CHAPTER IV
The Marchese Lamberto's Correspondence
The next morning--the morning of the Monday after the gala performanceat the theatre--the post brought to the Palazzo Castelmare a letter fromRome, before the Marchese had left his chamber. The servant took it tohis master's room, found him still in bed, though awake, and left it onthe table by his bedside.
The Marchese Lamberto was, and had been all his life, far too busy a manto be a late riser. Italians, indeed, who do nothing all day long, areoften very early risers. Their, climate leads them to be so. They sleepduring hours which are less available for being out of doors--for yourItalian idler passes very little of his day in his own home--and theyare up and out during the delicious hours of the early morning. But theMarchese Lamberto, whose days were filled with the multiplicity ofoccupations and affairs that have been described in a previous chapter,was wont, at all times of the year, to rise early.
On the present occasion, a sleepless night--and such nights, also, werea new phenomenon in the Marchese's life--might have been a reason forhis being late. But he was not sleeping when his servant took the letterin to him. The frame of mind in which he returned from the theatre hasbeen described. It lasted till he fell into a feverish sleep, soon aftergoing to his bed.
The dreams that made such sleep anything but rest may be easily guessed.He was startled from them by the fancy that the kisses of Bianca burnedhis lips; that it was a scorching flame, that he was pressing in hisarms, the contact of which turned all his blood to liquid fire.
He slept no more during the night. And the good that had seemed to him,as he sate in his box at the opera, more desirable than all the othergoods the world could give, seemed good no longer; seemed, in the darkstillness of his night-thoughts, like a painted bait, with which thearch-tempter was luring him to his ruin and destruction.
Restlessly turning on his bed with a deep sigh, and pressing his hothand to his yet hotter brow, he took the letter that had been broughthim, and saw that it was from his Roman friend and correspondent,Monsignore Paterini:
"Illusmo Signor Marchese E Mio Buono E Colendmo Amico," the letterran--"Seeing that the subject of my letter is matter adapted rather toCarnival than to Lenten tide, I hasten to write so that it may reachyour lordship before the festive season is over. That your friends inRome are never forgetful of one, who so eminently deserves all theirbest thoughts and good wishes, I trust I need not tell you. But in thisour Rome, where so many interests are the unceasing care of so manypowerful friends and backers, it needs such merit as that of yourlordship to make the efforts of friends successful."
"Understand, then, that his Holiness has been kept constantly aware ofall that Ravenna--the welfare of which ancient and noble city isespecially dear to him--owes to your constant and intelligent effortsfor the advancement of true civilization and improvement, asdistinguished from all that innovators, uninfluenced by the spirit ofreligion, vainly, boast as such. Specially, our Holy Father has beenpleased by the energy, tact, and truly well-directed zeal, with whichyou have succeeded in bringing to a satisfactory conclusion the thornyand difficult business of the Spighi property, on which all the welfareof our well-beloved Sisters in Christ the Augustines of St. Barnaba sogreatly depends. The lady superior of that well-deserving house is, asyou are aware, the sister of his Eminence the Cardinal Lattoli; and sosignal a service rendered in that direction is, as I need hardly tellyour lordship, not likely to be forgotten."
"It is under these circumstances that I have the great satisfaction ofhaving it in my power to inform your lordship, that it is the graciouspurpose of our Holy Father to mark his approbation and satisfaction atthe conduct of your illustrious lordship in this matter, in a mannerthat, while it manifests to the whole world the care of his Holiness forevery portion of the dominions of the Holy Church, will, I doubt not, behighly gratifying to yourself at the present time, and will redound tothe future glory and distinction of your noble family. It is, in a word,the intention of the Holy Father to confer on your lordship the GrandCross of the Most Noble Order of the Santo Spirito. And it is furtherthe benignant purpose and wish of his Holiness to present you with thismost honourable mark of his approbation with his own sovereign hand."
"We may therefore hope--myself and your numerous other friends in thiscity--to see you here before long. Doubtless the tidings, which I havebeen anxious to be the first to give you, will be very shortlycommunicated to you in a more official manner. I fancy, indeed, that Ishall not have been able to be much beforehand with the officialannouncement. Make your arrangements, then, I beseech you, to give us aslong a visit as you can steal from the grave cares of watching over theinterests of your beloved Ravenna. There are many here who are anxiousto renew their acquaintance, and, if he will permit them to say so,their friendship with the Marchese di Castelmare. And, if I may ventureto do so, my dear friend, I would, before closing my letter, whisperthat, with due care and a little activity, the present favour of ourHoly Father may be but the earnest of other things."
