, when he talked of La 
 Signora Lonari. Thus there was abeady 
 one subject on which perfect openness and 
 community of feeling no longer existed be- 
 tween them. Tina was far from being aware 
 of the fatal nature of this newly-arisen 
 symptom, but she instinctively felt that it
 
 174 La Beata. 
 
 was amiss, and was painfully oppressed by 
 the consciousness of it. 
 
 The conversation in the Patringham car- 
 riage, as it returned to the Piazza Pitti, was 
 more completely unrestraiued, for there was 
 no topic marked as " dangerous " in the 
 minds of any one of the family party. 
 
 "What a lovely face she has!" cried 
 Mary. " I don't know when I have seen one 
 that has so attracted me as that pale, shy 
 Signora Lonari's. I don't wonder at her 
 husband's success in rendering the poetry of 
 emotion ; he has but to read in her features !" 
 
 "Case No. 2 of love at first sight, eh, 
 Mary ?" said her father ; " unless, indeed, 
 there may have been twenty other cases 
 between the declaration of your passion for 
 Florence, and your present love at first 
 sight, which have not reached me." 
 
 " But is she not an interesting little crea- 
 ture?" persisted Mary. "I made sure of 
 your sympathy, papa, this time."
 
 La Beata. 175 
 
 " Well, my dear, and wliat have I said to 
 the contrary? But it does so happen that 
 elderly gentlemen are not so subject to those 
 sudden attacks of love at first sight, as they 
 might have been a quarter of a century or so 
 before." 
 
 " Now, mamma, I appeal to you ; is not 
 Madame Lonari a very pleasing person ?" 
 
 " Well, Mary," replied Mrs. Patringham, 
 " she seemed to me a veiy decent, proper- 
 behaved young woman, — more so, to tell the 
 truth, than that husband of hers. But I 
 didn't see anything much to fall in love with. 
 I should say she ought to wear flannel on 
 her chest, by the look of her ; and I'll war- 
 rant she thinks o' nothing of the sort. Young 
 things never do, till it is too late." 
 
 " Suppose you were to give her a lecture 
 upon the subject, mamma ! It would be but 
 charitable." 
 
 " Law, Mary ! How can I go a lectm-ing ? 
 You'U be for sending me to Timbuctoo 
 for a missionary next ! It's ten to one
 
 176 La Beata. 
 
 I sliall never set eyes on the young woman 
 again." 
 
 " AJi ! but it's a great deal more than ten 
 to one that you will, mamma ! For I have set 
 my heart on a thing which I think papa wiU 
 not object to. If I am reaUy to tm-n our 
 stay in Italy to any account in making pro- 
 gress with my drawing, I must have some- 
 thing to draw from better than cop}dng those 
 eternal chalk heads. I should so like to try 
 and make a sketch fi'om that beautiful pale 
 face ! I am sm-e I should do it con amore, as 
 Signor Lonari said. It would give me an 
 interest in m^ drawing, more than I have 
 ever felt yet. Don't you think so, papa? 
 It's quite clear, from their manner of living, 
 that a little assistance would be acceptable. 
 And Signora Lonari could not have any ob- 
 jection to coming to our house to sit to me, 
 you know, papa ! And when Signor Lonari 
 comes to you on Thursday, I want you to 
 make the proposal to him. Will you indulge 
 me in this, papa ?"
 
 La Beata. 177 
 
 " I quite agree with you, my dear, that 
 the young woman is a very striking model. 
 Her style of face and figure is certainly sin- 
 gularly picturesque. I am not at all sur- 
 prised at your wish to have her for a sitter. 
 And I don't know," he added, after a moment's 
 consideration, "that I see any objection in 
 the way. No doubt, as you say, a little 
 money would be acceptable enough. And 
 the proposal might be made with delicacy, so 
 as not to wound any susceptibilities. Well, 
 if your mother consents, I have no objection 
 to try the negociation." 
 
 "There is a darling pajDa! I am sure 
 mamma wiU make no difficidty. And now you 
 see, mamma, you will have an opportunity of 
 doing a little good by putting her in the right 
 way about proper clothing. She does look 
 very delicate, poor thing !" 
 
 " WeU, my dear, I can have no objection 
 to anything your papa thinks right. And, 
 as I said, the young woman appeared to me a 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 La Beata. 
 
 very decent body, veiy mucli so indeed. But 
 all is not gold that glitters. And of course, 
 Mr. P., you -wtU make all inquiries and ascer- 
 tain that she is a proper person, and quite re- 
 spectable. It would not do, you know, to have 
 anybody in the house, especially for such a 
 purpose, that one knew nothing about." 
 
 "Certainly, my dear," retm-ned he. "I 
 will look to all that. But I do not imagine 
 there can be much danger of anything of 
 that sort. Signor Tanari recommended this 
 Lonari to me very highly, and there can be 
 little doubt that his wife is a perfectly re- 
 spectable person." 
 
 So it was settled, to Mary's great content- 
 ment, that if no such impediment were dis- 
 covered — which she herself considered to be 
 quite out of the question — her father was on 
 the Thursday, when Signor Lonari came, as 
 had been arranged, to Piazza Pitti, to propose 
 to him to permit his ^dfe to give Miss Pa- 
 tringham a certain number of sittings.
 
 La Beata. 179 
 
 Meanwhile, symptoms that Pippo Lonari's 
 fortimes were on the rise, and that a prosper- 
 ous career was opening itself before him, 
 began to develop themselves more decisively 
 and rapidly, than the small events which 
 haVe been narrated woidd to EngHsh ideas 
 appear sufficient to account for. But in the 
 Httle world of Florence much smaller cir- 
 cumstances may set a-flowing the tide which 
 leads on to fortune, than could avail to pro- 
 duce a similar result in our larger and more 
 severely competitive social system. 
 
 An important copy commissioned, an ori- 
 giaal picture sold on the strength of the 
 success of the copy, a carriage full of EngHsh 
 visitors at his door, an appointment to confer 
 on other art matters at the house of a great 
 milordo ; — aU this was more than enough to 
 set aU the artistic community of Florence 
 talking, envying, and speculating. Ah-eady 
 Pippo was the centre of success-worshipping 
 knots of comrades and rivals at the cafe he
 
 180 La Beata. 
 
 frequented, to whom he set forth his own 
 successes, the liberality and discrimination of 
 his new patrons, and their admiration for his 
 genius in somewhat more glowing colours 
 than were warranted by the real circum- 
 stances as they had occm-red. 
 
 And La Beata sat at home the while 
 in the bleak studio under the tiles, weav- 
 ing Tier golden tissue of the future also, in 
 the web of which, one or two threads of 
 a less brilliant hue would, despite her efforts, 
 persist in mingling themselves. They were 
 spun — these unfortunate mind-filaments — 
 not so much from the words of Signor Bor- 
 soli, on the occasion of that memorable 
 conversation in his studio, as from the man- 
 ner with which Pippo had received them 
 when repeated to him, and from those un- 
 lucky chance words which had been dropped 
 by Mr. Patringham. Her meditations were 
 not, therefore, of wholly unchequered rose- 
 colour, as she sat waiting for Pippo's
 
 La Beata. 181 
 
 return from his important visit to the Y\2i.7.7,a. 
 Pitti. 
 
 She ran to the door as she heard his foot 
 on the stair ; and saw at once, on opening it, 
 that he brought good tidings. 
 , " Tilings are going well then, Pippo mio,'' 
 she said ; " the strangers appreciate thee. 
 Now, let us have all the story of thy inter- 
 view with them! How went it? Didst 
 thou speak with the hella Signorina ?" 
 
 " I should think so !" vaunted Pippo. 
 " Mi vogliono bene, tutti quanti, ve .'"* 
 
 " I beheve you ! but teU me, Pippo, have 
 they ordered anything ?" 
 
 " What do you think I was called there 
 for, eh ? Ordered ! of course they have. He 
 takes the picture of the mad ghl looking out 
 for her lover; — sixty dollars, not a crazia 
 less ! Then I am to make a copy for him in 
 the Palazzo Corsini. My fortune is made, 
 I tell you." 
 
 * " They like me well, all of them, see you."
 
 182 La Beata. 
 
 " Bravo ! Pippo mio ! I knew well that 
 thou wert worth more than any of them. 
 Even old Signor Francesco told me as much." 
 
 And a shadow passed across the bright sky 
 of La Beata's exultation, as the recollection 
 of the old painter's prognostication brought 
 back with it to her mind the other things he 
 had said. > 
 
 " But look here, Tina !" continued Pippo ; 
 " there is another thing they want. I had 
 almost forgotten it. It seems that the Signo- 
 rina paints, and she wants you to sit to her. 
 They will pay, you understand. So I settled 
 that you should go as soon as I can finish 
 the new pictm-e. I shall want three or four 
 more days. But per Baeco, they are queer 
 folks, these English ! He asked me certain 
 questions, the old fellow ! I believe he was 
 afraid you would steal the silver spoons. I 
 reassured him! But they pay well, . . . 
 e hastar* 
 
 * And that is enough.
 
 La Beata. 183 
 
 The fact was that Pippo had entii-ely failed 
 to comprehend the gist of the few words Mr. 
 Patrington had said with as much delicacy 
 as possible, in. obedience to his wife's caution 
 on the subject of La Beata. An English- 
 man in Pippo's place would have understood 
 the drift of them in an instant. But the 
 Florentine artist, who had no idea that any 
 hesitation in such a matter could arise from 
 any other consideration than a care for the 
 safety of one's property, had answered quite 
 at cross pm-poses. And Mr. Patrington ima- 
 gined that he had received the most satis- 
 factory assurances of poor Tina's " respecta- 
 bihty," while Pippo considered that he had 
 been called on to answer for her honestv. 
 
 To La Beata this announcement was a 
 matter of the most unbounded astonishment. 
 Her first sensation was one of terror at the 
 idea of having to appear alone in a strange 
 house among strange people of a class so 
 entirely new to her. But the remembrance
 
 184 La Beata. 
 
 of the kind and gentle manner of the beauti- 
 ful young English lady reassured her. And 
 besides a kind of feeling that she was thus 
 made a sharer in Pippo's rising fortune, and 
 was in some sort bound up with him in his 
 relationship with his new connections, was, 
 though she rendered no account of the mat- 
 ter to herself, soothing and pleasurable to 
 her. In any case Pippo had told her she 
 was to go. So there could be nothing more 
 to be said on the subject ; and her medita- 
 tions with regard to it reverted to the gown 
 and shawl possibilities of her scanty ward- 
 robe. And the conversation between her 
 and Pippo passed on to the consideration of 
 the hours of sitting, which would be neces- 
 sary to complete the sketch of the new 
 picture, so that it might be done in time for 
 Tina to enter on her new engagement.
 
 185 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LAUDADIO BENINCASA, THE WAX-CHANDLER. 
 
 We all know the magic effects of success, the 
 homage it commands, its troops of friends. 
 And men are apt sometimes to feel with a 
 dash of bitterness, which is perhaps hardly- 
 reasonable, that of all those who bring the 
 tribute of their hero-worship to success 
 achieved, not one was able to recognize the 
 merit, which had not yet achieved it. But 
 such a reflection seems to suppose that those 
 who gather around us in our day of triumph 
 had avoided us in our day of struggle ; 
 whereas the simple fact is that they had 
 never seen us in the crowd. The success is 
 the candlestick on which our light must be 
 put, before it can give light to others.
 
 186 La Beata. 
 
 The case, however, is not quite the same 
 when old friends who have parted company 
 from us in adversity range up alongside as 
 soon as a fair wind fills our sails. But it 
 will generally be reasonable as well as wise 
 not to judge too severely even these wor- 
 shippers of a rising sun ; for how few are 
 gifted with the capacity of knowing what is 
 worshipful, till warned of it by the worship 
 of those around them ? 
 
 Pippo had already become the centre of 
 a circle of new friends, whose recognition of 
 his merit he enjoyed as one of its legitimate 
 consequences. But the most important 
 " adhesion " to his standard belonged to the 
 second of the above categories ; and was 
 exemplified in a personage who must be 
 formally presented to the reader. Laudadio 
 Benincasa was an important man in Florence. 
 Those sufficiently inexperienced in the 
 world's ways to estimate a man's social im- 
 portance by his appearance, would certainly
 
 La Beata. 187 
 
 have never guessed that such was the case. 
 And to those uninitiated into the obscurer 
 paths and relationships of Italian life, the 
 announcement of his social grade and 
 avocation would in no case have afforded 
 any assistance towards a right appreciation 
 of his position. He was a Kttle old man, 
 very bald, and with one leg somewhat 
 shorter than the other ; probably in con- 
 sequence of an accident in early life. His 
 constant, never-changing di-ess seemed to 
 indicate that the wearer was in some way 
 connected with the Church. It consisted of 
 a suit of very rusty black cloth ; the coat 
 cut straight at the collar, and very long and 
 square in the tails ; the waistcoat as high in 
 the collar as the coat ; and the small-clothes 
 fastened at the knee with small silver 
 buckles, and continued by very coarse black 
 worsted stockings. A very redundant and 
 very yellow muslin neckcloth at one end, 
 and a pair of short but very wide low cut
 
 188 La Beata. 
 
 shoes at the other, also fastened by silver 
 buckles on the instep, completed his costume. 
 The general effect was one of seediness, 
 shabbiness, and utter want of gloss, yet so 
 it was that his appearance did not produce 
 an impression of the wearer's poverty. He 
 always carried a handsome ivory-mounted 
 bamboo cane for the purpose of assisting the 
 laborious dot-and-go-one walk occasioned by 
 his lameness ; and constantly wore a small 
 cameo set in seed pearls, stuck as a breast- 
 pin through the ends of his neckcloth. 
 
 Such was the outward man, — almost as 
 well known in Florence as the Campanile 
 itself, — of Laudadio Benincasa, the wax- 
 chandler. ' 
 
 It often occurs, that men of superior 
 intelligence and energy acquire a social 
 standing and influence quite disproportioned 
 to, and despite of, the humble vocation in 
 which fortune has placed them. But old 
 Laudadio had nothing about him superior
 
 La Beata. 189 
 
 in any way ; and the consideration he en- 
 joyed was accorded him by his fellow citizens 
 by no means in spite of, but altogether in 
 consequence of his calling. 
 
