l^ntoi^io J^o€fM '-i (SiHiXMll ^mvmxi^ Jitotg THE GIFT OF Hemxu. 4. f oJJjIax.. iz9^oini ^MJXiliil^.. 3777 Cornell University Library PQ 4688.F65M2 1907 Woman (Malombra' 3 1924 027 661 697 DATE DUE mii ! 7?AP 51 MA1< mPSt 30i3/3 E g\^ mW? JOT** WOOB* ^w^^^^ m^ CAVLORO PRINTED INUS A. Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027661697 THE WOMAN (MALOMBRA) All rights reserved. CONTENTS PART I. — CECILIA CHAPTER I rAGB IN A STRANGE COUNTRY , . . . • 3 CHAPTER II THE CASTLE . . .1 i . . . • 27 CHAPTER III PHANTOMS OF THE FAST ..... 42 CHAPTER IV CECILIA *•..... S9 CHAPTER V A STRANGE STORY ...... 66 CHAPTER VI A GAME OF CHESS . . . . , . Il8 CHAPTER VII SCANDAL ....••• 134 ?i CONTENTS CHAPTER VIII PAGB OUT IN THE STORM ..... I47 CHAPTER IX THE LBTTBR BAG ...... I63 PART II.— THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN CHAPTER I NEWS FROM NASSAU ..... I67 CHAPTER II STEINEGGE ....... 187 CHAPTER III THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN . . ■ 194 CHAPTER IV IN THE CAVERN ...... 218 CHAPTER V A DECREE OF FATE . • 252 PART III.— A DREAM OF SPRINGTIME CHAPTER I IN APRIL .... ,0, CHAPTER II QUID ME FERSEQUERIS? . 309 CONTENTS vu PART IV.— MALOMBRA CHAPTER I PAGE I KNOW IT, I KNOW IT, HE IS HERE ONCE MORE . 327 CHAPTER II A MYSTERY ....... 345 CHAPTER III PEACE ....... 366 CHAPTER IV A FORMIDABLE VISITOR ..... 394 CHAPTER V DNFIT TO LIVE ...... 422 CHAPTER VI A CLEAR SKY ...... 435 CHAPTER VII MALOMBRA ..... 463 CHAPTER VIII LOVED AT LAST ...... 49' PART I CECILIA THE WOMAN (MALOMBRA) CHAPTER I IN A STRANGE COUNTRY One after another the doors are banged to; perhaps, thinks an eccentric traveller, by that iron fate which now without appeal will whirl away himself and his fellow- passengers into the darkness. The engine whistles, a succession of violent shocks passes from carriage to carri- age ; the train moves out slowly beneath the ample roof, passes from the light of the signal-boxes into the dark- ness of the night, from the confused noises of the great city into the silence of the sleeping fields; winds, puffing, like some huge serpent, among the labyrinth of tracks, until, having found the right one, it dashes along it, palpi- tating from end to end, a mass of living, tumultuous pul- sations. It is hardly possible to guess what were the thoughts of our quixotic traveller as he was whirled along amid puffs of smoke, clouds of sparks, and the dim forms of trees and squalid huts. Perhaps he was seeking the hidden meaning of the strange illegible monogram on a portmanteau lying on the opposite seat, for he kept his gaze fixed upon it, now and then with a twitch- ing of the lips as of one who attempts a calculation. 4 MALOMBRA and then with eyebrows raised, as one does when the result is an absurdity. The train had passed a few stations when a name shouted out repeatedly in the darkness roused him from his reverie. A pufif of fresh air had scattered the fine threads of his meditation and the train had stopped. He got out hurriedly ; he was the only passenger for . ' Beg your pardon, sir,' said a rough, strident voice, ' but is your honour expected by the gentlemen at the castle ? ' The question was put by a man who stood facing him, touching his cap with his left hand and holding a whip in the right. ' I am afraid I don't understand.' 'Oh! Great heavens,' said the man scratching his head, ' who can it be then ? ' ' Well, tell me the name of the gentlemen at the castle.' 'Ah ! well, you see down our way we call them the gentlemen at the castle, and that's the only name we know them by. For ten miles round everyone knows who is meant ; you come from Milan and that's another story. Bear with me, I am jesting, and I know the name, but for the life of me at the present moment I can't remem- ber. We poor folk haven't very good memories at the best of times, and besides, such a curious, uncommon name ! ' ' Well, what is the name ? ' ' Don't hurry me, don't talk, don't confuse me. Hi ! there, a light ! ' A porter came slowly down the platform, his arms hanging straight at his side, with a lantern dangling so as almost to touch the ground. ' Don't bum your trousers. Nobody will pay for a new pair,' quoth the youth with the short memory. ' Hold up that clumsy lantern of yours. Here, let me have it IN A STRANGE COUNTRY s a moment.' And grabbing at the lantern he almost hit the traveller in the face as he held it up. ' You're the man, sir, you're the man ; just the very de- scription they gave me. A young gentleman with black eyes, black hair, and a dark complexion. Hurrah 1 ' ' But who told you all this ? ' ' Why, his lordship to be sure.' ' A queer business this,' thought the new arrival to him- self. ' A man whom I've never seen and who says in his letter that he's never seen me.' ' Wait a minute,' exclaimed the other as he fumbled in his pocket. ' Even my old woman couldn't have been more stupid, even if she tried. Didn't his lordship give me something to make you know me by ? I've got it somewhere. Ah, here it is.' It was a card smelling of tobacco and dirty paper- money, and bore the name : — •Cesare d'Ormengo.' • Let us be off,' said the new-comer. Outside the station stood an open chaise. The horse tied to a fence, his head drooping, was resignedly awaiting his fate. ' Get in, your honour, the seat is a bit hard, but you see we are in the country. Whoa ! ' And catching up the reins the nimble charioteer sprang on to the box, and, cracking his whip, sent the horse flying down the dark lane as coolly as though it had been mid-day. ' No cause to be afraid,' he remarked, * even though it were as dark as a wolfs gullet. The mare and I know this road by heart, every inch of it. Whoa ! Only last night I drove two gentlemen, from Milan like yourself. Oh, he is a grand old gentleman is the Count,' he added pleasantly, edging away from his companion and sitting 6 MJLOMBRA on the handle of the whip. ' What a good man ; and what a gentleman ! Why, he has friends in every quarter of the globe. To-day comes one, to-morrow another, and all of them fine gentlemen, men of science and all the rest of it. But your honour will know all about this already.' ' I ? Why, it's the first time I've been here.' ' Yes, so I see. But you know his lordship ? ' 'No.' ' Well, I never ! ' exclaimed the driver with profound astonishment. 