"The future, however, is in God's hands, and man is but as grass.Nevertheless, as far as it is permissible to judge of the human agenciesby which the Heavenly Providence brings about its ends, I should saythat your Legate, his Eminence the Cardinal Marliani, was, of all thepresent Fathers of the Church, one of the most deserving of our regardsand respect. Should you have a fitting opportunity of allowing hisEminence to become aware how strongly such have always been mysentiments, and how unceasingly I endeavour to impress them on others, Ishould esteem it as a favour. It is well that merit even so exalted ashis should know that it is appreciated."
"Omit not, my friend, to offer to the Marchese Ludovico, your nephew,the expression of my most distinguished regard and respect; and believeme, Illusmo Signor Marchese, of your Excellency the devoted friend andmost obedient servant,"
"Giuseppe Paterini"
Before the Marchese had read the wordy epistle of his correspondent halfthrough, he raised himself briskly to an upright sitting posture in hisbed, his head was lifted with a proud movement from its droopingattitude, and an expression of gratified pride and pleasure came intohis eyes. The much-coveted distinction which was now, he was told, to behis, had long been the object of his eager ambition. And the manner inwhich it was to be conferred on him--the attitude he should stand inwith reference to his friend the Cardinal Legate--all contributed tomake the occasion gratifying to him.
He rang his bell sharply for his servant, and said he would get up atonce.
The valet said that there was a servant from the Legate's palace below,with a letter for the Marchese from the Cardinal--that, fearing hismaster was not well, and might be getting a little sleep, he, the valet,had been unwilling to bring the letter up; but that the man was waitinghis Excellency's pleasure, as he had been ordered to ask for an answer.
Doubtless this was the official communication of which Paterini spoke,or the forerunner of it. The Marchese desired his man to bring him theCardinal's letter directly.
Yes; the pleasant duty having fallen to the lot of the Cardinal ofmaking a communication to the Marchese, which would doubtless be highlygratifying to him, his Eminence was anxious to seize the earliestopportunity of performing so agreeable a task; and would be happy to seethe Marchese at one o'clock that day, if that hour suited his lordship'sconvenience.
"Delighted to have the honour of waiting on his Eminence at the hournamed."
The Marchese put the two letters on his toilet-table, and proceeded todress. They were large letters. That from Monsieur Paterini was writtenon a sheet of foolscap paper, and addressed in a large strong hand, withthe word RAVENNA in letters half an inch high. That from the Cardinalwas contained in a large square envelope, sealed with a huge sealbearing his Eminence's arms under a Cardinal's hat, with its longmany-tailed tassels hanging down on either side.
What a triumph would be this journey to Rome. What a yet greater triumphthe return from it. The Legate would certainly hold a special staterecept
ion to welcome him back, and give him an opportunity of showingthe new order to all his fellow-citizens. What a proud hour it would be.
The Marchese was indulging in these thoughts; dressing himself thewhile, and looking every now and then at the two letters lying on histable, when a footman tapped at the door and handed to the valet, whowas attending on his master, yet a third epistle. Unlike the Cardinal'sservant, the man who had brought it had simply left it, and gone awaywithout saying anything about an answer.
This third letter did not resemble its two predecessors--at least on theoutside--at all. It was a very little letter; not a quarter of the sizeof either of the others; and the seal wherewith it was sealed was not atenth of the size of that of his Eminence; also, instead of being whitelike the Cardinal's, or whity-yellow like the Prelate's, it wasrose-coloured, and delicately perfumed. And the superscription, "All'Illmmo Sigr il Sigr Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare," was written invery daintily pretty and delicate small characters; as unmistakablyfeminine a letter as ever a gentleman received.
The Marchese's face changed visibly as the little missive was put intohis hands. Yet he opened it eagerly, and opened his nostrils to theperfume, which exhaled from it, with a greedily sensuous seeming ofpleasure.