 Is the reader puzzled to guess why the 
 business of wax-chandling should be so highly 
 esteemed in Florence? Let him call to 
 mind the influence once exercised by the 
 silversmiths at Ephesus. The reflection 
 may serve to put him in the way of partly 
 understanding the secret of Signer Laudadio 
 Benincasa's influential position among his 
 fellow citizens. Wax candles are* to the 
 full as necessary to "all the best interests 
 of society " in Florence, as silver shrines 
 and images once were in Ephesus. Your 
 large wax-chandler in such a community as 
 that of Florence (such as it was, at least, up 
 to the first half of the present century), is a 
 
 * Should we not, rather, thanks be to God ! say 
 " were ?" For assuredly the beginning of the end is 
 rising on the horizon in this matter also.
 
 190 La Beata. 
 
 man much connected in business with all 
 the clergy, and especially with the digni- 
 taries of the collegiate churches and ecclesi- 
 astical corporations ; an habitual frequenter 
 of sacristies, and chapter-haUs ; a notably 
 devout man by the necessities of liis trade, 
 (as were those Ephesian silversmiths) ; and 
 a crony and confidential intimate of the 
 devout. Eomish clerical influence is ever 
 essentially and notoriously back-stairs influ- 
 ence, — back-stairs from the royal palace, 
 into whose private chambers it mounts by 
 ways closed to all other comers, to the poor 
 man's dwelling, much too humble to possess 
 materially any back-stairs at all, but never 
 too humble, if it be the abode of a domestic 
 community, to admit of unavowed channels 
 of communication for the passage of this all- 
 permeating malaria. Like all other secretly 
 operating forces, this subtle influence is 
 shared by, and makes use of many agents 
 and agencies besides those, who might most
 
 La Beata. 191 
 
 naturally be expected to be entrusted with 
 its secrets. In every highly complicated 
 piece of mechanism little wheels, and very 
 unappearing whes move larger ones, and 
 bring into gear powerful forces. And in the 
 wonderfully complex and most perfectly 
 elaborated apparatus for the percolation of 
 priestly influence and power through every 
 part of the mass of the body social, an im- 
 portant share in the wielding of that power 
 is for similar reasons often found lodged in 
 very strange hands. 
 
 To these less apparent, but among an 
 Italian population, recognized and m a 
 general way understood sources of social im- 
 portance Signer Laudadio Benincasa united 
 the more simple ones of high commercial 
 respectability, long liereditai"y standing 
 among the trading aristocracy of his native 
 city, and very ample wealth. In a strictly 
 metaphorical sense, the old wax-chandler 
 was known to be " a very warm man." For
 
 192 La Beata. 
 
 his business, inherited from more than one 
 generation of profitably wax-chandling ances- 
 tors, was a very good one. The great boast 
 of Eomanism is that it leavens with religion 
 the whole heavy mass of daUy life, making 
 its ordinances part and parcel of its every 
 function and occupation. And what is 
 Eomish religion without wax candles ! A 
 trade must surely be a profitable one, which 
 supplies wants generated in proportion to 
 the occasions of human follies, faults, and 
 frailties. Where wax candles are an im- 
 portant means for easing the twinges of that 
 " conscience, which makes cowards of us all," 
 it is good to be a wax-chandler. When, in 
 addition to this, they are understood to be 
 the most acceptable bribe that can be offered 
 to intercessors supposed to have the power 
 of dispensing blessings in this life, and 
 mercy in the life beyond the grave, the 
 trade is likely to be a brisk one. And old 
 Laudadio was, as has been said, generally
 
 La Beata. 193 
 
 understood to be something more than com- 
 monly well off. 
 
 The term " brisk," however, is hardly 
 that by which his business should have been 
 characterized. It was a good, steady, profit- 
 able business ; but in truth there was nothing 
 brisk about it, or about his establishment. 
 We are all acquainted with certain London 
 firms, wliich from the height of their long- 
 established reputation look down with in- 
 tense contempt on all the devices of plate 
 glass, gilding, and decoration, to which 
 traders less firmly in possession of the 
 market are fain -to resort. Little or no 
 display of goods is made in the windows 
 grimy vaih. the respectable dust of many 
 years of these happy long-established ones. 
 Plain black letters, long since become 
 brown, painted on plairi white door-posts 
 long since yellow, declare, not so much the 
 names of the prosperous firm, as the needless- 
 ness of mentioning: what is so well known. 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 La Beata. 
 
 No effort of any kind is visible in the con- 
 duct of these privileged places of business ; 
 but everybody knows, that it is not their 
 owners whose names may some day figure 
 in the Gazette. 
 
 Now Laudadio Benincasa's estabKshment 
 was a place of this kind. It was situated in 
 a small quiet street in the oldest part of the 
 city, a little to the south of the cathedral. 
 His house — for it was his own, and had 
 been his father's, from the garret to the 
 cellar — was an old palace, once the seigno- 
 rial residence of a noble family long since 
 extinct, whose arms, sculptured on huge, 
 heavy stone shields, mantled and crested, 
 still adorned the corners of the building. It 
 consisted of ground floor, fii'st or noble floor 
 — ^^ piano nohile," as the Florentines call it, — 
 second floor, and an open loggia, or arcade, 
 supported in front by stone pillars, in place 
 of a third floor. The front was entirely of 
 ashlar stone, black with the weather action
 
 La Beata. 195 
 
 of centuries, with a huge and lofty porte- 
 cochlre in the centre, on each side of which 
 were on the ground floor two large windows 
 with handsome heavy stone mouldings, de- 
 fended by iron gratings, not to be matched 
 for size and massiveness in London, save 
 at Newgate. 
 
 Such defences are common in the streets 
 of Florence, being a legacy of the turbulent 
 old times when every noble's house was ne- 
 cessarily intended to be a city fortress, ca- 
 pable of resisting any outbreak of popular 
 violence. But a cm-ious instance of the ten- 
 dency men have so to accustom themselves 
 to inevitable evils, as in process of time to 
 look upon them as advantages, may be seen 
 in the fact that the Florentines at the 
 present day consider these huge prison en- 
 cumbrances of their windows as ornamental ! 
 And new houses may be seen with their 
 ground-floor rooms turned into amateur dun- 
 geons at a heavy expense, in obedience to
 
 196 La Beata. 
 
 the fashion, which has learned to think it 
 aristocratic to live in a prison. 
 
 Signor Laudadio Benincasa, however, had 
 
 removed two of the enormous gratings from 
 
 the front of his house, one from each side of 
 
 the entrance ; and one of the windows thus 
 
 liberated had been cut down to form the 
 
 entrance to his shop, and the other that of 
 
 his warehouse on the opposite side. The 
 
 shop, occupying half the entire ground-floor 
 
 front of the building, was lighted only by 
 
 this doorway and by the remaining grated 
 
 window, which was placed so high in the 
 
 wall as to be above the level of a man's 
 
 head when standing on the floor. There 
 
 was, indeed, one other source of light ; but it 
 
 was only a glimmer, which twinkling afar 
 
 in the cavernous depths of the huge vaulted 
 
 room, served but to make the darkness of 
 
 the place more noticeable. This glimmer 
 
 proceeded from a lamp of silver, hung up 
 
 before a large representation of the Madonna
 
 La Beata. 197 
 
 and child in basso relievo of Lucca deUa 
 Eobbia ware, built into the wall at the back 
 part of the shop. 
 
 The old wax-chandler was a widower of 
 many years' standing ; and lived with an only 
 daughter ia pleasant sunshiny rooms behiad 
 the shop and warehouse, which looked on to 
 an old-fashioned but very pretty little 
 garden. The first and second floors were 
 let, the first to a banking firm, doing business 
 chiefly with the Levant, and the second as 
 a dweUiag to one of the partners. Old Lau- 
 dadio had not the slightest need of the sums 
 incoming from the rent of these parts of his 
 house ; but neither would his comfort have 
 been at all increased by occupying them. 
 And a Florentine of any rank, except that 
 of the wealthiest aristocracy, considers it as 
 much a matter of course to let any rooms of 
 his house, which he does not absolutely need 
 for his own acccommodation, as an English- 
 man would to let a vacant farm on his 
 estate.
 
 198 La Beata. 
 
 "Cereeia* di Laudadio Benincasa" was 
 written in small, unappearing letters over 
 the doorway of the shop. But the annoimce- 
 ment was merely a compliance with trading 
 usages : it was in no wise necessary for the 
 information of any of Signer Benincasa's 
 customers. From the bursar of a wealthy 
 convent, havhag to bespeak the himcbeds of 
 huge yard-long candles, needed for the cele- 
 bration of some well-endowed obituary anni- 
 versary mass, to the poor mother desirous of 
 investing a few haKpence in a taper to be 
 burned at the shrine of some saint in special 
 repute for bringing children safely through 
 the measles, — all knew the cereria and knew 
 the wares they wanted. There they all 
 were, from the colossal Easter-candle of de- 
 licate white wax, brilliantly painted and 
 decorated, and destined to receive episcopal 
 blessing, and be solemnly lighted in front 
 of the high altar of some cathedral church, 
 * Cereriay wax-chandlery, from Cera, wax.
 
 La Beata. 199 
 
 down to the slenderest and yellowest little 
 starveling of a taper, destined to afford ease 
 to tlie conscience of the poorest sinner, at 
 the easiest possible rate. 
 
 Such was Signor Laudadio Benincasa, 
 such the nature of his business, and such the 
 place where it was carried on. 
 
 Now the wealthy wax-chandler had been 
 the intimate and life-long friend of Pippo 
 Lonari's uncle the priest, who had educated 
 the artist, and destined him to the tonsm*e. 
 This priest, Antonio Lonari, had been a ris- 
 ing man ; and would have probably reached 
 some one of the higher positions in the 
 Church, had he not died early ; and by doing 
 so left his nephew Pippo at liberty to 
 renounce his ecclesiastical destination, and 
 follow the dictates of his own inclination. 
 Before entering the seminary at wliich he 
 had been educated, Pippo, who had been 
 left an orphan in his infancy, had been 
 brought up in the house of his uncle's friend
 
 200 La Beata. 
 
 Laudadio ; and all days of vacation or " out- 
 ing," permitted at the seminary, had been 
 spent by him with his old friends at the 
 cereria, with the wax-chandler and his daugh- 
 ter Bej)pina. 
 
 When Antonio Lonari died, worthy Signor 
 Laudadio would have continued to give 
 Pippo the benefit of all his friendship for 
 his uncle, and would have been both willing 
 and able to- assist him materially in his 
 ecclesiastical career. But the young man's 
 conduct in refusing to follow that career, 
 and his throwing up all the advantages, 
 which the education already bestowed upon 
 him, and the future patronage of his uncle's 
 friend, would have assm-ed to him, had 
 caused a complete breach between the 
 young artist and Signor Benincasa ; and 
 Pippo " secularized " had been seen no more 
 at the cereria nor in the pretty garden be- 
 liind the old palazzo. 
 
 It is a fact, however, which we will for
 
 La Beata. 201 
 
 the present assume as such, without devot- 
 ing a hundi-ed pages or so to an investiga- 
 tion of the causes of it, that daughters are 
 apt to regard such matters diflferently from 
 theu" papas. And Beppina Benincasa, be- 
 tween whom and Pippo there had always 
 been very good intelligence from their child- 
 hood upward, could not help feeUng that 
 this " secularization " of her old playmate, 
 however abominable, was not unpardonable. 
 She neither denied nor doubted the asser- 
 tion that Pippo was a reprobate. But after 
 she had on one or two chance occasions seen 
 the handsome young artist in his " secula- 
 rized " state of existence, she could not help 
 feeling, argue the matter with herself as 
 she might, that she liked the reprobate with 
 a handsome black beard and trousers better 
 than the unexceptionable shaveling semi- 
 narist with his black gown down to his heels. 
 A few years ago the long-robed little priest- 
 ling of some twelve years old or so, and the
 
 202 La Beata. 
 
 lively black-eyed eliild of ten liad been as 
 excellent friends and allies, as if the Clmrcli 
 had not marked the former for her own. Pos- 
 sibly also the wealthy old wax-chandler had 
 considered that circumstance as an impor- 
 tant reason ia favour of permitting such close 
 acquaintance between his only child and 
 young Lonari. But Beppina was just arriv- 
 ing at that time of life at which papas and 
 daughters are sadly apt to have very de- 
 cidedly opposing opinions on such subjects, 
 when the change in Pippo's destiny caused 
 the breach between him and her father. 
 
 This estrangement had not been sub- 
 mitted to by her with perfect resignation to 
 the paternal will. Not that she had gone to 
 the length of attempting any clandestine 
 intercourse, either by speech or otherwise, 
 with her old playmate, or had even ventured 
 to defend the course he had taken, when 
 her father expatiated on the enormity of it 
 She was perfectly convinced, indeed, of his
 
 La Beata. 203 
 
 wickedness and reprobate condition; but 
 nevertheless the fact was that she did not 
 feel at all the less kindly towards him on 
 account of it. I should almost say — but 
 that I don't want to give rise to the idea 
 th^t Beppina was other than a good girl — 
 that she was all the more inclined to like 
 him for his castaway position. No ! not like 
 him for it exactly ! That, of course, could 
 not be. But she felt a lively interest in 
 him. Yes ! that is the right phrase ; — felt 
 a warm interest in his weKare. But the 
 heart, we know, is desperately wicked; — 
 the female heart no less so than the male ; 
 though it seems almost incredible that it 
 should be so ! And Beppina was constantly 
 returning to the subject of " poor Pippo " 
 with her father, whose heart was much more 
 chastened in this matter, and urging that 
 forgiveness should ]}e extended to the scape- 
 grace. And each time that she had chanced, 
 in the course of the Sunday or holiday even-
 
 204 La Beata. 
 
 ing walk in tlie Cascine or on the Lungarno, 
 to catch a sight of her old playmate, im- 
 proved, alas! in outward appeai-ance quite 
 as much as he was deteriorated in inward 
 grace, she attacked old Laudadio afresh on 
 the duty of charitable construction and for- 
 giveness. 
 