'A fine character, sir. I'm a friend of his,' he added, without stopping to explain whether as a fine gentleman or as a man of science. ' I have served him so long. Why ! only to-day he stood me a glass. I don't know whether it was French wine or English wine, but, oh ! it was wine ! Ah ! ' * Any family ? ' •No. That is to say— ' At this point the right hand wheel gave a lurch as they passed over a big heap of gravel.' • Hold your tongue and look where you're going to,' growled the traveller. His driver at once belaboured the poor steed with blows and curses, and they dashed forward at a gallop. As they crossed the bridge over a mountain torrent the night grew clearer. To the right, the white Une of the sandy river bed lost itself in an immense stretch of open country ; on the left and in front were low hills resting against a line of loftier ones; behind them, jagged mountain peaks standing out against the grey sky. Nothing was heard but the horse's trot, and from time to time the scrunching of the gravel beneath the wheels and the persistent bark of dogs fretting at their chains. m A STRANGE COUNTRV 1 Horse, driver and traveller went on silently together as though impelled by the same motive towards the same goalj thus offering a picture of the fragile nature of human compacts and the artificiality of our alliances. For the first was in secret making for his warm and comfortable stable, the second for a certain wine from a certain red-cheeked landlady, a good wine sparkling with love and laughter; while the third, the most in- telligent and the most civilised of the three, knew not the road nor the goal to which it led. They drove clattering through dark deserted hamlets, whose gloomy cottages seemed to stand on guard over the slumbers of their humble inmates ; they passed by gardens and pretentious little villas, whose frippery had a tawdry aspect in the solemn shades of night. After a long stretch of level country their road lay by sun- warmed hills all facing towards the east, and then dipped suddenly into a narrow, gloomy valley flanked by forest-clad mountains. At times the road hugged an outlyii^ spur, at times twisted away als though shudder- ing at the rugged touch, at length took a bee-line up the steep ascent. The horse dropped into a walk, the driver jumped down, and, letting his whip trail behind him, said, in decisive tones, * A long business.' 'To return to my question,' remarked the traveller as he lighted a cigar. ' Any family ? ' ' Not I, your honour. My wife is ugly, old, and ill- tempered as the fiend.' ' Not you, stupid i the Count.' ' Ah, his lordship ! Who knows. One never knows anything about gentlemen's affairs. Sometimes one thbiks they are married, one hears that there is a lady, that there are children > and then, when the master is on his death-bed, and you wish to invoke a blessing for the 8 MALOMBRA poor lady, she vanishes ; on the other hand, they some- times live like friars, and yet when the crash comes there is the lady with her tears and her claws. A nice thing to be a gentleman ! Now, if I get to know a pretty girl she throws me over within a fortnight ; but my wife will stick to me as long as there is breath in her body. His lordship lived alone for some years, but now there Ls a young lady at the castle. Some say she is his daughter, some his niece. As a matter of fact, she is his housekeeper. The dull clods of peasants say that she is ugly. Your honour will see whether she is ugly. Ah ! I ought to have been born a gentleman.' As though to console himself, the strange fellow struck a furious blow at the mare, which went off at a gallop with his interlocutor, and so broke off the conversation. Reaching, after a long pull, the top of the hill, she stopped to take breath. From the summit the scenery changed. Steep mountains rose on the right and left, barely leaving space between them for the road. Other mountains, lightly tipped with mist, rose above the dark tops of the trees at their base, facing the hill down which the road lay. The driver jumped up again on to his box and went down the hill at a trot towards the tall trees of an avenue which rapidly opened out before them. Between the trees a more extended view was seen ; it became lighter, and stretches of vineyard could be discerned. A light which appeared on the right side of the road came in front of the horse, which pulled up. ' Well ? ' asked a voice. ' Oh, he's come, he's come,' replied the driver, jumping down. 'We are there, your honour. Thank you, sir, I shall drink your health. You are a gentleman and no one dare say ought but good of you. I thank yout IN A STRANGE COUNTRY g honour and I wish you good-night. Here, take the gentleman's bag. ' Signor Silla ? ' said the man with the lantern, who looked like a servant. ' I am he.' • At your service, sir.' He led the way in silence, with the bag in his right hand and the lantern in his left, down the narrow path flanked by low rough walls, along which the light danced and glided, driving before it, dragging in its train, the darkest of the shadows. In vain did Silla peep curiously over the top of the walls ; all he could see was the shadowy forms of a few trees hanging over from the steep hillside, their scanty branches raised as in amazement and supplication. The clanging of a bell made him start ; his guide had halted before an iron gate. It was soon opened, and the flints of the pathway and the outline of the gate were swallowed up in the darkness ; the light of the lantern now fell on the finest gravel, and, on either side, upon dark-leaved plants with thick impenetrable foliage. After the gravel, grass and a badly-traced track passing among vines in full foliage and leading to the middle of a broad staircase of black, irregular slabs. The beginning and the end were both out of sight ; but from the top- and from the bottom of the steps was heard the gentle voice of falling water. The guide stepped cautiously over the shaky stones, which gave out a metallic sound beneath their feet. By the pale light of the lantern could be seen at regular intervals two enormous pedestals supporting two grey human forms, motionless on either side of the steps. At length the last step was reached, the light passed over a fine red gravel and played on the large leaves of atums planted along the edge, while, hard by, a spring murmured 10 MALOMBRA gently in the darkness. The guide turned to the left, turned the corner of a lofty edifice, went up two steps, and with a ceremonious bow opened a large glass door to the new arrival. In the brightly-lighted vestibule stood a gentleman dressed from head to foot in black, who came forward to meet him, bowing profoundly and rubbing his hands to- gether. ' Good evening. You are welcome. His lordship has retired, the hour being a little — how shall I say ? — a little late. He has charged me to make his excuses. I have, in fact, the honour of being his lordship's secretary. Allow me to show you the way to your room. Allow me. You will perhaps wish to go there. After you, I beg.' The ceremonious secretary showed the new-comer up a noble staircase and accompanied him as far as the first floor, where, having obtained his promise to come down to supper later on, he handed him over to the care of the servant and went downstairs, waiting for him in the dining-room, where supper was laid for two, and where the stranger very soon put in an appearance. Not, however, because he was hungry, but because the singular man vrfio had invited him to the meal had aroused his curiosity. The secretary looked about fifty. Two small light blue eyes sparkled in a wrinkled, sallow face, beneath two great shocks of hair that was no longer auburn, and was not yet grey. His hair and complexion, the mechanical rapidity