This letter ran as follows:--"Dearest And Best,--If you were not indeedand indeed so to me, could I have ever suffered the vow that binds usmutually to each other to have been uttered?--Dearest and best, I writemainly, I think, for the mere pleasure of addressing you. For I am surethat it is not necessary to ask you to come to me. You can guess howeagerly I wish to speak to you; to hear from you that you have dismissedfor ever those horrid thoughts that you vexed me with at the theatrelast night. I longed so to have sung the words I had to utter for yourears--to your ears only: 'Amo il zeffiro, perche ad esso il tuo nomeconfido.' Ah, Lamberto, if you knew how true that is. It is often--howoften--the singer's duty to utter on the stage the words of passion. Butwhat a thing it is--a thing I never dreamed before--to feel them as Iutter them. The opera did not go badly, did it? I think the success wasa legitimate one. But what is any success or any applause now to me,save yours? I felt that I was singing to one only, as one only was in myheart and in my thoughts. Do not let many hours pass before you come tome, my love, my lord! For they go very slowly and heavily, these hours;and as I trace the movement of the tardy hour-hand on the clock, I growsick with longing, and with hope deferred. Come to me, my dearest and mybest. Your own,"
"Bianca"
"P. S.--I have mentioned our engagement to no soul save my father; ofcourse you did not wish me to exclude him from our confidence. He isfully worthy of it."
The Marchese sunk down into the chair that stood before histoilet-table, with the little letter in his hand; and his hand shook,and his eyes were dizzy, and there was a buzzy ringing in his ears. Andstill the perfume from the pink paper rose to his nostrils, and seemedto his fancy as though it were a poison that he had neither the powernor the will to defend himself from.
He had put the little pink note down on the table where the two otherletters were, and sat looking at the three. They were manifestly,fatally incompatible. Either the two big letters must be thrown to thewinds--they and their contents for ever--together with all thought ofhonours, high social standing, and admiring respect of the world; or thelittle pink note must be crushed at once and for ever, and itswriter--ah!--made to understand, to begin with, that the Marchese diCastelmare did not know his own mind; that his offer and his plightedword were not to be trusted.
The letters lying there on the table before him, as he sat gazing atthem almost without the power of anything that merited to be calledthought, represented themselves to his fancy as living agencies ofcontrasted qualities and powers. The two large missives from hisecclesiastical friends were creditable and useful steeds; harmless,wholesome in blood and nature, big and pacific, apt for service, andgood for drawing him on to honour, success, and prosperity. The littlepink note was a scorpion with a power a thousand-fold greater, for itssize--a sharp, venomous, noxious power, stinging to the death, yetimparting with its sting a terrible, a fatal delight, an acrid fiercepleasure, which once tasted could not by any mortal strength ofresolution be dashed away from the lips.
He took the sweet-scented little paper in his hand and read it throughagain. And his veins seemed to run with fire as he read. Then for thefirst time he saw the postscript. It had escaped his notice before. Thatold man had been informed that he had offered marriage to the girl hecalled his daughter and had been accepted.
It might not be so easy to crush the little pink scorpion note, andliberate himself from the writer of it. Proof? There might be no legalevidence to show that he had ever made such a promise. Yet, to have suchan assertion made by Bianca and her father,--to have to deny the fact,knowing it to be true!--he, Lamberto di Castelmare! Great God! what wasbefore him?
Then there was that woman, the servant, too. Might it not well be thatshe, too, knew the promise he had made; overheard him possibly; set todo so--likely enough! What was he to do?--what was he to do?
Something he must do quickly. The Cardinal Legate was expecting him atone o'clock, and--would it be best to drive Bianca from his mind tillafterwards? Go to her he must in the course of the day!
Then, suddenly as a lightning-flash, he saw her before him as he hadgazed on her at the theatre overnight in her white night-dress, utteringthose words of passionate love--love which she told him was alladdressed to him,--which she was pining to speak to him again.
That, then, it was in his power to have, and to have now,--now at once."Ahi, ahi!" he gnashed, through his ground teeth, closing his eyes asthe besieging vision postured itself in every seductive guise before thesuggestions of his fancy. Ah, God! what were Cardinals, and Crosses, andplace and station, or all the world beside, to one half-hour in thosearms?
Come what come might, he would see her first before going to theCardinal.
Snatching his hat, cane, and gloves, breakfastless as he was, he hurriedout of the house half mad with the passion that was consuming him, yetwith enough of the old thoughts about him to turn away, on quitting hisown door, from the direction of the Porta Sisi, and to seek the goal ofhis thoughts by the most unfrequented route he could find.
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