 And Beppiua's will, enforced by Bep- 
 pina's eloquence, was in most cases by no 
 means without effect on her father. But in 
 the matter of Pippo the graceless, he had 
 been immoveably firm. To have abandoned 
 the sacred calling to which he had been 
 destined was bad, and was the ostensible 
 reason for withdrawing all countenance from 
 so scandalous a sinner; but to have aban- 
 doned it to become a beggar, an artist with- 
 out employment, or probable chance of any, 
 was in the eyes of the carefid and thrifty old 
 tradesman — it may be surmised without lack 
 of charity — still worse. 
 
 Such was the position of matters, when
 
 La Beata. 205 
 
 tidings of Pippo's suddenly improved pros- 
 pects began to reach the ears of, the old wax- 
 chandler. The amount of good fortune which 
 had befallen him, and of golden promise for 
 the future, was, of com-se, as usual in such 
 cases, made the most of in passing from 
 mouth to mouth. An English milordo of 
 enormous wealth and the highest rank had, 
 it was declared, made him the most magni- 
 ficent offers, and undertaken to assure him a 
 brilliant career. His works were abeady 
 sought for, and pm'chased before they were 
 off the easel, &c. 
 
 Now, all this made a very material dif- 
 ference in worthy Signer LaudacUo's estimate 
 of his young friend Pippo's position, and of 
 the sinfulness which he had been guilty of m 
 reaching it. Nor did he at all attempt to 
 disguise this change in his opuiions. It ap- 
 peared, then, that the young man had a real 
 vocation for art. A. real vocation, implanted 
 by Pro\ddence, was assm^edly not to be set
 
 206 La Beata. 
 
 aside. It was one of the cases in which suc- 
 cess, and success only, could justify the step 
 that had been taken. It made all the dif- 
 ference in eveiy point of view. As no posi- 
 tion or career could be more miserable and 
 hopeless than that of an unknown unemployed 
 painter, so there was scarcely any at aU 
 within the limits of Signer Laudadio's social 
 sphere which could offer brighter prospects 
 and possibilities than that of a successful 
 weU-employed artist, occupying the foremost 
 rank in his profession. Then Bejipina. . . , 
 Well ! Perhaps she was right after all, the 
 little puss! She generally had a shi-ewd 
 notion of what was what. So much Signor 
 Laudadio would confess. 
 
 And with such thoughts in his head the 
 old wax-chancUer hobbled off from his shop 
 one evening to the cafd, determined to hold 
 out the olive branch to Pippo, if he should 
 be at all willing to accept it. 
 
 Old Laudadio was in the habit of fre-
 
 La Beata. 207 
 
 quenting a quiet little cafe, where he met 
 almost every night in the year the same set 
 of old fellows of his own standing. But on 
 this occasion he betook himself to the ' Botte- 
 gone,' where he knew he should be likely to 
 meet with the risiug artist. The throng of 
 people, tables, benches, and stools, which on. 
 summer evenings encroaches in front of this 
 favourite cafe on the pavement of the piazza 
 almost half-way across the wide space between 
 it and the cathedral, was no longer there, 
 for the evenings had begun to be fresh. But 
 two or thi-ee little tables, and a few rheu- 
 matism-defying lovers of open air and moon- 
 light, were still out on each side of the 
 entrance to the cafe ; and there, sm-e enough, 
 was Pippo smoking his cigar, and haranguing 
 a little knot of thi-ee or fom- admhing list- 
 eners. 
 
 " Oh ! Signer Pippo ! " cried the old gen- 
 tleman, as he limped up awakening echoes 
 from the huge towering wall of the cathedral
 
 208 La, Beata. 
 
 with every thump of his stick on the pave- 
 ment, " you are the veiy man I wanted to 
 
 see!" 
 
 "To think of seemg you here, Signer 
 Laudaclio ! " returned Pippo, who understood 
 in an instant what his old friend had come 
 for, and why, just as well as if he had read 
 in his heart all those considerations which 
 have been set forth, and who was far too 
 worldly-wise a man to allow any temper to 
 interfere with what might be advantageous 
 to him. " Is the Cafe Greco burned down ? 
 for I should think nothing less would drive 
 you out of your old haunts." 
 
 " The Cafe Greco stands just where it has 
 stood any time this thirty years," rejoined 
 the old man, " and I should be there in ray 
 usual corner if 1 had not come here on pur- 
 pose to bring you my congratulations. But 
 perdinci hacco !* it is too cold to stay here. 
 
 • An exclamation invented and used by those 
 Tuscans who are scrupulous enough to prefer avoid- 
 ing the impropriety of saying " per dio Bacco."
 
 La Beata. 209 
 
 Come in, and take a ponce, and let us have a 
 talk of old times." 
 
 " With all my heart, Signer Laudadio ! 
 I have not forgotten all your kindness to me, 
 though 'tis years ago. And how is Beppina ? " 
 
 /'Ah! Beppina! She has not forgotten 
 you either. She has always been wanting 
 me to make it up with you. But what would 
 you have ? How could I bring to my house 
 a young fellow who had made a scandal, and 
 was determined to go to the dogs ? But now 
 you are going quite in a different direction, 
 by what I hear, and that makes all the dif- 
 ference, you know." 
 
 "To be sure 1 to be sure ! " said Pippo, 
 not the least moved by any feeling of moral 
 indignation to quarrel with the possibilities 
 of bread and butter set before him in this 
 frank profession of success-worship. 
 
 And so the chat went on in a very friendly 
 tone till the ponce was out, and Pippo had 
 told, with as much colouring as he could 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 La Beata. 
 
 venture to lay on, all his past and expecta- 
 tions of fiitui'e fortune. 
 
 " Yes ! English patronage is a very fine 
 thing ! " said old Laudadio, taking his young 
 friend by the button, as they stood at the 
 door of the cafe about to separate. " They 
 are rich, the heretics ! and they spend their 
 money. But what should you say, my lad, 
 to a commission of importance that would 
 bring both cash and credit from. ... I 
 mention no names. . . . from a high quar- 
 ter ? There might be such a thing to be had, 
 and old Laudadio Benincasa might be one 
 who possibly would have something to say in 
 the matter. Eh ! " 
 
 " Oh ! Signer Laudadio !...." 
 
 " Well ! Basta ! I have said nothing. But 
 come to the old place, and ask Beppina how 
 she does, and we'll talk. Good night." 
 
 " To-morrow evemng, then. Good night, 
 my kind friend ! " 
 
 " And I say, Pippo, a little word in your
 
 La Beata. 211 
 
 ear ! " added the old gentleman, turning and 
 limiting up to Pippo. 
 
 " When one speaks of high quarters, 
 nothing is to be done without an un- 
 blemished morality, you understand me. 
 Young men will be young men. But there 
 must be no scandal. Basta ! " 
 
 And, so saying, he turned and hobbled off 
 across the moonlit space, between the marble 
 steps of the vast front of the church and the 
 baptistery, in the direction of the cereria. 
 
 Pippo turned, too, towards his home, medi- 
 tating much on all that had fallen from his 
 former friend and protector. 
 
 The old wax-chandler's advance to seek a 
 reconciliation was a very good sign — a ver^ 
 good sign indeed ! He was one of those 
 men who have an instinctive sense of coming 
 good fortune, and whose adliesion is a pre- 
 diction of it, which goes far to insure its 
 own verification. Then his huits of possible 
 patronage. High quarters ! Could he mean
 
 212 La Beata. 
 
 the court? It was not impossible. Then 
 his mention of Beppina — a shade more, it 
 seemed to Pippo, than had been absolutely 
 necessary ; and that parting shot about 
 morality — evidently alluding to poor Tina — 
 of course there was much to think of in all 
 this. 
 
 And Pippo strolled slowly towards the 
 Via delV Amove, much musing on the various 
 hopes and possibilities which the talk of old 
 Laudadio had caused to flit before his mind. 
 " The cautious old sacristy-haunter," said he 
 to himself, " is not a man to ' throw words into 
 the air,' as the Tuscan phrases mere mean- 
 ingless talking. He means something — evi- 
 dently has some scheme in view. Any way, 
 it is clear the old fellow thinks it worth his 
 while to make up to me. A shrewd judge is 
 old Laudadio ! At all events, I shall not 
 fail to go and have a look at the old place 
 to-morrow evening, and see how the land lies. 
 I wonder what Beppina looks like now ! "
 
 La Beat a. 213 
 
 And with these thoughts in liis head the 
 young artist came out jErom the deep shade 
 of the narrow Via del Melarando into the 
 broad moonlight of the Piazza Vecchia in 
 the immediate neighbom-hood of his home, 
 and saw two men coming towards him across 
 the piazza. A few more steps enabled him 
 to recognize our old acquaintance Tito Fanetti 
 and his brother-in-law, Signor Tanari the 
 picture-dealer. 
 
 " It's lucky we have met you," cried Tito, 
 
 "we've been to the studio to look for you. 
 
 And there is La Beata sitting in the cold 
 
 waiting for you all alone in that great barn 
 
 of a place, with her knitting and a little 
 
 glimmer of one wick of a lumino .'* La pove- 
 
 retta ! We did not say a word to her of the 
 
 matter in hand." 
 
 * A lumino, in contradistinction to lampione, a 
 lamp, is one of those tall classical- shaped brass 
 lamps, so common throughout Tuscany, carrying 
 three or four burners with one small wick each, on 
 a long slender shaft, exceedingly picturesque, but 
 not good for much in any other way.
 
 214 La Beata. 
 
 "And wliat the devil is the matter in 
 hand ?" demanded Pippo in much surprise. 
 
 " An unpleasant matter enough !" returned 
 the other. " ^Tiat on earth is this we hear 
 about her going to that Englishman, up on 
 the Pitti,* to sit to his daughter?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" cried Pippo, an- 
 grily ; " why the devil should she not go ? 
 The Englishman proposed it. I should 
 never have dreamed of such a thing." 
 
 " But, Signer Pippo," said Tanari gravely, 
 " you gave this Signer Patringham to un- 
 derstand that La Beata was your wife ; and 
 everybody knows how rigid these English 
 people are respecting such matters." 
 
 " I !" cried Pippo ; " who says so ? I never 
 told him anything of the kind. I should 
 never have dreamed of speaking on the sub- 
 ject. And what business is it of anybody's 
 whether she is my wife or not ?" 
 
 * Sui Pitti, the common Florentine designation 
 for the houses opposite the palace in the Piazza 
 Pitti.
 
 La Beata. 215 
 
 " None at all, my dear fellow," said Tito, 
 " as long as she is in your house ; but when 
 she is to be introduced into the houses of 
 other people .... it seems to me . . . ." 
 
 " But surely," said Signer Tanari, " you 
 must have given \\\m to understand that you 
 were married." 
 
 " I tell you I never uttered a word upon 
 the subject in any way," rejoined Pippo. 
 " He asked me something or other, I hardly 
 know what, rather impertinently I thought, 
 about her being a proper conducted person. 
 I suppose he was afraid she would steal his 
 daughter's handkerchiefs !" • 
 
 "Pooh! pooh!" said Signer Tanari. 
 " One can see there has been a misunder- 
 standing. But now the fact is, that the 
 thing won't do, anyhow. You don't know 
 these milordi Inglesi. I do. There would 
 be no end of a row if La Beata, poveretta, 
 were to go into his house, he fancying that 
 he had been told that she was a married
 
 216 La Beata. 
 
 woman, and then he were to find out that 
 the case was different. Excuse me, Signer 
 Pippo, if I tell you that it cannot be. I in- 
 troduced you to Signer Patringham. He is 
 one of the best customers I have, and I would 
 not for a thousand scudi that he should 
 think he had been used, as he would think 
 if this were done. I don't speak of you, 
 yourself. But just think whether it would 
 be wise to give such an offence to a man 
 who seems inclined to be of so much service 
 to you." 
 
 " Of course Pippo won't think of it," struck 
 in Tito. " It's deuced lucky we heard of it 
 in time." 
 
 " But what am I to do ?" rejoined Pippo, 
 who was not the least disposed to risk any 
 quarrel with his new patron ; " Tina was to 
 go there to-morrow. What can I say to 
 him?" 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said Tito, " you must 
 say that she is ill. Poveretta ! I am sure
 
 La Beata. 217 
 
 to look at her sitting there all alone in the 
 dark and cold, it woidd be likely enough 
 that she should be. Send in the morning 
 to say that she is ill, and cannot come. 
 That will put it off for a while, and we can 
 find some remedy or other. Probably they 
 will get another model in the mean time." 
 
 "Well," replied Pippo after a moment's 
 pause, " that's what it must be, I suppose. 
 I must send in the morning." 
 
 And with that the trio separated, and 
 Pippo turned up the Via delV Amore, with 
 a fresh set of thoughts added to those which 
 had been before occupying his mind; but 
 which he seemed indistinctly to feel had a 
 tendency in them pointing in a similar 
 direction.
 
 218 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 DISTINGUISHED PATRONAGE FOE SAINTS 
 AND AETISTS. 
 
 It was late by the tlie time Pippo got home, 
 very late for the habits to which La Beata 
 hadvbeen accustomed. But he found her, 
 as Tito had told him, patiently waiting for 
 his return, and looking forward to her little 
 reflected gleam of sunshine in his joyous 
 spirits, and triumphant reports of the tokens 
 of his coming prosperity, — what this artist of 
 repute had said to him, the compliments 
 that others had paid liim, &c. The short 
 quarter of an hour dm-ing which all this was 
 retailed to her of an evening by Pippo, when 
 he came home from the cafe, was the bright
 
 La Beat a. 219 
 
 spot in her day, and the reward for the long 
 dreary hours of vigil by which it was pre- 
 ceded. 
 