of his movements, certain petrified consonants and certain deep-toned vowels that issued from his mouth, as though out of a cavern, at once stamped him as a German. The old-fashioned cut of the spotless black clothes, the stiff collar and cuflfs and white shirt-front were, moreover, those of a German and a gentlemaa IN A STRANGE COUNTRY ii But, for one curious circumstance, the gentleman ended at the wrists. The hands were large, brown, covered with scars, flabby and cracked on the back, horny in the palm. They bore the record of long hours of heat, of frost, of exhaustive toil. They had lost all pliability, and no longer gave expression to his thoughts as the hand of a man of culture is wont to do. In their stead, the ever-moving arms and shoulders spoke with brusque energy, with passion. More eloquent still was his face. It was an ugly, merry face, comical and full of fun, sparkling with fire j a labyrinth of fine wrinkles which contracted and expanded about two bright little eyes, now wide open and serious, now contracted by mirth or anger or pain into two bright flashing points. Sudden flushes of blood would rush upwards from the neck, spreading over his face and forehead, but leaving the sallow line around the purple shining nose. In short, the whole soul of the secretary was written there on his face ; emdidon, sorrow, rejoicing i^a^sed across it in agitated succession like a light driven hither and there by the wind behind. a transparent screen. His voice had the tone of sincerity, and was of varied compass ; it was more vehement than that of a southerner, and often raised a smile by its accent, by the jumps from deep notes to high ones, but it was an impressive voice. And he talked much that evening at supper, eating hardly any- thing, emptying his glass often. He began with a series of ceremonious courtesies, somewhat stiif, somewhat ex- aggerated, little friendly approaches that found no echo in the cold reserve of the guest ; then the conversation turned on general topics, the secretary talking of Italy with the air of a man who has seen many countries and many cities, who possesses a wide knowledge of men and of afiairs, and introduces into every discussion, with the 12 MALOMBRA coolest self-confidence, unexpected views, new opinions, that perhaps will not bear calm criticism though they carry away the vulgar. Yet he did not display the cynicism of one who has travelled much, nor manifest a tendency towards the nihil admirari. So far from this, the sonorous cavities of his chest were full of sounds of admiration which exploded every minute. His com- panion must have strangely taken his fancy to induce him to talk so much to one who maintained a reserve that partook of hauteur. The secretary looked at him with eyes that assumed a softer and more affectionate expres- sion every moment. He insisted on his taking this and that ; finally he ventured on a few familiarities, on a few questions that might cause his young friend to issue from his shell. ' And what do they say at Milan ? ' he exclaimed all of a sudden, throwing himself back in his chair and resting his knife and fork upright in both hands on the edge of the table. 'What do they say at Milan about Otto the Great ? ' Noticing the guest's surprise at the unexpected ques- tion, he burst into a comical laugh. ' I am speaking of Bismarck,' he added, giving a full sound to the word Bismarck, and quivering with pleasure from head to foot, as though, in the torture of speaking Italian, those two syllables brought him relief, and a breath of his native air. The Prince, on that summer evening of 1864, was yet far from success and fame ; but his compatriot spoke of him, without expecting any response, for ten minutes and more, impetuously, with admiration mingled with hate and fear. • In Europe they think he is mad,' he concluded, ' but, great heavens ! Wir haben seeks und dreiszig Herren, my dear sir. Another piece of this trout? We have six- IN A STRANGE COUNTRY 13 and-thirty lords ; in ten years we shall see. Have you ever tasted Johannisberg ? I feel ashamed that the finest wine in the world is made in Germany, but not within the territories of my king. I am not a man to put up long with such things. ' Oh ! ' went' on the loquacious secretary, running his fingers through his hair and smacking his lips. 'Oh! the Johannisberger, oh ! ' and he laughingly screwed up his bright eyes as though he were drinking in the longed-for nectar. 'One knows when a bottle of Johannisberg has been uncorked in a room. Another glass of wine, my dear sirj allow me. It is only Sassella and has no more bouquet than water, but for Italian wine it is passable. You must excuse my frank speech, but in Italy they do not understand either making or drinking wine.' 'Not even drinking?' ' No, not even drinking. ' Wenig ttur verdirbt den Magen Und zu viel erhitzt das Haupt. 'You understand German? No? Well, it is Goethe who says, "A little injures the stomach, and too much inflames the head." The Italians either get tipsy or else drink water. I exaggerate, my dear sir, I exaggerate. To drink a bottle a day is like drinking water. The most sensible people drink it for their stomachs' sakes j you follow me? Nobody drinks for the sake of the heart, ad exhilarandum cor I You laugh? All we Germans are, to some extent, Latinists, even the beggars, even those hounds of princes! Now, every- one ought to drink till they feel happy, but never till they feel mad. Wine is perpetual youth. As long as 14 MALOMBSA I live I wish to be twenty, for three or four hours a day, but I shall never be ten; that is the difference.' As the limpid Sassella ran low in the bottle, the secretary's years shosk their wings and flfew away two by two from his venerable shoulders. The latter squared themselves boldly, rising from manhood in its decline to manhood in its prime, which, in turn, gave place to perfect youth. The limpid Sassella ran low; until at length the golden age arrived, the age of impulsive affection, of quick feeling, of blind and ready friend- ship. The secretary held out his hands, turned his red beard towards his temperate and taciturn companion, caught hold- of one of his hands with both his own and pressed it warmly. ' In the name of all that's holy, my dear sir, have we not broken bread and tasted wine together, and yet we do not know each other's name ? His lordship did indeed tell me yours, but I have forgotten it' ' Corrado SUla,' replied the young man. 