 She was sitting, when he entered, in the 
 far part of the huge room close under the 
 great window, from which the bright wliite 
 moonlight was streaming in. As soon as 
 the moon had risen high enough to shine 
 into this window, she had put out her little 
 lamp as a measure of economy, for the olive 
 oil universally burned in Tuscany is an ex- 
 pensive article ; and the quantity saved by 
 leaving the moon to do its office might suf- 
 fice for the salad for the morrow's meal. As 
 she sat there motionless, while her thoughts 
 flitted from the somewhat alarming engage- 
 ment to be fulfilled on the next day, to 
 castle-building fancies respecting her own 
 and Pippo's future, but with her ear uncon- 
 sciously on the watch the while for his ex- 
 pected footstep on the stair, there was an airy 
 tenuity of outline about the slender white-
 
 220 La Beata. 
 
 robed figure, ghostly pale in the pale white 
 Kght, that so perfectly represented the idea 
 poetical fancy is wont to form of a disem- 
 bodied spu'it, as to have startled any one 
 entering the chamber with a frame of mind 
 at all attuned to such imaginings. 
 
 Pippo's mind as he came in was busied, 
 however, with thoughts of a very different 
 order. La Beata started up to meet him, 
 and instantly perceived that something was 
 amiss. Instead of the joyous noisy good- 
 humom- with which he had latterly been 
 wont to come home full of the little cafd 
 triumphs of the evening, there was a heavy 
 frown on his brow, and he was strangely 
 sparing of words. 
 
 f "What is it, Pippo mio?" asked Tina, 
 tenderly. " Something has gone wrong ! 
 Something has vexed you, Pippo !" 
 
 " Gone wrong !" cried Pippo throwing 
 himself on the old sofa ; " things always do 
 go wrong, when people .... I'll tell you
 
 La Beata. 221 
 
 what it is, Tina, you are not looking well ! 
 You are not strong, and if you won't think 
 for yourself, others must think for you." 
 
 La Beata was utterly amazed at this en- 
 tirely new notion. It had never occurred to 
 Pippo to fancy her ill before, or to take any 
 special heed to her health. And now there 
 was more of discontent and almost displea- 
 sure in his manner than of any appearance 
 of affectionate solicitude. 
 
 " My own dear Pippo !" said she, " what 
 has put such a notion into your head ? I am 
 quite as well as usual, trust me I am." 
 
 *' I tell you that your look does not please 
 me. You have been changing for the worse 
 for some time past. Perhaps this cold barn 
 of a place does not agree with you. I am 
 sure you are not well ; and I don't think you 
 are in a fit state to take the fatigue of going 
 out to sit for these English people." 
 
 "But we have promised, have we not? 
 I must go. And believe me, Pippo dear,
 
 222 La Beata. 
 
 you have taken a notion into your head with- 
 out any reason. Trust me, my own, I am 
 just the same as I always am. I have no- 
 thing the matter with me." 
 
 " But I won't trust you at all upon the 
 subject, Tina. I think you are not strong 
 enough to undertake this job. I don't choose 
 you to do it. And I shall write to-morrow 
 to Mr. Patringham to tell him that you are 
 not in health to justify your waiting on his 
 daughter." 
 
 Tina was utterly astounded, and could not 
 help feeling persuaded that there was some- 
 thing behind which Pippo did not think fit 
 to tell her. But this last declaration of his 
 sovereign will on the subject was decisive. 
 And Tina would as soon have thought of re- 
 belling against fate as against his will and 
 pleasure. As far as her own little private 
 preference was concerned, she was not sorry 
 to escape from a duty which her shyness 
 made painful to her. And had it not been
 
 La Beata. 223 
 
 that she was haunted by a feelmg that the 
 real truth of the matter had not been told 
 her, and that something evil or disagreeable 
 had happened to cause this sudden change 
 in Pippo's plans, she would have been well 
 contented with his decision. As it was, she 
 could only acquiesce and declare her readi- 
 ness to be ruled by him in all things. 
 
 The next morning when Pippo sat down 
 to write his note to Mr, Patringham, an un- 
 foreseen difficulty presented itself before him. 
 It was absolutely necessary to speak of La 
 Beata by name. By what name, style, or 
 title should he speak of her ? The English- 
 man conceived that he had been told that 
 she was his wife. Was it possible so to write 
 as to leave this to be supposed, without ab- 
 solutely saying as much in words ? He could 
 find no way of doing this. Every phrase 
 that he could think of, short of writing " my 
 mfe " or " Sig'' Lonari " seemed clearly to 
 lead to a suspicion of the truth. And the
 
 224 La Beata. 
 
 first of all necessities was to avoid incurring 
 the displeasure of Mr. Patringham. Then he 
 reflected that in any case it would be neces- 
 sary to avoid any further meeting at any 
 time between La Beata and the Patringham 
 family. The mistake, as he called it to him- 
 self, need never be found but at all. So at 
 last he decided on writing that he was very 
 sorry to say that Ms wife was very unwell, 
 and that the state of her health must unfor- 
 tunately prevent her from availing herself of 
 Mr. Patringham's kind proposal. 
 
 La Beata had observed the length of time 
 and consideration which this note had cost 
 Pippo ; as also that he sealed and carried it 
 down stairs to find some means of sending it, 
 without either showing it to her, or making 
 any observation as to its contents. And it 
 was impossible but that those unusual cir- 
 cumstances should add to the mystification 
 and misgiving which oppressed her. Shortly 
 after sending his note, and again impressing
 
 La Beata. 225 
 
 on her the fact that she was very unwell, 
 Pippo went out, and she was left to her knit- 
 tmg and solitary meditations. 
 
 Pippo wished on his part to indulge also 
 in meditations, which could, he felt, be more 
 freely pursued elsewhere than in his home, 
 in company with La Beata. 
 
 What a providential mercy it was, that he 
 had been warned in time of the scrape he 
 was on the point of getting into with Mr. 
 Patringham ! It might have ruined all his 
 hopes. What queer people they must be, 
 these English milordi ! Wliat the devil could 
 it matter to them on what terms he and La 
 Beata lived together ? But what would one 
 have ? It was their way of thinking. And 
 seeing that they and those like them were 
 the people who could make or mar one's 
 fortunes, it was necessary to fall in with 
 their prejudices. Tlien his thoughts reverted 
 to old Laudadio and the conversation of the 
 preceding evening. What, if the old man 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 La Beata. 
 
 were really beginning to think that he might 
 find a worse son-in-law than the rising ar- 
 tist ? What, if Beppina really had thought 
 of him and their old playfellow days more 
 than he had ever thought of her? These 
 were golden visions, indeed ! And it seemed 
 that there was nothing very improbable in 
 them. It was evident, at all events, that the 
 old wax-chandler meant to take him by the 
 hand. But then it must be adieu, once for 
 all, to "La Boheme " and its ways and asso- 
 ciations. Laudadio Benincasa's son-in-law' 
 must be a respectable and respected citizen. 
 And then he saw himself, in imagination, 
 installed in that very desirable and worship- 
 ful position. He should continue to work at 
 his profession, of course — but it would be 
 more for love of art than for profit. He 
 would from time to time produce a great 
 picture, which should set all Florence talk- 
 ing ; and might perhaps be induced to exe- 
 cute some work occasionally for English
 
 La Beata. 227 
 
 or American amateurs, who would strive to 
 tempt him by fabulous prices to undertake 
 commissions for them. The first floor of the 
 old palace over the eereria would make a 
 charming residence. The light in the rooms 
 Oft the garden front was all that could be 
 desired. But those banking people who 
 rented it. Had they a lease ? That was the 
 principal question. 
 
 And then as he was crossing the south- 
 east corner of the cathedral piazza towards 
 the Via del Proconsolo, immersed in these 
 thoughts, the course of them was broken by 
 the passing of a " Misericordia " procession, 
 which was defiling from out of the "Via 
 Buia " * into the piazza. 
 
 Few persons can have ever visited Flo- 
 rence without having seen and been struck 
 by these dismally funereal processions tra- 
 versing the streets on their eiTands of mercy. 
 
 * Or Dark street : so called from its narrowness. 
 It opens into the Piazza del Duomo, at right angles 
 with the Via del Proconsolo.
 
 228 La Beata. 
 
 The " Misericordia " is a brotherhood, con- 
 sisting of Florentines of all ranks and pro- 
 fessions, vowed to the ministering to and 
 relieving certain forms of distress and cala- 
 mity. It dates from the. 13th centur}^, and 
 has ever been one of the most unexception- 
 able forms in which the spirit of Eoman 
 CathoKc charity has manifested itself. The 
 ofBce which the Society principally proposed 
 to itself to undertake, at the time of its foun- 
 dation five himdred years ago, was the burial 
 of the dead. It arose from the urgent need 
 that existed for some more efficient means 
 to this end. The most destructive of aU the 
 great pestilences which desolated Florence 
 again and again during the middle ages 
 was then raging, and the dead were lying 
 unburied in the streets of the city. Those 
 whose ofBce it was to bury them in normal 
 times, had themselves fallen victims to the 
 pestilence ; and the duty of handling or even 
 approaching the decomposing bodies was a
 
 La Beata. 229 
 
 fearfully perilous one. It was under these 
 circumstances that the " Arch-confraternity 
 of the Misericordia " was instituted. But in 
 process of time, as the better organization of 
 society has rendered this especial " act of 
 rnercy" unnecessary, the task which the 
 brotherhood now chiefly propose to them- 
 selves is the immediate attendance on the 
 spot where any accident or sudden stroke 
 of illness has occurred, and the transport of 
 the sufferer to the hospital, or to his home, 
 as the case may require, in their litters borne 
 on the shoulders of six or eight of the 
 brethren. They also attend, whenever sum- 
 moned, to transport the sick, when neces- 
 sary, from their homes to the hospitals. And 
 this latter form of assistance is that which 
 they are in these days most frequently called 
 on to render. Notice is sent to their office, 
 head-quarters, or oratory — for the place par- 
 takes of the nature of all these, — which is 
 situated on the south side of the cathedral
 
 230 La Beata. 
 
 piazza, to the effect tliat the services of the 
 IVIisericordia are needed in such or such a 
 house in any part of the city. A large deep- 
 toned bell, whose hoding boom is well known 
 to all dwellers in Florence, is immediately 
 tolled to call those of the brethren who are 
 " on the roster " for that week. One toll of 
 the bell announces a call for the transport of 
 a sick person to the hospital. Two strokes 
 tell that an accident, such as a broken limb, 
 or other, has occurred ; and three that a 
 sudden death in some place, requiring im- 
 mediate removal of the dead, has happened. 
 But the especial characteristic and pecu- 
 liarity of this ancient brotherhood is the care 
 that is taken to provide against the good 
 deeds done by its members being " seen of 
 men." Each member, when, on hearing the 
 fatal bell, he hurries to the place of rendez- 
 vous above mentioned, finds there ready for 
 him a black linen gown, which descends to 
 his feet, and a black peaked hood, with two
 
 La Beata. 231 
 
 holes in it for the eyes to look tliroiigh, 
 which he forthAvith puts on, and becomes at 
 once irrecognizable by his most intimate 
 acquaintance. The black figures, some twelve 
 or twenty in number, form themselves 
 silently into procession, lift on the shoulders 
 of six or eight among them a covered litter 
 all black like tliemselves, and proceed in 
 complete silence to the place where then* 
 services are required. And every hat is 
 doffed, even by those who treat other eccle- 
 siastical personages and corporations with 
 scant reverence, as the funereal looking pro- 
 cession passes; and every carriage draws 
 aside to leave the way clear for the bearers 
 of aid and consolation to the wretched. For 
 the brotherhood of the " Misericordia " has 
 in all ages stood very high in the good 
 opinion of Florentines ; and to be a member 
 of it is an undoubted mark of respectability, 
 and passport to consideration. 
 
 Pippo faced towards the procession, and
 
 232 La Beata. 
 
 lifted his hat respectfully as it passed ; and 
 the thought struck him, as he did so : — Why 
 should not I become a member of the Miseri- 
 cordia ? One ought to do some good in the 
 world. It would be exactly the thing to 
 please old Laudadio ; just the very thing to 
 indicate an intention of reforming oneseK, 
 and becoming a steady and respected mem- 
 ber of society. I will speak to him about it 
 this evening. 
 
 And with this thought in his head Pippo 
 pursued his way down the Via del Procmsolo 
 till he came to the corner at which the Corso 
 falls into it. He turned up the latter street? 
 and, slowly strolling along the north side of 
 it, turned into the shop of Beppo Vanni the 
 colourman, which, it will be remembered, 
 was just opposite the apartment in which the 
 widow Leti and her daughter had lived and 
 carried on then- business of artificial flower 
 making. 
 
 Old Vanni was not in the shop himself;
 
 La Beata. 233 
 
 but Pippo, who, like most of the artists in 
 ■Florence, was more or less known there, 
 entered into some trivial talk with the shop- 
 man, and presently asked who was living in 
 the rooms opposite which had been uihabited 
 by the widow Leti some years ago, and if the 
 same trade was still carried on there. 
 
 He was told that another lone widow had 
 succeeded to La Vedova Leti, and that, as he 
 had supposed likely, she was engaged in the 
 same business. It is frequently the case 
 that when the tenant of an apartment in 
 which any trade has been long carried on 
 vacates it by death or otherwise, the dwelling 
 is let to some other follower of the same 
 calling, anxious to profit by the connection 
 which may adhere to the locality. La reply 
 to further inquiries, he further learned that 
 the woman's name was Marta Sappi, and 
 that she lived entirely alone. 
 
 Having ascertained these facts, he left the 
 shop, and continued his stroll more deeply 
 immersed in thought than ever.
 
 234 La Beata. 
 
 Pippo, to do liim justice, liad been and 
 was an industrious labourer at his easel. 
 His habit was to spend the entu-e morning 
 in his studio, while La Beata busied herself 
 about the duties of their little household, sat 
 to Pippo as a model, saWied forth, basket on 
 arm, to make any small purchases which 
 might be required, or finally indulged in her 
 chief pleasure of sitting with her knitting in 
 her hand by the side of his easel, and chat- 
 ting of the progress and hopes and fears 
 connected with the work in hand. On the 
 day in question, however, he did not return 
 home, but spent the entire day after his visit 
 to the shop in the Corso in lounging from 
 one to another of the stuchos of his acquaint- 
 ances. Between four and five he joined two 
 or three of these who were going to dine at a 
 modest eating-house, and it was not till 
 near seven, and long after it was dark at 
 that season, that he returned to his studio. 
 