'Silla, ah, Silla. Quite so. I hope you will never place my name on your proscription lists. Andreas Gotthold Steinegge, of Nassau, expelled from his college for being too fond of wine, from his family for being too fond of women, from his country for being too fond of freedom. Ah! my dear Signor Silla, it was the last passion that was the mad one. Why, I should now be a Kammerrath at Nassau, like the late Steinegge, my father, or a colonel like that low hound, my brother. But liberty, die Frdheit — do you follow me ? — is a pneu- matic word.' At this point the secretary seized his chair rapidly with both hands and pushed it back violently, and then folded his arms and looked hard at Silla, who was mystified. /N A STRANGE COUNTRY 15 ' What do you mean ? A pneumatic word ? ' 'Ah, quite so, you don't understand? It is, in fact, not altogether easy. Words are divided, my dear Signor Silla, into algebraical words, mechanical words, and pneumatic words. I will now explain the subject to you as it was taught to me by a friend of mine at Wiesbaden, who was shot by those cursed Prussians in 1848. The algebraical words descend from the brain, and are signs of the equation between the sub- ject and the object 1^ the mechanical words are, formed by the tongue as necessary sounds in a language. But the pneumatic words are uttered by the lungs, sound like musical instruments, nobody knows what they, mean, and jjXi mankind As intoxicated by them. If, instead of " Freiheit" instead of " Liberty," one were to utter a word of ten syllables, how many fewer heroes, how many fewer madmen, there would be in the world ! Listen, njy dear young friend. I am old. I am alone. I have no money. I may die on the streets like a dog, but if this night they were to say to me, — " Stein- egge, alter Keri, will you enter the service of the re- actionary government to-morrow, be a Kammerrath at Nassau, sit by your own hearth, see your daughter whom you haven't seen for twelve years," I, old madman, should reply, " No, by heaven ! Viva la' liberth I " ' He brought down his fist with a great thump on the table, panting, breathing noisily through his nose with his mouth dosed. ' Bravo ! ' exclaimed Silla, moved despite himself. • I would like to be an old madman like you.' ' Oh, no, no ! don't wish that ! Don't say these things over the supper-table ! One has to learn what it costs to cry " Fiva la liberta I " and how much it is worth. Oh ! don't let us speak of it' i6 MALOMBRA They were both silent for a moment. • You come from Nassau ? ' resumed Silla. ' Yes, but let us avoid that subject ; it is a sad one. 1 don't want sad thoughts, for I am very gay just now, very happy, because you please me immensely ; yes, yes, yes, yes!' He nodded his head repeatedly, his chin touching his breast as though he had a spring in the back of his neck; his eyes sparkling with laughter. ' You will not be leaving us to-morrow ? ' he asked. ' I should wish to be getting back certainly.' ' Oh ! but his lordship will not allow you to go.' 'Why?' ' Because I believe that he is kindly disposed towards you.' ' But he doesn't even know me.' ' Hum ! ha ! ' and Steinegge whistled softly to himself, shutting his eyes and bending forward till his beard was in his plate, his arms stretched out beneath the table ; his head looked Uke that of a gnome. ' Do you mean that he does know me ? ' inquired Silla. ' I mean that he has talked to me for an hour about you to-day.' • And what did he say ? ' ' Ah ! ' exclaimed the secretary, sitting upright in his chair and raising his hands towards the ceiling. ' I have not yet reached that point, my dear sir ; I have not yet come to that. There is room for much Sassella between your question and my reply.' He caught hold of the two bottles, pretended to weigh them, shook them and put them down again. They were empty. ' There is no more friendship in them,' he said with a IN A STRANGE COUNTRY 17 sigh, 'nor sincerity, nor kindness. Perhaps we had better go to bed.' The clock at the top of the first flight of stairs between the first floor and the second struck half-past one as Silla entered the room assigned to him, yet he had no desire for sleep. Upright and motionless he looked fixedly at the flame of the candle, as though that bright light could have cleared away the mists that dulled his brain. Suddenly he pulled himself together, took the candle and set out upon a voyage of discovery, which turned out less instructive perhaps, but more thrilling, than the famous one of Count Saverio. The room was large, lofty, square. A heavy carved wooden bedstead ; opposite the bed, between two large windows, a chest of drawers with a white marble top ; above this, in a gilt frame, the reflection of a strange figure, half in light, half in shade, moving with a candle in its hand ; an escritoire, some big chairs and arm-chairs ; these Were the only objects that showed up out of the darkness beneath the inquisitive light which ran along the walls, now ascending, now descending, now in curves, in zig-zags, like the un- certain light of a will o' the wisp. At the top of the bed hung an admirable painting, the head of an angel pray- ing, after the school of Guercino. The expression was that of complete abandonment ; in the half-closed mouth, the dilated nostrils, the almost passionate glance, could be seen the movement of intense supplication. One would have said that those pillows were accustomed to support the heads of great sinners, and that during the hours of slumber, when sinful schemes and actions are for the time laid aside, a spirit of mercy Ufted its voice in prayer to God for them. The light from Silla's candle appeared fascinated by that picture. It left it suddenly, but only to stop again and turn back to it, passing over B i8 MALOMBRA its surface from top to bottom, from right to left. Then the light slowly passed on and took its original course, as though its path had remained traced in mid-air, following the same curves, falling and rising as before. This time, however, it found something changed. As the light fell upon the gilded frame above the chest of drawers, the same figure was reflected, half in light, half in shade, but its expression was no longer that of curiosity, but rather of emotion and amazement. If indeed that mirror had been able to preserve the reflections thrown from it in the course of its vain and sterile existence, among others would have appeared the sad face of a woman, the merry one of a boy, strongly resembling each other in their features and in the expression of the eyes. Just as in some quiet lake the mountains see their reflection smiling back at them in the morning light, and then the mists enwrap them and blur their outline so that the watery mirror appears turned to lead ; and then again the veil is lifted and the brown mountain sides are once more re- flected; so similarly there appeared once more in the faithful mirror, after many years, the reflected portrait of the youth, changed to the thoughtful features of a man. Silla turned round and approached the bed, trembling, looked at it for a long time, put down the candle, joined his hands, and bent down and kissed the cold and shin- ing wood. Then, rising up, he went out with hasty strides on to the staircase, leaving the candle behind him. A blind instinct led him to go in search of the Count, to speak to him at once. But the house was dark and silent, nothing was to be heard but the ticking of the clock. Steinegge was safe in bed ; and, after all, could he have answered his question? Silla returned slowly to his room. Against the light of the candle placed on the floor on the other side of it, the bed stood out like a IN A STRANGE COUNTRY 19 huge black cube. Had anyone been sleeping there one would not have seen him ; and Silla's imagination easily conjured up a woman's form that once had rested there, saw her lying there ill, shrinking from the weird light, motionless, perchance, but still alive. He approached the bed on tip-toe, and flung himself upon it with arms outstretched. She was sleeping elsewhere, that pure and noble mother, in a narrower chamber, upon a colder bed, and yet he seemed to feel her presence still ; his childhood returned and made his heart feel young, bringing a flood of memories of his mother's room and of the bed, the scent of a favourite box of sandalwood, little things his mother had said to him, many different aspects of that vanished face. When he got up and, holding up the candle, looked about him, he could not understand how he had failed to at once recognise the picture, the chairs, the mirror, which now all looked down upon him as though reproaching him with his forgetfulness. How came it to pass, thought Silla, how came it to pass that the furniture of his mother's room was there in an unknown house belonging to a man whose face he had never seen, whose name he had not even heard uttered ? Some things had indeed been sold some years previous to his mother's death, and perhaps they had come into Count d'Ormengo's possession by chance. By chance ? Ah, no, it was not possible. He sat down at the escritoire, took out a large square envelope from his pocket-book, read the letter, re-read it with feverish attention. It ran as follows : — ' R , loth August 1861. ' My Dear Sir, — We have never met, and you in all probability have never heard my name, although it is 20 MALOMBRA that of an old Italian family which has ever borne it, at home and abroad, on foot and on horseback, as it should be borne. It is necessary, to come to the point, for your sake and for mine, that we should meet As I am fifty- nine you will come to me. ' You will find a chaise waiting for you the evening of the day after to-morrow at Station on the Milan- Camerlata line ; and you will find at my house the un- ceremonious hospitality which I practise towards my friends, who on their part are good enough to respect my peculiarities. Allow me to mention that among these is the habit of opening the window if a chimney smokes in my house, and of opening, if a man smokes, the door. I await you, my dear sir, in my hermitage, 'Cesare d'Ormengc' That was all. He knew the letter by heart, but had some idea of reading between the lines, of discovering some double entendre. Nothing of the kind ; or rather, the mystery was there, but was one too deep for hand or eye to fathom. Was he friend or foe, this man who silently placed before him the memories of his mother and of his happy childhood ? No foe. He wrote with the rough frankness of a noble- man of the old school ; the large letters, leaning over as in the impetus of a race, breathed sincerity. His hospi- tality was certainly unceremonious ; not to show himself even. The more reason for believing in the cordial terms of the invitation. Eccentric, in short, but benevolent. And what reason can he have had for collecting those objects and putting them in his house so many years ago, and for now summoning Silla to a conference? Silla had never heard his name mentioned either by his mother or his father, or anyone else. He let the letter IN A STRANGE COUNTRY si fall, and covered his face with his hands. A glimmering of light flashed across his mind, perhaps a glimmering of the truth. That furniture had been sold the day after the financial crash ; a number of plunderers, Silk remem- bered in a confused kind of way, had descended upon the house to enforce their own claims, or those of power- ful creditors, who kept in the background, so as to pose as friends of the family, or from less dishonourable motives ; and in addition to the realisation of house and land, pictures and furniture of great value had been carried off, fetching next to nothing, stolen as it were in a kind of indecent scramble. Count d'Ormengo, per- haps, as one of the creditors, had profited unduly by the zeal of some unscrupulous agent, and was now anxious to square accounts with his own conscience. Possibly somebody had informed him that Silla was out of work and Uving in poverty. This had led the Count to take the initiative, to speak of something being necessary for both of them, alluding in the opening words of his letter to the family honour; and to give his guest this par- ticular room was a way of breaking the ice before meet- ing face to face. The dull sound of footsteps overhead roused Silla. He listened awhile and thought he heard a window open. His own room had two ; he hesitated a moment, and then resolutely opened one. He remained in astonishment with his hand on the window. The sky was clear as crystal. The crescent moon rose on the left above lofty mountains, shedding a feeble light over a big grey wall that ran along beside his window, and over the severe outUnes of other windows of the castle; the big wall rose straight up out of the bright surface of a clear stretch of water lying towards low hills in the west, while the other side of the lake was in deep shadow. The rustling of invisible leaves was M MALOMBRA heard hard by, the wind whispered softly as it rippled over the water and died away in the distance. 'How do you Uke it?' said a voice from the floor above, a little to the right of Silla's room. ' A little Fohn, a little Fohn.' The voice was Steinegge's, who, leaning out of a window, was smoking like a chimney. The Count must have been sleeping soundly a good distance away for his secretary to venture to talk so loud, in spite of the silence of the night and the sonorous echo from the lake beneath them. He hastened to inform Silla that he had served on a galley at Constantinople as a result of political troubles, and that the abominable Turkish sentries broke his sleep every two hours with their fantastic cry of AUah-al-allah ! From that time he had retained the habit of waking up every two hours every night of his life. He used to go to the window in his nightshirt and smoke; if the Count knew of it there would be trouble ! When he was serving as captain in the Austrian Hussars, before 1848, he had been accus- tomed to smoke as many as eighteen Virginians a day ; since that time he had gone many a day without food, without tobacco never! The Count's regime did not agree with him, it acted on his nerves. 'Might I ask you,' rejoined Silla, interrupting these reminiscences, ' whether you can tell me why the Count has sent for me.' ' May I go back to the Turkish galleys if I have the faintest idea. I know that his lordship knew you ; that is all' Silla relapsed into silence. ' Aaah ! Aaah ! Aaah ! ' yawned Steinegge, in a cloud of smoke and geniahty. ' What lake is this ? ' asked Silla. •You don't know? You have never seen it? I be- IN A STRANGE COUNTRY 23 lieve that many Italians are quite ignorant of its existence, and it is curious that I should have to tell you about it.' 