 " Oh ! Pippo I where have you been ? 
 Thank God you are come home at last!
 
 La Beata. 235 
 
 What has happened to keep you out all 
 day ? " burst out poor Tina, when he entered 
 the door. She had not lit any lamp, but had 
 been walking up and down the huge nearly 
 dark room ever since she could no longer 
 see to do her knitting. 
 
 " Wliy should anything special have hap- 
 pened ? " returned Pippo, in no very kind 
 tone of voice. " I had business to attend to. 
 You can't suppose that things are to go on 
 for ever as they have done. It is absolutely 
 necessary that I should show myself a little 
 in the world. Many things that suited me 
 well enough when I was a poor devil, whose 
 existence was known only to two or three 
 thieves of picture-dealers, won't do now that 
 I have a footing in quite a different world. 
 I don't know that I shall stay in this barn of 
 a place." 
 
 "Caro mio! it is such a beautiful light 
 for work here ! Do you think that we shall 
 get anything that will suit us as well ? We
 
 236 La Beata. 
 
 have been very, veiy happy here, Pippo mio ! " 
 And there was an unacknowledged something 
 at her heart, that made her voice full of tears, 
 as she remembered this happiness. "But 
 you know best, dear Pippo," she added, 
 " and ^yill do what is best, as you always do." 
 • " Happy ! yes ! I am sure I have done 
 my best to make you happy, Tina, while we 
 have lived together here. But one cannot 
 always think of happiness. One must think 
 of duty also sometimes. Now, I am going 
 to see Signer Laudadio on business, and must 
 make myself a little decent. Where are my 
 thhigs?" 
 
 " But have you eaten, Pippo ? " she said, 
 as she hastened to Kght a lamp. *' Had you 
 not better have sometliing to eat before going 
 out?" 
 
 " I have dined, of course," said he, snap- 
 pishly, " and I suppose you have too ! " 
 
 " I, Pippo ! without you ! " cried poor Tina, 
 more and more amazed at every fresh mani-
 
 La Beata. 237 
 
 festation of what seemed to her a total revo- 
 lution in her little world. '' I waited for you." 
 
 " Upon my soul one would think you 
 wanted to vex one ! Surely you might have 
 guessed that I was kept from coming home ! " 
 said he. 
 
 It was with difficulty that she could re- 
 strain herself from bursting into tears ; but 
 her utter bewilderment prevented her mind 
 from realizing at once the whole weight of 
 the misery involved in the harsh unkuidness 
 of his manner. But all this time she was 
 active in helping him to make his toUette, 
 taking his clothes from the drawers, brushing 
 the smallest speck of dust from the carefully 
 laid up best coat, and busy about all those 
 numberless and nameless little feminine cares 
 and offices which are so far more efficient 
 to the end in view, and so infinitely more 
 agreeable in the ministering of them, than 
 the service of the best-drilled valet that ever 
 brushed a coat.
 
 238 
 
 La Beata. 
 
 So entire and unreserved had been La 
 Beata's belief and faith that the connection 
 between her and Pippo was necessarily and 
 indefeasibly one for hfe, indissoluble by the 
 very nature of things — so completely did she 
 still regard it as such — that no sentiment of 
 jealousy had ever entered her heart. She 
 would as easily have imagined that mischief 
 and danger might arise from her being in 
 company with other men, as have conceived 
 the idea that harm could come to her from 
 his associating with other women. It is 
 surely a mistake to consider jealousy as be- 
 tween man and woman a sentiment special 
 in its kind and universally implanted in 
 human nature. It is only a fear, generated, 
 like all other fears, by the observation of 
 dangers seen to be real in the world around 
 us, and would disappear from the human 
 mind as the occuiTence in the world of the 
 evils feared should become rare. In the 
 mean time, each mamed man or woman is
 
 La Beata, 239 
 
 free from the scourge in very fair proportion 
 to the elevation and justice of their concep- 
 tion of the marriage tie. 
 
 La Bqata had never felt jealousy. Had 
 the sentiment been known to her, it might 
 have occurred to her to guess that Pijjpo 
 would hardly have been as anxious as he 
 evidently was about his toilette, had old 
 Laudadio been the sole object of his visit. 
 Assuredly a woman in her position, a little 
 wiser in the world's bad teachmg, would not 
 have put the finishing stroke to her work 
 by making him sit down while she retraced 
 the partmg in his hau-, and carefully aiTanged 
 the handsome abundance of black curling 
 locks to the best advantage. 
 
 Poor guileless Httle Tina ! Poor, as we 
 say, not perhaps without a touch of con- 
 tempt m our compassion ; yet how infinitely 
 rich, come what come might, in her mcapabi- 
 lity of conceiving the fate which threatened 
 her!
 
 '240 La Beata. 
 
 So Pippo went forth, armed for conquest, 
 to fulfil liis engagement at the cereria. 
 
 He found Signor Laudadio sitting in a 
 little glazed box, partitioned off one corner 
 of the immense shop, in deep conference 
 with a priest, whose spruce neatness con- 
 trasted with the rusty shabbiness of the 
 wealthy old trader very strikingly. He got 
 up to go when Pippo made his appearance, 
 and Signor Laudadio, merely giving the 
 latter a nod of welcome, obsequiously limped 
 by the side of him across the wide floor of 
 the shop to the door. Ai-rived there, the 
 priest took him by the button, and they 
 remained on the door-step talking in low 
 voices for a long while, as Tuscans will, 
 appearing never able to bring their talking 
 to an end. At last, slightly touching his 
 huge glossy tliree-cornered hat in return for 
 old Laudadio's reverential bow, the smart 
 ecclesiastic walked off, and the wax-chandler 
 tiumed to receive his other visitor.
 
 La Beata. 241 
 
 "Good evening, Sor' Pippo ! You'll 
 excuse me if I clid not welcome you before ; 
 you saw how I was engaged. Do you know 
 his reverence ? No ! Ah, well ! perhaps 
 you may some day. That is the sort of 
 people, Sig-nor Pippo, whom it is good to 
 know." 
 
 " To be sure ! To whom do you say so, 
 my good sir ?* To stand well in such quarters 
 is just what is needed to a rising man in my 
 position. But who is he ?" 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! Wlio is he ? and what could 
 such a one as he have to talk about for a 
 good half-hour with old Laudadio Benincasa ? 
 All in good time, my young friend ! all in 
 good time ! But now come in, and see 
 Beppina, and have a spell of chat." 
 
 And so saying he led the way, pounding 
 the brick floor sonorously with his stick as 
 
 * A common Florentine phrase, meaning, " there 
 is no need to tell me, who am well persuaded of it." 
 It is a strong form of assent. 
 
 VOL. I. *^ R
 
 242 La Beata. 
 
 he went, through a door of comnmnication 
 wdth the dwelling-rooms behind the shop 
 and warehouse. The large and well pro- 
 portioned chamber to wliich he brought his 
 visitor was a very pretty one in summer, 
 when the large windows communicating with 
 the garden beyond it were open. But now 
 that these were closed and curtainless, it 
 had, to English eyes at least, a somewhat 
 bare and bleak appearance. There was no 
 fireplace ; and the handsomely painted and 
 varnished brick floor was uncovered save by 
 three or four little squares of carpet, one 
 before the music-stool in front of a grand 
 piano, and the others before three or four 
 large chairs placed in a semicircle facing a 
 huge old-fashioned sofa with its back to the 
 wall. On a large and handsome console 
 with richly carved gilt legs, and a magnifi- 
 cent slab of giallo antico marble, surmounted 
 by an immense mirror in a splendidly carved 
 gilt frame, on the opposite side of the room,
 
 La Beata. 243 
 
 was S3nnmetrically ranged a tea service of 
 gaudily painted, but very ordinary French 
 porcelain, with its tall square-shaped tea- 
 pot in the centre. The superb piece of 
 furniture had been placed there some century 
 afid a half ago probably by the then owners 
 of the palace ; while the tea-things were 
 the contribution of Signor Laudadio himself ; 
 and the contrast between the console and its 
 burthen was not greater than that between 
 the former and j)resent masters of the house. 
 In the centre of the room there was a marble 
 table with a large lamp in the middle of it. 
 This, however, was not lighted; its office 
 being performed by a couple of the tall brass 
 lamps described on a former occasion, one 
 on the pianoforte, and the other brought in 
 with him bv the old wax- chandler. There 
 were some loose sheets of music on the 
 piano, but no other book of any sort, or any 
 token of domestic occupation whatever. On 
 the walls were a few tolerable old pictures
 
 244 La Beata. 
 
 of sacred subjects, interspersed with several 
 intolerable framed French lithographs of 
 battles. In the middle of the great sofa sat 
 Bepj)ina yawning, but very patiently and 
 very evidently awaiting the expected visitor, 
 and far too simple and unsophisticated to 
 make any attempt at pretending to be doing 
 anything else besides waiting for him. 
 
 " Eccolo !" cried the old man as he 
 entered ; " here he is, Beppma ! This is the 
 gentleman who sells his pictures before they 
 are off the easel, and has carriages full of 
 English ladies at the door of his studio." 
 
 " Good evening. Signer Pijipo," said 
 Beppina ; " truly it is a pleasure to see you 
 again. You won't find things so much 
 changed here as they tell me they are with 
 you." 
 
 " But to me it seems that the change is 
 at least as great here," said Pippo, with a 
 very plain-speaking look of admiration at 
 the young lady. She understood the im-
 
 La Beata. 245 
 
 plied compliment perfectly well, and smiled 
 with pleasure, not the least caring to appear 
 unconscious of his meaning. 
 
 " It pleases you to say so," she replied ; 
 " ma die / * I am just what I always was." 
 
 " Always the same charming little person- 
 age, no doubt. But in truth without com- 
 pliment, Signora Beppina, you have reason 
 to be content with the years that have 
 changed a pretty child into a very lovely 
 woman." 
 
 And Pippo's very j)lain-spoken homage 
 said nothing more than the truth, and 
 nothing that was inconsistent with the 
 simple and unaffected Italian ideas of what 
 is permissible in such cases. 
 
 Beppina had, in fact, gi-own into a very 
 pretty gud. She was a bright richly- 
 colom-ed Little brunette, with brilliant black 
 eyes sparkling with vivacity and good 
 
 * Literally " but, what !" a constantly recurring 
 exclamation in Tuscan conversation.
 
 246 La Beata. 
 
 humour. Her small person was a little 
 inclined to embonpoint, but not more so as 
 yet than to give that idea of rounded, soft, 
 dimpled, partridge-like plumpness, which to 
 some eyes is the perfection of youthful 
 beauty. Pretty little small-boned well- 
 fleshed hands and feet, a thoroughly good- 
 natured mouth almost always dimpled with 
 smiles, and showing a brilliant set of white 
 little teeth, made up a very complete speci- 
 men of the " beaute du diable " description. 
 
 " But you ! you have changed into a 
 great man, they tell me. It seems to me, 
 too, that I see some alteration hereabouts," 
 she added with a laugh in her eye, putting 
 her finger on her chin. "Does the talent 
 grow with the beard, Signer Pippo? It 
 would seem so ; and in that case you must 
 have plenty." 
 
 "Do you dislike beards, Signora Bep- 
 pma.-* 
 
 " I did not say that. But you, you know
 
 La Beata. 247 
 
 Signer Pipi^o, had no right to have any at 
 all. I am afraid yours came together with 
 all sorts of bad courses." 
 
 " But he has left all those behind now," 
 struck in old Laudadio. " It seems he has 
 t^en the path the saints marked out for 
 him, since it is leading apparently to a good 
 result. And henceforth, at all events, he 
 intends to live respectably." 
 
 " Indeed, that is my notion," said Pippo, 
 rather naively, speaking of it as a new idea, 
 which he had never yet tried ; " and that 
 puts me in mind of a matter I wanted to 
 speak to you about, my dear sir. I have 
 been thinking that I should like to become 
 a member of the Misericordia. It is a very 
 holy work, . . . and there is nothing more 
 respectable." 
 
 " Bravo, my dear Pippo ! bravo, in 
 truth !" cried the old gentleman, much de- 
 lighted; "it is a most excellent idea. 
 There are many indulgences to be enjoyed ;
 
 248 La Beata. 
 
 and, as you say, it gives a man a certain 
 character . . . ." 
 
 "Perhaps then, you, Signor Laudadio, 
 could manage . . . ." 
 
 " Don't say another word, my dear boy. 
 It shall be done. We'll put all that in the 
 right way at once. I am very glad you 
 have determined on so thoroughly desirable 
 a step. And it encourages me," he con- 
 tinued, after a pause of consideration, "to 
 speak to you at once of another matter, 
 which I had in my head, but which I had 
 intended to put off till .... in short, without 
 beating the bush about it, till I saw whether 
 you were really going to take the right end 
 of the thread to unravel the skein, Sor' Pippo. 
 You won't take it amiss; but what I was 
 thinking of would do only for somebody 
 standing well in certain quarters, you imder- 
 stand me." 
 
 Pippo did understand in a general way 
 that something advantageous might be within
 
 La Beata. 249 
 
 his reach, provided he could give sufficient 
 assurances of his intention henceforth to 
 rank himself unmistakeably among the 
 "right-thinking" members of Florentine 
 society. He must become visibly and de- 
 cidedly " res23ectable." And it must be 
 understood, that much more, or rather 
 something very different, was meant by this 
 in the Florentine world of that day than the 
 words imply in theh simple English sense. 
 Right-thinking respectability involved the 
 profession of a whole system of political and 
 rehgious faith. It was to be the known 
 adherent of the established order of things 
 in Church and State, and the friend of those 
 for whose advantage that order existed. 
 Older men than any who are likely to be 
 among the readers of these pages can remem- 
 ber a time, happily now passed away for ever, 
 when the same phrases had a very similar 
 meaning among ourselves. Nobody in Flo- 
 rence, at the time referred to, understood
 
 250 La Beata. 
 
 them in any other sense. And of course 
 one of the mischievous results of such a 
 social code was to cause the easy toleration 
 of much that was really evU among the large 
 class shut out from respectability by this 
 arbitrary definition of it, while a second was 
 seen in. a very evident tendency among those 
 who were " respectable," by virtue of their 
 opinions, to wink at the shortcomings of 
 their friends in matters which would have 
 excluded them from a class truly respectable 
 by virtue of conduct* Of com-se, also, the 
 "good things" of the world, in a state of 
 society such as that described, fall to the lot 
 of the " right thinkers ;" and men who have 
 a vigorous and vivid perception of the side 
 on which their bread is buttered, and a less 
 clear recognition of some other matters, are 
 apt at a certain period of their • Kves to re- 
 cognize the expediency of assuming the livery 
 of respectability and forswearing sack, at 
 least in pubKc.
 