'Well?' 'Oh, the devil.' A shadow that passed rapidly across the water in the direction of the castle drew this exclamation from Stein- egge, who was only just in time to throw away his cigar and to close the window. A falling star passed Silla, the windows above were slammed to, the leaves rustled behind the castle. Steinegge, fearing that he had allowed a puff of smoke to enter the room, and sniiBng at the faithless air, turned into bed, to dream that as he left the Turkish galley the padischah smilingly offered him the Imperial pipe, filled with good Smyrna tobacco. Silla remained long at the window. The clear night, the fresh breeze, the sweet scent from the mountains did him good, restored calmness to his thoughts and peace to his heart. He was hardly conscious of the flight of the hours as he followed absently, and yet with attention, the mad pranks of the wind upon the lake, the murmurs of the night, the whispering of the leaves, the calm pro- gress of the silvery moon. He heard a deep-tongued bell strike the hour in the distance. Two o'clock or three ? He hardly knew, as he got up with a sigh and closed the window. For he felt that he ought to go to bed and get some rest, so as to have a clear brain on the morrow for his interview with the Count. But sleep did not come. He lighted a candle and walked about the room j but it was of no avail. He set himself to seek memories and thoughts far from his present anxieties, and at length he seemed to have found something, for he sat down at the escritoire and, after lengthy reflection composed, with a hundred pauses and interruptions, the following letter to Cecilia ; — 24 MALOMBRA 'It was to my book, A Dream, that I owed the pleasure and the honour of your first letter. While I was replying to it I indeed dreamt a dream, another and a better and a nobler dream than the dream of my story Shall I tell it^to you ? No, for you would only smile ; and the pseudonym which stands on the frontispiece of that book and at the foot of this letter covers an individuality not wanting in self-respect. Your second letter reached me, and, like many other illusions which have tempted, and then mocked at, my youth, that dream also vanished, and life lies stretched out before me a barren, painful path. We can have no sympathies in common, and we therefore say farewell. You disguised in your elegant domino "Cecilia," I retiring behind my "Lorenzo," which you condemn as vulgar, but which is dear to me because it was once borne, some fifty years ago, by a great poet whom I revere. For my part, no curiosity will ever urge me to seek to know your real name. I shall be grateful if you will abstain from inquiries as to mine. ' When you wrote to me asking for my opinion on the subject of free-will and on the transmigration of souls, I imagined that none but a woman of wide sympathies could occupy herself with problems so far above the ac- customed pursuits of the fashionable herd. It seems to me that your wish was no passing fancy of an idle mind which, between one pleasure and another, perchance be- tween one love affair and another, peeps in to see what he is doing who thinks, studies, and toils ; and, as a matter of caprice, would wish to taste the strong bitter potion distilled by philosophy and science. I conjectured even, that some event in your past life, as to which you were silent, had caused you to doubt, and cast across your soul the shadow of those mysteries in re- gard to which you invoked my judgment. I replied, I IN A STRANGE COUNTRY 25 must confess, with foolish enthusiasm, with an ingenu- ousness of expression which must appear in the worst possible taste to your false world (pardon the frank speech of a masquerader who has no wish to give offence)^*to your false world where the women seek to hide their wrinkles and the men their youth. I have, in fact, behaved like an ill-bred bourgeois who calmly attempts to shake hands with a noble lady to whom he has not been introduced. You withdraw your hand, and assail me with a cloud of barbed arrows which sting though they do not wound, and lash me with your pungent sarcasm, the intel- lectual armoury of people refined up to the utmost limit of sprightly subtlety; just as certain delicate creatures live entirely on sweets. I appreciate, I do not esteem, such wit ; wit d, la Fran^aise, sceptical and false. I see an image of it now in the mirror of the water which, rising and falling beneath the moonlight, converts the soft rays into an empty shimmer, and fugitive specks of Ught. 'Your sarcasms do not hurt me, I am cynical; I have seen women who have fallen in love, perhaps after struggl- ing against it, who defended themselves in this way, as little captive birds do with their harmless beaks. No, what attracted me was not the prospect of a flirtation at a hal masqu'e, but the hope of a serious confidential corre- spondence with an enthusiast for the same lofty themes which fascinate my own soul. I had intended to close this coiTespondence ; and you must attribute this letter to an attack of insomnia, from which, and from some other troubles, the writing of it helps to divert me. Whether we ever met in a previous existence I do not remember; nor do I know what brilliant star will be worthy to receive you when you have quitted this bourgeois planet of ours, this low, scandal-loving earth, on 26 MALOMBRA which, for a goddess, there is no suitable resting-place; but—' Whether it was that at this point the candle began to go out, or that drowsiness at last settled on his brain, when morning broke Silla was sleeping at the table, and in the middle of the sheet of paper, like a weapon blunted as it was about to strike, stood the ambiguous mono- syllable — ' but ' CHAPTER 11 THE CASTLE ' This way, sir,' said the servant whom Silla was follow- ing, ' his lordship is in the library.' 'Is that the door?' 'Yes, sir.' Silla paused to read the following words, a free quota- tion from the prophet Hosea, inscribed on a marble tablet above the door : ' Loquar ad cor ejus in solitudine' The poetical words breathed affection, yet the marble clothed them in a certain austere solemnity. The vague- ness of the language, the grave rigidity of the lifeless Latin forms combined to produce a sense of something superhuman. As Silla read, he felt his sense of rever- ence touched by the solemn phrase. The servant opened the door, and with a loud voice announced the visitor. 