 La Beata. 251 
 
 This was the desh-able state of miad of 
 which the eminently respectable wax-chand- 
 ler was anxious to assm-e himseK in his young 
 friend ; for it so happened that by means 
 of the working of some of those indirect and 
 unavowed influences, which have been de- 
 scribed as so rife in the conduct of the social 
 operations which in Catholic countries en- 
 gage a large portion of the attention of his 
 fi'iends and patrons the priests, Signer Lau- 
 dadio Benincasa had it in his power, if not 
 absolutely to dispose of, at least to influence 
 very decisively the disposition of an ex- 
 tremely important commission to some for- 
 tunate artist. But it was necessaiy, at the 
 same time, that he should be careful not to 
 compromise his own credit by the recom- 
 mendation of any but a thoroughly " right- 
 thinking " candidate. 
 
 The case was this. It had occurred to 
 " a very exalted lady," as newspaper para- 
 graphs say, to establish and bring into vogue
 
 252 La Beata. 
 
 at Florence a "new religion." Protestant 
 readers must not suppose that any funda- 
 mental change in doctrine is implied in so 
 startling a project. In Roman Catholic 
 phrase, the Franciscan order, when it was 
 first founded, was a " new religion," or new 
 rule of observance. And the scheme which 
 the exalted lady was bent on merely con- 
 sisted in bringing forward to notice a pre- 
 viously obscure saint, and getting up (under 
 distinguished patronage) a new special devo- 
 tion with liturgical ceremonies, processions, 
 anniversary days, confi-atemities, and all 
 complete — a very pleasing resource for an 
 exalted lady hard pressed to find some scope 
 for her unemployed activity. But for these 
 pious purposes a visible and attractive pre- 
 sentiment of the newly-promoted saint is 
 indispensable. The new religion must be 
 introduced to its devotees in a grand proces- 
 sion, in which the saint's banner must be 
 borne aloft adorned with his or her portrait
 
 La Beata. 253 
 
 of life-like size and attractive aspect. Now, 
 Saint Filomena was the fortunate saint, whom 
 the. . . . exalted lady, upon this occasion, 
 delighted to honour. And, accordingly, a 
 portrait of St. Filomena, to be carried in pro- 
 cession on the first day of inaugm-ation of the 
 new devotion, was needed. And this was the 
 commission which Signor Laudadio Benin- 
 casa the wax-chandler thought he could find 
 the means of putting into the hands of any 
 protege of his own who might be a worthy 
 recipient of such high patronage. And it is 
 easy to understand that the profits of such a 
 commission would not be confined to the 
 mere price to be paid for the picture wanted, 
 but would be the means, in all probability, of 
 introducing the fortunate artist to persons 
 and places Hkely in many ways to prove 
 steppiag-stones on the road to fortune. 
 
 All this old Laudadio proceeded to unfold 
 to his attentive listener with many reticences, 
 winks, and shrugs, reiterated injunctions of
 
 254 La Beata. 
 
 the discreetest silence, and no little self- 
 importance. To all which Pippo his ear 
 most seriously did incline. He perfectly 
 comprehended the whole matter before the 
 old wax-chandler had got a quarter tln-ough 
 his hints and roundabout explanations, and 
 was fully alive to all the advantages that 
 might accrue to liim from carrying out the 
 idea. He was very much persuaded, too, 
 that the far more important prize of Bep- 
 pina's hand might depend upon his success 
 or failm-e in obtaining this commission. He 
 perfectly well knew all the importance which 
 her father would attach to a connection 
 which might bring him, however remotely 
 and indirectly, into contact with the small 
 charmed cu-cle m which the exalted lady 
 aforesaid lived and moved. And he was, 
 finally, fully aware of the sort of man it was 
 necessary to appear to merit the patronage 
 proposed to him. 
 
 In short, the old man and the young one
 
 La Beata. 255 
 
 perfectly understood each other. And when 
 they parted, after a cordial invitation to 
 return and see them another evening, " when 
 they might talk of something else besides 
 business all the time," as Beppina said, had 
 bepn given by her and accepted by Pippo, 
 it was agreed that Signor Laudadio should 
 put all his wheels into motion for the attain- 
 ment of the end in view, and that the artist 
 should on his part neglect nothing which 
 could help to render him worthy of the 
 " most distinguished patronage."
 
 256 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE KETUEN TO THE OLD HOME. 
 
 It was again late before Pippo reached his 
 home. He had not returned thither imme- 
 diately on leading the cereria, but had spent 
 an hour or more in sauntering slowly up and 
 down the Lungarno, meditating deeply on 
 various matters, which he felt he could 
 debate with himself more freely in soHtude 
 than with La Beata at his elbow, and be- 
 neath the roof-tree of their common home. 
 
 When at length he entered the studio, he 
 found La Beata again waiting for him, as on 
 the preceding evening. But she had fallen 
 into so deep a sleep on her chair, that the
 
 La Beata, 257 
 
 noise of liis entrance failed to wake lier. In 
 fact she was utterly exhausted. What with 
 the unwonted vigil of the previous niglit, the 
 harassing and painful ponderings and mis- 
 givings which had occupied her mind all the 
 day, and, above all, her state of inanition from 
 absolute want of food, she was in a fair way 
 to be really as ill as Pippo had insisted on 
 making her out to be when he decided that 
 she should not fuliil her engagement to Mr. 
 Patringham, He would have been truly 
 shocked had it occm'red to him to guess the 
 last of these causes of her exhaustion. WTien 
 he had been vexed at iinding that she had 
 fasted while he had been dining at the eating- 
 house, and, wholly absorbed in his prepara- 
 tions for his evening visit, had left her with- 
 out saying anything fm'ther on the subject, 
 he supposed — if he can be said to have sup- 
 posed anything on a subject on which his 
 mind had never rested for a moment — that 
 of course she would take some food as soon 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 La Beata. 
 
 as he was gone. At all events his thought 
 on the matter had not gone to the extent of 
 reminding him that there was no article of 
 food of any sort in the house, and that poor 
 Tina was absolutely without the means of 
 procuring any. Perhaps he might have had 
 some reason to find fault with her for not 
 having reminded him of these facts ; but in 
 truth it was from no shadow of an idea of 
 " playing victim " that she had omitted to do 
 so. It was simply that her mind had been 
 too thoroughly filled with other, and, despite 
 the urgency of her bodily need, more engross- 
 ing thoughts. She had remembered no- 
 thing more about her fasting condition, when 
 he had left her ; but Nature had not forgot- 
 ten to exact the penalty of neglecting her 
 requirements. 
 
 " What, Tina ! not gone to bed !" said he, 
 crossing the room and laying his hand on her 
 shoulder. "It would have been better to 
 sleep in bed than on the chair, wouldn't it ?"
 
 La Beata. 259 
 
 " Pippo dearest ! I am glad you have come ! 
 I don't know how I fell asleep. Is it late ?" 
 she said, rousing herself, and rising from her 
 chair. " I am afraid I am not quite well, 
 Pippo !" she added, putting her shaking little 
 thin hand on his arm ; " my head goes round, 
 and my legs seem to give way under me. 
 Help me to bed, Pippo, my own love !" 
 
 Pippo perhaps felt at that moment that a 
 certain amount of " firmness " is sometimes 
 needed for the operation of " getting off with 
 the old love before one gets on with the new." 
 He had, however, sufficient presence of mind 
 — a fine quality, as all the world knows — 
 to turn poor Tina's confession of illness to 
 immediate use for the furtherance of the 
 business in hand. 
 
 " Well ! I told you you were not well ! 
 I knew it was so this morning. This great 
 cold garret don't do for you. I meant to 
 have spoken to you to-night, Tina, about .... 
 several matters I have been tliinking of.
 
 260 La Beata. 
 
 But you are too ill now. Let us hope you 
 will feel better to-morrow morning." 
 
 " I shall be quite well by to-morrow morn- 
 ing, Pippo, dear !" she said. " But let me 
 get to bed now." 
 
 The next morning, "Nature's sweet re- 
 storer " had in some degree done its usual 
 work. La Beata did feel better. But as 
 still an exceeding sense of fatigue and lan- 
 guor was heavy on her, she decided on re- 
 maining in bed a few hours later than usual ; 
 and Pippo brought her a roll and some coffee 
 to her bedside. Just as she had taken this 
 breakfast, and was declaring that she felt so 
 much the better for it that she would get up, 
 there came a ring at the door of the studio ; 
 and Pippo, on going to see who was there, 
 found the same servant in livery who had 
 before accomj^anied the Patringham car- 
 riage. 
 
 He brought a note from Mr. Patringham 
 to Signer Lonari, expressing the concern of 
 
 I
 
 La Beata. 261 
 
 that gentleman and his family at Signora 
 Lonari's indisposition, and offering, on the 
 part of Mrs. Patringham, a visit to the invalid, 
 if she could be of any service or comfort to 
 her. Miss Patringham would not think, the 
 i^ote said, of attempting to supply the place 
 of Signora Lonari, being sure that she should 
 find no one who would please her so well ; 
 and they all trusted that in a few days Sig- 
 nora Lonari would be sufficiently recovered to 
 permit of her carrying out the proposed sit- 
 tings, which should be managed, Mr. Patring- 
 ham begged to assure SigTior Lonari, with 
 every regard to his wife's delicate health. 
 
 " What a piece of good luck that the door 
 had not been opened to the servant by La 
 Beata going about as well as usual ; — as 
 would have been the case yesterday, or an 
 hour or two later to-day !" 
 
 That was the first thought that rushed 
 through Pippo's mind. The second reverted 
 to the answer to be returned to the note.
 
 262 La Beatd. 
 
 It was a disagreeable note to write. There 
 was again the necessity of alluding to La 
 Beata as his wife, which he had been so re- 
 luctant to do in wi'iting on the former occa- 
 sion. Then the suggested visit had to be 
 decisively avoided. And in the third place, 
 it was necessary to hold out as little expecta- 
 tion as possible that La Beata would at any 
 future time be able to fulfil her engagement. 
 
 " Where's the ink, Tina ?" he caUed out 
 to her in the inner room, or rather the en- 
 closed corner of the large room ; " I must 
 write a note to these people, — the English 
 family. They still want you to go to them. 
 I wish people would take No for an answer. 
 I must tell them that you are ill m bed." 
 
 " You will find the ink on a ledge of the 
 large window, dear. But, Pippo dearest, I 
 feel quite well now. Would it not be better 
 to say that I will go to them to-morrow, if 
 that will suit ?" 
 
 "A pretty thing! and you lying there
 
 La Beata. 263 
 
 in your bed ! What the deuce makes you 
 so eager to go gadding after these English 
 people, I wonder ?" 
 
 Poor Tina was, in truth, very far from eager 
 to do anything of the kind. She was only 
 anxious that a scheme by which it was pro- 
 posed that she should contribute something 
 to the common stock, should not be thrown 
 up on a mistaken notion that she was unable 
 to undertake it. 
 
 " It's only that I am quite able to earn 
 the money, dear Pippo. We should be very 
 glad of it, caro mior 
 
 " I'll write what's best," said he ; and sit- 
 ting down, he produced, after some medita- 
 tion and several corrections, the following 
 letter. 
 
 " Most illustrious Sir,* 
 
 " The invalid for whom you have so 
 
 * The ordinary Italian style of address to one 
 with whom the writer is but shghtly acquainted, 
 or to one somewhat superior to the writer in social 
 position.
 
 264 La Beata. 
 
 Ivindly inquired is, I am sorry to say, still 
 very unwell, so much so as, I fear, to leave 
 little hope that she should be able to think 
 for a long while to come of any such engage- 
 ment as that you were land enough to pro- 
 pose to her. If she does not accept the very 
 condescending offer of your most amiable 
 lady to visit her, I beg you to believe that 
 it is not because she is insensible to the kind- 
 ness of it. But, thank God! she is suf- 
 ficiently well cared for by those on whom 
 such duty naturally falls — {a chi spetta tal 
 ufficio, were the words) ; — and it is, moreover, 
 probable, that she will not remain where, 
 as must have been but too visible to you 
 when you honoured me with a visit, there are 
 small means of affording her the comfort 
 her delicate health renders necessary for 
 her. 
 
 " Eepeating therefore, most illustrious Sir, 
 the expression of my thanks for the kindness 
 tvhich has prompted your letter, I conclude
 
 La Beata. 265 
 
 by declaring myself, with sentiments of the 
 profoundest respect, 
 
 " Your most devoted servant, 
 
 " FiLIPPO LONARI, 
 
 " Painter. 
 . "No. 3497. Via dell' Amore. 3rd floor." 
 As soon as Mr. Patringham's servant had 
 departed with this letter, fau'ly copied out, 
 sealed with a magnificent coat of arms from 
 a huge seal ring on Pippo's finger, and ad- 
 dressed — 
 
 " Alia Sua Eccellenza 
 
 L'lUustrissimo Signore 
 II Sig'" Conte Patringham, 
 Citta," 
 Pippo asked La Beata if she felt able to get 
 up ; and on her declaring that she now felt 
 perfectly well, he said that he must go out 
 on business, and should be back in an hour, 
 when he should hope to find her di'essed. 
 
 So saying he took his hat, and walked 
 again, as the day before, in the direction of
 
 266 4 La Beata. 
 
 the Via del Cor so. He did not go the short- 
 est way thither, however, but strolled all 
 round the cathedral, witli his eyes on the 
 pavement, and apparently in deep thought. 
 At last he came to the destination he had 
 been in so little haste to reach; and this 
 time entered not the colour-shop but the 
 door opposite ; and, climbing to the second 
 story, asked if the widow Sappi lived there. 
 