'Signor Silla.' The latter, not a little agitated, entered hurriedly. Many learned book-collectors know the castle library ; a large room, almost square, lighted by two fine windows in the west wall facing the lake, and by a glass door which opens into a little garden laid out on the stone 27 28 MALOMBRA terrace above the boat-house. A large, old-fashioned fireplace and mantel of black marble, ornamented with cupids and arabesques in stucco, face the windows; while a huge bronze lamp hangs from the ceiling, above a round table which is usually piled up with magazines atid books. The most striking piece of furniture in the room is a tall eight-day clock, a chef d'ceuvre of the eighteenth century, which stands between the two windows. The case, carved in semi-relief, displays allegorical scenes representing the Seasons linked between two figures of Fame, the one flying and sounding a clarion, the other with drooping wings and trumpet falling to the ground. The quadrant is upheld by graceful, dancing figures, the Hours ; and above them a little winged figure takes its flight, with, at its feet, the word -^/ux^- I know not whether the noble family into whose possession the castle passed a few months ago has left the library intact ; but at the time of my story the walls were concealed by lofty bookcases. The books were the result of accumulations by generations of country gentle- men of widely different opinions and tastes. The result- ing contradictions were recorded in those shelves, and certain classes of books appeared astonished at having survived their collectors. Not a single work on chemistry was to be found among the numerous volumes of meta- physics, both by foreign and native authors ; but behind works on religious discipline and theology lurked novels of the lightest order. The library owes its fame to the noble editions of the classics, and to a copious collection of the Italian Romanticists, and of works on mathematics and tactics, all previous to 1800. Count Caesar ransacked the classics; sent the philosophers and theologians, in his own phrase, heavenwards, and kept the historians and moralists near him. The novelists and the poets. TBE CASTLE ag Dante and Alfieri excepted, were thrown into a big box and deposited in a mouldy warehouse. The empty shelves were filled by foreign works, mostly of English origin, dealing with history, politics and statistics. Not a single volume found admission, under the Count's rkgime, which dealt with literature, art, philosophy or poli- tical econony; and, as he was ignorant of German, Teutonic authors were excluded. The owner of the library was there, seated at the table, a long, thin figure clothed in black. He rose as Silla entered, and came to greet him, speaking with a strongly marked Piedmontese accent. ' You are Signer Corrado Silla.' •Yes, Count.' ' I am greatly obliged to you for coming to visit me.' His voice was soft and geiitle, and he pressed the young man's hand warmly. ' I presume,' he resumed, ' that you were surprised not to see me yesterday.' 'Some other things surprised me,' replied his guest, •but—' The Count chimed in with ' Enough, enough. I am glad to hear you say that, for it is only fools and swindlers who are never surprised at anything. My secretary no doubt informed you, either in German or Italian, that I always go to bed before ten o'clock. The habit strikes you as strange ? Perhaps it is, for I have observed the custom for five-and-twenty years. And how did that rascally cardriver treat you ? ' ' He drove very well.' The Count motioned Silla to a chair and sat down himself, and continued, — ' And now, would you like to know to what place he drove you ? ' 30 MALOMBRA 'It is not unnatural,' said Silla, and relapsed int« silence. 'Oh, I sympathise with your feelings, but with youi permission I will postpone the subject till this evening. Till then, favour me by being a friend who comes to see me in the plenitude of his leisure, or a literary man who is inclined to dip into my books and test the capacities of my chef. I can hardly broach business with a guest who has only just crossed my threshold. This evening we will have a chat. I fancy that you will not find your- self so uncomfortable here that I shall not be able to induce you to stay on a little longer ' ' On the contrary,' replied Silla, impetuously ; ' but I think you might perhaps tell me — ' ' Tell you about a little surprise which you found on your arrival ? Perhaps, indeed, I do owe you something on that score ; and I can only appeal to your courtesy and ask you to reserve the subject till this evening. In the meantime, if you will come with me I will show you my castle, as those clowns of peasants call it. They might leave to our glorious modern civilisation the habit of caUing very small things by very big names ! My house,' he added, rising to his feet," is a shell — z. shell which has been inhabited by many shell-fish of diverse temperaments. The tastes of the first seem to have been somewhat ambitious ; you may notice that he has adorned the outer shell of his dwelling regardless of expense. None of his successors had epicurean tastes for which, indeed, a shell is hardly adapted. For myself I have the misanthropic temperament, and allow my habitation to get grimier every day.' Silla did not insist, he felt the influence of a stronger will. The Count, tall and incredibly thin, with his fine head and rough shock of white hair, and his stern eyes THE CASTLE 31 and rugged features, his olive complexion and clean shaven face, was a striking figure. In his deep bass voice could be discerned rich capacities for love and hate. His voice vibrated with passion, throwing a wealth of life and originality into the most common- place phrases ; its tones came up direct from the cavi- ties of a large heart, of a chest of bronze, in contradis- tinction to certain thin acid voices that seem to dis- charge their notes only from the tongue. He was dressed in a long frock coat, cut clumsily about the wrists, from which issued two fine white hands. He wore an old-fashioned black cravat. ' First of all,' he said, pointing to his books, * allow me to present you to the friends in whose society I pass much of my time. Some of them are excellent people, some of them are scoundrels, a large majority are im- beciles, and these I have sent, being a good Christian, as near to heaven as I could. Among them are poets, romanticists and savants. I need not scruple to say this, although you are somewhat of a literary man, for I made the same remark to D'Azeglio, who, with all his scribbl ing propensities, has a good deal of common sense, and it set him laughing. The theologians are represented too. Those white Dominicans come to me from my great-uncle, a bishop of Novara, who had plenty of time to waste. As for my own friends, they are all close at hand, and I trust you will make their acquaintance. In the meantime, let us take a turn, if you are so inclined.' The castle stood at the entrance to a retired valley where the lake of hides itself between two wooded hills. Built in the style of the eighteenth century, it faces the south with its left wing, and the east with its right one. Two arcades, the one of five arches on the side of the lake, and the other of three arches towards 32 MALOMBRA the mountains, run obliquely between the two wings at the height of the first floor, and join them in a point resting upon a huge mass of black stone projecting above the lake. The tools of the gardener have cut in the hard rock a shallow bed in which compost has been