 " Here ! at your service, sir," said an ema- 
 ciated and poverty-stricken but cleanly look- 
 ing woman past middle age. 
 
 " You are the Signora Sappi ? If you will 
 permit me, I want to speak on a matter of 
 business with you a few minutes, — a small 
 affau", which perhaps may be of advantage 
 to you. I am Filippo Lonari, painter. You 
 may have heard my name." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, sir ; I know your name," said 
 the little Avoman, as she led the way into 
 her room, and swept an apron full of the 
 materials of her trade off a chair, that she
 
 La Beata. 267 
 
 might offer it to her visitor. The vedova 
 Sappi had, in fact, heard of Pippo Lonari not 
 as the successful and rising artist of that 
 name, but as the " damo " of Nunziatina 
 Leti, the daughter of her predecessor in the 
 room and business. And Signora Sappi 
 already had a shi-ewd idea of the nature of 
 the business on which the young artist had 
 come to her ; for she had lived more than 
 fifty years in the world, and had competent 
 experience of some at least of the ways 
 of it. 
 
 " You carry on the flower-making trade, 
 as the widow Leti did," said Pippo, sitting 
 down ; " one can live by it ; but not over 
 well, I am afraid." 
 
 " Yes ! one lives, Signor, as you see. But 
 as for weU! Holy Virgin! It is a hard 
 struggle to live at all !" 
 
 "You are all alone, you see, Signora 
 Sappi; and that makes the matter worse 
 for you than it was for Signora Leti, poor
 
 268 La Beata. 
 
 soul ! Now listen. I will tell you in two 
 words v/liat I liave come to say to you. I 
 dare say you know that La Nunziatina Leti 
 and I have been together since the death of 
 her mother. She is an angel, poveretta ! 
 truly one of God's angels. And it breaks my 
 heart to see that she is ill off at that great 
 barn of a studio of mine. She is delicate, and 
 it don't suit her, poor little thing. Now you 
 know most likely, before I tell you, that she 
 was the main support of the old woman's 
 business here. She is full of talent, and 
 understands yom* flower making as few do. 
 She has so much taste ! Now, in short, my 
 idea is that she should come and live with 
 you. You shall give her only board and 
 lodging, and she shall help you in your 
 manufacture. The lodging will cost you 
 nothing. And I need not say that the keep 
 of the poor little thing is scarcely more. I 
 shall of course take care that all her other 
 wants are suppUed. She stands a great deal
 
 La Beata. 269 
 
 too near my heart for me to neglect her ! 
 What do you say ? Is it a bargain ?" 
 
 The proposal was far too evidently an 
 advantageous one for poor vedova Sappi for 
 her to doubt about accepting it. She knew 
 very well the reputation which little Nina 
 Leti had left in the neighbourhood; — her 
 gentle docility, unwearied industry, and 
 dainty fancy in the delicate manufacture by 
 which she earned her living. And these good 
 qualities were to be turned to her profit, at 
 the simple cost of affording her shelter and 
 a modicum of food. There could be no hesi- 
 tation about the matter. So it was arranged 
 that Signora Sappi should be ready to receive 
 La Beata at once, on her coming to her, — 
 probably, said Pippo, with some httle hesita- 
 tion, that same day. 
 
 Was it that he feared he might have some 
 difficulty in thus quietly sending La Beata 
 back again to the spot and the life from 
 which he had taken her, as soon as it became
 
 270 La Beata. 
 
 convenient to him to do so ? Had he any 
 perception of the dull cold misery of the 
 death in life to which he was about to con- 
 sign the gentle, loving heart, whose only 
 sunshine was the light of his presence and 
 the warmth of his affection ? Did he at all 
 realize the conditions of her return to that 
 well remembered dwelling and those patient 
 labours of her young years under circum- 
 stances so terribly different? If the long, 
 prison-li]%e hours and patient monotonous 
 labour of that weary, sunless life had so 
 paled that delicate organization both physi- 
 cally and intellectually, that no subsequent 
 removal to open air and sunshine could 
 avail to restore the flower to colour and 
 vigour, even under the different conditions 
 of those early years, what would be the 
 effect of them now ? Then if the stimulus of 
 hope was absent, at least the canker of regret 
 was absent also. Then there was a mother to 
 love, and to labour for. Then if there had
 
 La Beata. 271 
 
 been little brightness in the future, there 
 were no black shadows in the past. But 
 now ! Now, what would the life be in that 
 home so full of old memories, and to her so 
 empty of all else ? Did some imperfect con- 
 ception of the lot to which he was about to 
 condemn her so thrust itself before his ima- 
 gination, despite liis will, as to cause a doubt 
 whether he might be able to consummate 
 the instant execution of the sentence ? If so, 
 he had not even yet learned to appreciate 
 justly the entirety of her devotion, her capa- 
 city of self-abnegation, and absolute trust. 
 
 In retm'ning to the studio, as in coming 
 from it, he did not choose the shortest way. 
 Some feeling there was, which made him 
 unconsciously seek to defer by a few minutes 
 the execution of his purpose. Some brief 
 space he felt that he needed to prepare him- 
 self for the " painful necessity " which was 
 before him. He was determined, as he re- 
 peated to himself in his new character of a
 
 272 La Beata. 
 
 " strictly respectable man," to act uprightly 
 and conscientiously in this matter. A little 
 mental discipline was necessary to nerve him 
 for the act of duty required of him; and 
 happily his early education did not leave 
 him at a loss, where to seek for, and how to 
 apply it. The heart, he knew, is desperately 
 wicked, and its impulses utterly untrust- 
 worthy. Fortunately he had a better and 
 surer guide to rely on. He had been living 
 these many months past in flagrant sin. He 
 fully admitted and deplored it. It should be 
 amply repented of ; — nay, was he not already 
 very sincerely repenting of it ? It was his 
 bounden duty that his sin should cease. So 
 far was clear. But what of that mode of 
 putting an end to it suggested by old Maestro 
 Borsoli, and so artlessly repeated to him by 
 the " partner in his sin ?" "WTiat did " the 
 books " say on this point ? Nothing can be 
 clearer. No reparation is due unless a pro- 
 mise of marriage have been made. Promise
 
 La Beata. 273 
 
 of marriage ! Had he ever thought of such 
 a thing ? Was La Beata (poveretta !) a likely 
 sort of girl to have thought of exacting pro- 
 mises of any sort ? And even if protestations 
 of life-long fidelity and that sort of thing 
 could be deemed equivalent to a promise of 
 marriage — (and Pippo was strongly of opinion, 
 to the best of his recollection of the text 
 books, that they could not) — why even then, 
 in cases where a distinct promise of marriage 
 has been the means by which a too confiding 
 one has been led astray, Holy Mother Church 
 has wisely laid it down, that no reparation is 
 required where the social position of the man 
 is much above that of the woman.* Now 
 Pippo felt that with his present prospects his 
 position was very far superior to that of La 
 Beata ; so that his course of duty was clear. 
 Still the wickedness of the heart's natural 
 promptings made it deshable for him to de- 
 
 * This incredible doctrine is accurately taken from 
 the authorized text-book of casuistry. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 La Beata. 
 
 lay his return home a little, while he forti- 
 fied liimself with these truths, and schooled 
 liis moral nature to a fixed determination to 
 do his duty at all costs. 
 
 When at length Pippo entered the studio, 
 he found La Beata di-essed, and sitting with 
 her knittmg in her hand as usual, but with 
 her fingers not, as usual, busy with it, before 
 liis easel, gazing sadly at the now nearly 
 finished picture of the poor crazy girl keep- 
 ing her life-long watch for her lost lover. 
 
 " What is the matter, Pippo ? " she cried, 
 starting up as she marked the heavy frown 
 on his face. " Something bad has happened. 
 You have been displeased." 
 
 "Notliing bad, except your bemg ill, 
 Tina," he replied. " Do you feel better 
 
 _ O " 
 
 now : 
 
 " Oh, yes ! much better ! I feel rather 
 weak and tired as it were, and my head is 
 giddy now and then. But I shall do very 
 well, never fear ! "
 
 La Beata. 275 
 
 " Because I wanted to speak to you seri- 
 ously, Tina, if you are well enough to listen 
 to me." 
 
 " I must be bad, indeed, when I am not 
 well enough for that, dearest ! But ' seri- 
 ously,' you say. Something amiss has hap- 
 pened. What is it, Pippo ? " 
 
 " Nothing amiss, I tell you ; on the con- 
 trary. I told you, you know, before you 
 were obliged to confess that you were ill, 
 that I saw very well that this miserable 
 place was destroying your health. I do not 
 mean to let you stay here, and I have found 
 a place that I think will exactly suit you." 
 
 " But will it suit you, Pippo ? You must 
 think of the light, you know. That is the 
 first thing. And I assm-e you I am very 
 well here. I love the dear old room — the 
 first I was ever happy in, Pippo. Besides, 
 I can't bear that we should change, and per- 
 haps pay more on my account.^' 
 
 One would suppose she was making it as
 
 276 La Beata. 
 
 difficult for me as possible ! thought he, 
 ii-ritably. But it must be said. 
 
 " Yes ! " he continued ; " I have to think 
 of the light, as you say, and it is difficult to 
 find a place that will suit in all ways. It 
 will in any case be necessary for me now to 
 have a better studio, and one where I can 
 conveniently receive the visits of strangers 
 and people of all sorts. At the same time 
 it is absolutely necessary that you should 
 have a more comfortable home, and one 
 where you would have some woman near 
 you. You require more gentle nm-sing, my 
 poor Tina, than I can give you." 
 
 The poor child was altogether mystified 
 by this sententiously delivered oracle. He 
 seemed to speak kind words, and yet .... 
 it could not be that he meant they were to 
 sejiarate ! Impossible ! She looked up into 
 liis face with a scared expression of terror in 
 her eye, and caught his hand as she cried, 
 " WTiat is it, Pippo ? what are we to do ? "
 
 La Beata. 211 
 
 Her mind instinctively clove to that dear 
 " we," as though there had been a spell of 
 safety in it. 
 
 " Wliy this it is, Tina," replied he, " and 
 I am sure you will be reasonable enough to 
 s^e the truth of what I say. Since it is clear 
 that we cannot find what we each require 
 under the same roof, it is better that we 
 should find it under two. That is all." 
 
 She dropped the hand she had been hold- 
 ing while he spoke, and, clasping her own 
 together, looked at liim with so piteous an 
 entreaty in her face, that it forced him to 
 seek support in the reflection that he was 
 completing an act of imperative duty. 
 
 " Pippo ! " she almost shrieked. 
 
 "Will it not be best now, Tina? Be 
 reasonable. Consider what will be best for 
 both parties. We shall be very near together, 
 you know." 
 
 "Oh, Pippo! Pippo!" she cried, again 
 snatching liis hand ; " must you send me
 
 278 La Beata. 
 
 away ? Are you sui-e that it will be best for 
 you ? Are you quite sure ? Think, Pippo, 
 how happy we have been together here ! 
 Can there be no more days like those ? " 
 
 " Now, Tina, this is not talking sense. I 
 am quite sure that what I have said will be 
 best for me, and best for you. As one gets 
 on in life it is impossible that things can 
 always continue the same." 
 
 Her head fell on her breast, and she re- 
 mained perfectly sUent for two or three 
 minutes. 
 
 " Is there no hope, Pippo ? " she said at 
 length, raising her eyes to his hard unsym- 
 pathizing face. " Will you not think it over 
 again ? See now, my own beloved. If it is 
 not well that the great people who come to 
 the studio should see me there, and .... 
 interfere with me as those English people 
 did, I could stay always in the inner room. 
 I would never, never come out till you called 
 me, Pippo. I should not at all mind that.
 
 La Beata, 279 
 
 I would busy myself with my knitting- 
 needle. I could sit to you whenever you 
 required it. And you always used to say, 
 you know, Pippo, that you never worked so 
 well from any other model as from your 
 poor Tina. Could I not be of use to you 
 still ? Oh ! think again — think again, 
 Pippo ! Don't send me away from you ! 
 .... if you still love me, Pippo," she 
 added, while the tears began to stream 
 down her pale cheeks. 
 
 " It is nonsense to talk in that manner, 
 Tina," he replied, with the calm authority 
 of superior reason. " I have told you what 
 I think best, and what I think right for you 
 and for me. Do not let us talk any more 
 about it. You will find that you are making 
 yourself miserable for nothing. I am going 
 to place you where you will be a great deal 
 better off than you have been here. You 
 will very soon admit that I have acted for 
 the best. Surely it is silly to make a mis-
 
 280 La Beata. 
 
 fortune out of the necessity of our living 
 under different roofs for a time." 
 
 His conscience smote him as he uttered 
 the last words. But he comforted himself 
 with the reflection that, in pure considera- 
 tion for the violence of her undisciplined 
 temper, it was better to let the blow, which 
 was inevitable, fall on her by degrees. Tina 
 eagerly marked the words " for a time," and 
 treasured them up for futm-e consolation. 
 She felt, too, that if any intelligible circum- 
 stance had parted her and Pippo for a while 
 — such as a journey, for instance, or other 
 such cause — it would be um-easonable to feel 
 it, however she might disKke it, as a som'ce 
 of intolerable misery. Yet she instinctively 
 refused in the present case to draw any 
 comfort from the reflection. Perhaps there 
 was that in the diy hard manner of the 
 arbiter of her destiny, from which the pre- 
 scient heart gathered more than from the 
 mere words spoken.
 
 La Beata. 281 
 
 " Have pity on me, Pippo ! " she replied. 
 " K it is good for you that I should go away 
 from you, it is very wrong of me to be so 
 miwilling. But my selfishness is stronger 
 than I am. I will try to do as you wish me, 
 Pippo, now, as I have always done. You 
 know better than I what is best and right. 
 I will try. But dearest love, it's very, very 
 hard." 
 
 Pippo by this time was walking up and 
 down the room, majestic in the consciousness 
 of being master of the situation. The point 
 arrived at had been more easily reached 
 than he had ventured to hope. La Beata 
 sat plunged in thought for a while, following 
 him in his walk with wistful eyes. 
 
 At last she said, speaking scarcely above 
 a whisper, " When am I to go away, Pippo ? " 
 
 "Well! it is painful to both of us, cer- 
 tainly. And when a painful thing has to be 
 done, it is always best to get it over as soon 
 as may be. It is of no use tormenting one-
 
 282 La Beata. 
 
 self with thinldng of it. I thought it would 
 vex you less upon the whole if I said nothing 
 to you till I had made the necessary arrange- 
 ments. So I have settled for you to sleep 
 in your new home to-night, Tina." 
 
 She started, and the look of wild scared 
 terror came back into her eyes. "This 
 night ! — to go away this very day ! Oh ! it 
 is cbeadfuUy sudden. Can there be no de- 
 lay? One night, Pippo, dear ! This our last 
 day. Do that much for yom- poor Tina." 
 
 It would have been easy to accede to this 
 petition, for no positive arrangement had 
 been made with Signora Sappi to the effect 
 that her expected inmate should arrive that 
 day. But Pippo thought that he might have 
 more difficulty in accomplishing his purpose 
 on the morrow than in pushing it to an im- 
 mediate completion. He could not yet reach 
 a comprehension of the unresisting devoted- 
 ness, that made his victim plastic in his 
 'hands as potter's clay. It would have been
 
 La Beata. 283 
 
 difficult for a man less fully armed by a 
 sense of duty to have resisted that piteous 
 appeal of clinging affection. But Pippo was 
 too prudent a general to run the risk of en- 
 dangering the victory he had already won, 
 by delay in securing its results. 
 
 "No, Tina!" he said; "it must be as I 
 have settled it ; and believe me I am actiag 
 for the best. When anything disagreeable 
 has to be gone through, it is wisdom, as I 
 said before, to get it over !" 
 
 " Get it over, Pippo ! Oh ! it is worst of 
 all to hear you speak in such a manner !" 
 said the poor child, bursting into a paroxysm 
 of tears. "How can parting be got over, 
 except by coming together again ? Let me 
 have one day, Pippo, only one !" 
 
 " How can you go on in that way, Tina, 
 when I have told you that it is settled ? All 
 this is to the full as painful to me as to you, 
 depend upon it. And you only make it worse 
 for both of us, by thus resisting my plans."
 
 284 La Beata. 
 
 " No, Pippo ! I don't resist !"— and as she 
 said it, the utter prostration of every rem- 
 nant of self-wll, the piteously helpless resig- 
 nation expressed in every feature of the 
 pale wan face, and every outline of the frail 
 drooping figure would to a third person have 
 given the force of irony to the words ; — " I 
 don't resist ! I will go ! I will do all you tell 
 me. I will indeed, Pippo, always and iu all 
 things. And it is foolish of me to cry so. But 
 when I am all alone . . . ." 
 
 A fresh outburst of sobbing, as the idea 
 presented itself to her mind, prevented her 
 from saying more ; and the conqueror hast- 
 ened to take possession of the ground thus 
 abandoned to him. 
 
 " You won't be all alone, Tina," said he, 
 with unsympathetic incapability of under- 
 standing her ; " I have told you, you will be 
 with a good kind woman, who will comfort 
 you, and take care of you. Do you think I 
 should propose j^m being alone ? Now, as
 
 La Beata, 285 
 
 you say you will be guided by me, we will 
 do at once what we must do. It will be 
 better that you should have time to make 
 acquaintance with the good soul before bed- 
 time. Come, get your things together, while 
 I go and get di fiacre to take us." 
 
 " Now directly ! Pippo?" 
 
 " Well ! I think we had better be going," 
 said he, looldng at his watch ; " it is getting 
 late. And the fact is, I am obliged to see 
 some people this evening. That is one of the 
 reasons why I want you to be where you 
 will have somebody with you. I am obliged, 
 you see, now to be often absent. And I can- 
 not bear leaving you here all alone these 
 long winter evenings. Don't you see, Tina ? 
 Now I'll go for the carriage. Be ready when 
 it comes." 
 
 And so saying he went out. 
 
 For some minutes she remained sitting as 
 he had left her, in a kind of stupor. Then 
 suddenly remembering that she was break-
 
 286 La Beata. 
 
 ing her promise to do all his will, and that 
 he would shortly return, and find her not 
 ready, she got up, and with her head swim- 
 ming, began hastily, yet with a dreamy sort 
 of uncertainty, as if she hardly knew what 
 she was doing, to gather together the few 
 articles of her slender wardrobe. The short 
 task was completed; Pippo had not yet 
 come with the carriage ; and Tina was stand- 
 ing in the middle of the large room, that had 
 been her home, and taking a last look at 
 all the familiar objects, the remembrance of 
 which she felt sure would never be effaced 
 from her mind. Presently her eye rested on 
 a small, unframed canvas, standing against 
 the wall on the floor in a remote corner of 
 the room. It was a portrait of himself, done 
 by Pippo, as artists will, when they have 
 nothing better to do, and was a striking 
 Ukeness. Tina had often fed her eyes with 
 it, during the hom's of Pippo's absence. Now 
 she darted towards it, and taking it in her
 
 La Beata. 287 
 
 hands, was lookiiig on it, while the big tears 
 dropped one after another on the canvas, 
 when he came in. 
 
 " I am ready, Pippo !" she said, as he en- 
 tered with a sort of nervous hurry ; " but I 
 n\ay take this with me, may I not ? You do 
 not know what a comfort it would be to me. 
 You will give it me, Pippo, won't you ?" she 
 added, as he hesitated before answering her. 
 
 He had been on the point of assenting to 
 her wish. But sundry considerations flashed 
 across his mind, which suggested to him the 
 prudence of pausing before he did so. Sup- 
 posing circumstances should arise which 
 might make it desirable that all youthful in- 
 discretions should be consigned to oblivion ! 
 He had no present intention of abandoning 
 the poor girl. God forbid ! But nevertheless 
 might it not be as well to avoid leaving in 
 her hands such a memorial? Who knew 
 what connexions she might hereafter form, 
 and into whose hands the picture might fall.
 
 288 La Beata. 
 
 and what use might be made of it ? Besides, 
 was it not -uiser and better for her that she 
 should not have such a means of keeping 
 the memory of bygones alive ? Would it not 
 be better for her to forget ? 
 
 So he answered : " Nay, Tina, I cannot let 
 you run away with that, at least not now ; 
 for I am going to make use of the sketch 
 for a picture I have in my mind." (A picture, 
 planned and studied without any communi- 
 cation with her ! This utterly unprecedented 
 novelty inflicted its own separate stab.) " But 
 perhaps at some future time," he added, " I 
 shall have the pleasure of giving it you." 
 
 She put the picture down after one long 
 look at it, without saying another word. One 
 additional pang more or less appeared hardly 
 to have the power of rousing her from her 
 almost lethargic state of resignation and ac- 
 quiescence. But her heart seemed to her to 
 be becoming colder and more numb every 
 minute. She would not have been able to
 
 La Beata. 289 
 
 give any account of the phenomenon to her- 
 self, and much less to another ; but she felt 
 in every fibre of her heart the strange cold- 
 ness of his manner to her, the distance which 
 seemed by some mysterious and irresistible 
 agency to increase every instant between 
 her and him, whom she had deemed a part 
 of herself ; and the impassable barrier which 
 gathering out of nothing like a baleful cloud, 
 was rapidly rendering the passage of all sym- 
 pathy from the one heart to the other im- 
 possible. She neither understood nor rea- 
 soned on anything of all this. But the most 
 skilled and subtle analyst of the infinite 
 modes in which one human heart may im- 
 press and influence another, could not have 
 felt every gradation of it more acutely. 
 
 Pippo began to busy himself with carrying 
 down the few small matters which made the 
 sum of La Beata's worldly goods ; and she 
 continued standing on the spot where she 
 had put the picture out of her hands, gazing 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 La Beata. 
 
 around her in a sort of stupor. Presently he 
 came bounding up the stairs, and with a 
 brisk cheery manner told her that all was 
 ready. 
 
 " Come along, Tina !" said he ; " don't 
 stand dreaming over it ! We must not keep 
 the fiacre waiting, or the fellow will charge 
 his extra time. Come along !" 
 
 She suffered herself to be led down the 
 stairs, and handed into the coach without 
 speaking a word. She had never made the 
 least inquiry as to her destination. And 
 when she heard him order the driver to drive 
 to the Via del Corso, the familiar address did 
 not seem to make the smallest impression 
 upon her. As Pippo seated himself in the 
 carriage by her side, she took his hand in 
 hers, and pressed it almost convulsively, 
 while the tears were rolling silently down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "Are you quite, quite sure, Pippo," she 
 said, after they had been in the carriage som<
 
 La Beata. 291 
 
 minutes, '•' that it is good for you for me to 
 go away ?" 
 
 " Quite sure that it will be better for both 
 of us," he answered, and that was the only 
 word she spoke during the drive. 
 • Pippo was a little embarrassed at her 
 having asked nothing respecting the place 
 she was to be taken to. He doubted whether 
 it would be best to tell her at once where she 
 was going, or to wait till her arrival told its 
 own story. He decided on the latter, although 
 he was not without some expectation that 
 the unexpected discovery on her part of what 
 home it was that he had selected for her 
 might produce some outbreak of feehng, 
 which in the presence of Signora Sappi 
 might be better suppressed. 
 
 But when the coach stopped at the well- 
 known door of her old home, it might have 
 been supposed that La Beata had known 
 perfectly well that that was her destination. 
 She made no remark whatever, but proceeded
 
 292 La Beata. 
 
 to climb wearily to the old room on the 
 second floor, as if it had never ceased to be 
 her dwelling. Pippo could not understand 
 it, and fancied that he must have mentioned 
 to her the arrangement he had made inad- 
 vertently. The fact was that in the passive 
 apathy of her despau-, he might have led her 
 anywhere, — the strangest place would hardly 
 have roused her to remark it. But it seemed 
 to her quite natural that she should return 
 to the old familiar house. The sentence that 
 she was to leave Pippo seemed to her to in- 
 volve her return thither. All her life between 
 her departm^e from that house and the pre- 
 sent was wiped out and annihilated ; and it 
 appeared a matter of course to her to find 
 herself brought back to the point from which 
 she started. It was like the return to the 
 ordinary routine of daily life in the fairy 
 story-books, after a charmed excursion into 
 fairy-land. 
 
 " Good day, Signora Sappi !" said Pippo, as
 
 La Beat a. 293 
 
 the widow appeared at her door to receive 
 her lodger ; " Here we are ! She is not 
 very well to-day, poor Tina ; and is a good 
 deal beat with making the change, you know. 
 But she knows it is for the best ; she wiU be 
 l^etter after a night's rest; and I have no 
 doubt that you will get on excellently well 
 together. This is Signora Sappi, Tina, your 
 new landlady." 
 
 "Good day, Signora!" said she, sitting 
 down on the first chair she could see in the 
 well-known room, for it was as much as she 
 could do to stand ; " excuse me, I am very 
 tired to-day." 
 
 " I hope, Signora, that I shall be able to 
 make you comfortable here," said the woman, 
 kindly. 
 
 "It is very good of you to receive me," 
 replied Tina, and then added hurriedly, as if 
 the thought iiashed across her that it was 
 necessary to save Pippo from any suspicion
 
 294 La Beata. 
 
 or blame in the matter ; " It is best for me 
 to leave Pippo, because .... because . . . ." 
 
 But as the reasons were not at band, Pippo 
 put in quickly — 
 
 " The studio I have is not a place, Signora 
 Sappi, where she can have the comforts her 
 health requires. With you here she will 
 soon get well." 
 
 A very unobservant eye could hardly have 
 failed to see that physical ill health was at 
 all events not the principal of La Beata's 
 ailments. Her featm-es had all the traces of 
 much and recent weeping, and she appeared 
 so utterly absorbed by some oppressing sorrow 
 as to be scarcely able to constrain herself to 
 take cognizance of what was passing before 
 her. But the worthy widow Sappi manifested 
 neither surprise nor curiosity at Avhat she 
 saw. She had lived — maid, wife, and widow — 
 more than fifty years in the world, and the 
 entire plot, beginning, progress, and denoue-
 
 La Beata. 295 
 
 ment of the little drama, one scene of the last 
 act of which was passing before her, was quite 
 as perfectly intelligible to her, as if she had 
 witnessed the action of the entire piece. 
 
 To the world-worn widow it was the old, 
 okl story ; — a " disgrazia," not necessarily 
 involving any moral turpitude on the part 
 of any of the actors concerned in it — possi- 
 bly admitting of mitigation by due use of 
 candles and rosaries in the proper quarters, 
 but evidently not calling for interference on 
 her part. Though she felt, therefore, no in- 
 dignation against the handsome young artist, 
 as she opened the door for him to depart, 
 she was none the less anxious as she returned 
 on closing it after him, to say or do anything 
 within the limits of her simple understanding 
 and small power to alleviate the sorrows of 
 the victim. 
 
 And it is easy to imagine that consolations 
 drawn from such a view of the case were more
 
 296 La Beata. 
 
 tolerable to La Beata's unswerving fidelity 
 of affection, than any based on blame of her 
 heart's idol could have been. It is true, that 
 Signora Sappi's first well-meant attempts to 
 treat the ease as one already arrived at the 
 stage, which to her experienced eyes it had 
 clearly reached, were met by vehement and 
 indignant protestations of Pippo's unalterable 
 affection, and the temporary nature of their 
 separation. But as soon as the widow per- 
 ceived that her patient was in an earlier 
 phase of her misfortune than she had ima- 
 gined, she adopted her tone and treatment 
 accordingly, only lamenting to herself that so 
 much misery still remained to be developed 
 from what she too well knew to be the inevi- 
 table future. 
 
 And the next day Tina was in her old 
 place, at her old occupation among the bits 
 of painted calico and waxed paper, very wan, 
 very silent, very miserable, anxiously en-
 
 La Beata. 297 
 
 deavouring to do her utmost in the interest 
 of her entertainer, but with the best part of 
 her mind in her ear, painfully watching 
 during all the long hours of the day for the 
 footstep on the stair, which came not. 
 
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