laid, and here purslains, verbenas and petunias bloom in careless splendour. The wing which contains the library, built perhaps as a summer resort, throws its grave reflection in the waters of the bay. In front of it is a solitary hill-side covered with hazel trees and hornbeans ; on the right is a spacious and fertile valley, into which the overflow of the lake escapes ; behind the castle roof appear vines and cypresses, as though peep- ing over into the green waters of the lake, which is here so clear that when the mid-day sun strikes down in summer full upon it, the eye can see far down among the motionless water-weeds, and catch now and again the passing shadow of a fish moving slowly above the yellow pebbles. The left wirlg commands the open lake, mountains in front, mountains in the east; in the west, towards the plains, a background of hills and, between, cultivated fields divided by rows of poplars. Between the east and south the lake winds round behind a promontory, a tall, reddish rock, and there hides the waters of its smaller and shallower end. The lake is a small one, small in size and in renown, yet ambitious and proud, proud of its crown of mountain summits. Full of passion, full of change; now violet, now green, now leaden; some- times, as it nears the plains, even blue. There it breaks into a laugh, and reflects the rich colouring of the clouds glowing in the setting sun, or becomes one bright sheet of flame when the south wind ripples across it beneath the mid-day glare of July. On all other sides extend the THE CASTLE 33 mountains, wooded to the summit, with here and there a dusky heap of rock or a bright emerald patch of pasture. Towards the east the lake is bounded by a valley, and the hills there ascend terrace-like to- wards the Alpe dei Fiori, distant rocky summits which cut the sky Une with their jagged tops. Down that valley, not far distant from the lake, one sees a little village church, and on the opposite side, on the brow of the hill, that slopes down gently to the meadows, the white roof of a bell-tower peeps up from amid the walnut trees. Where the castle abuts on the mountain sides pick- axe and mattock have vigorously assailed the rock, and have wrested space for the little semi-circular court where a sparkling fountain plays ; its waters falling back again among the graceful geraniums and the broad leaves of the arums. Two large oval beds of flowers and foliage plants flank it on either side. Beyond them are fine white sandy paths. Along the walls that touch the mountain sides wind the thousand tendrils of the Vir- ginian creepers and jessamine, tender plants which seek on all sides for a support, and when they have found one, clothe it, as though in gratitude, with beauty. Opposite the centre of the main wall of the castle and facing the loggia, between the south and east wings, broad stone flights of steps have been built up the hill side, flanked on either hand by huge cypresses and by marble statues. On the right and left, serried lines of vines stretch away into the distance, marshalled like regiments on parade. Some of the cypresses have lost their top branches, and show the black scars left by hghtning, but most of them are intact, noble in their ancient grandeur. Thfey look like huge giants striding slowly down the hill to bathe in the c 34 MALOMBRA lake below; while all nature around them looks on in silent wonder. Of the statues, but nine or ten still grace their pedes- tals, and they are closely veiled in twining ivy. Their bare arms emerge, like those of threatening Sibyls, or rather of nymphs overcome and turned to stone by some strange metamorphosis. In sympathy with this idea, the gardener's son would often place in their hands bunches of leaves and flowers. At the summit of the stone staircase is a large reservoir formed of elegant grey stonework, with mosaic in white, red and black, divided into five arches corresponding to as many niches, each containing a marble vase. In the centre a nude figure of a Naiad turns over her vase with her foot, and there flows thence a stream of water which descends by a hidden conduit, and reappears in the fountain among the flowers in the court. On the pedestal of the statue are inscribed the famous words of Heraclitus : IIANTA PEEI. From the balcony, which is placed at the east end of the castle, one emerges into a little garden on the stone terrace, which is shaded almost entirely from the noon- day sun by the foliage of a superb magnolia. An open flight of steps leads from this garden down to a point near the little door of the boat-house, and to one of the outer gates. From here a rough track leads to the village of R — . At the other end of the castle a solid balustrade is supported by pillars, which in turn rest on the rocks which lurk like monsters of the deep beneath the lake. Behind the balustrade is a broad drive, on the other side of which are flower beds, bright with foliage plants and flowers. In the summer time, great pots of lemon trees stand on the balustrade and are reflected in the THE CASTLE 3S clear waters of the lake. At the bottom of the drive the outer wall of the park is concealed by a Uttle belt of pine trees, which wind along with it, like a black velvet ribbon, up the hillside, twining around the gardener's cottage near an iron gate, through which, by a steep pathway known to him, the high road may be reached. With its cypresses, its vineyards, its belt of pine trees, and with the lake lying at its feet, the castle would make a pleasing photograph enough if science could reproduce the varying shades of dull and bright green, the transparent waters of the lake, and the re- flection of the sun as it plays on the old walls. One could then imagine, stretched out before its windows, a broad expanse of lake, smiling villages, gardens bright with flowers. But, viewed even in its severe solitude, the castle is not gloomy. Outside the castle precincts, that part of the estate which faces south is green with olive trees, and its aspect speaks to the mildness of the winters. Through the open portals of the great gate that looks across the plains in the west, one's eye and one's imagination wander freely; one conjures up the image, one almost thinks one hears the hum, of the busy human life beyond. The castle dominates that isolated site in aristocratic grandeur; its owner may well think himself lord of all he surveys; deem him- self a king to whom none dares draw near, the mountains defending his throne, and the waves lapping its feet. 'They say,' said the Count, as he entered the loggia with Silla, ' that the view from this point is not bad, and I confess myself I have seen worse.' Then pointing to a tablet above the middle arch of the loggia, he added, ' Read that,' and Silla read as follows : — 36 MALOMBRA EMANtJEL DE OrMENGO TKIBDNATU MIHTARI APUD SABAUDOS FUNCTUS MATBRNO IN AGRO DOMUM MAGNO AQUARUM ATQUE MONTIUM SILENTIO CIRCUMFDSAM iEDIFICAVIT UT SE FESSUM BEI,LO POTENTIUM INGRATITUDINE LABORANTEM HUG VESPERASCBNTE VITA RECIPERET ATQUE NEPOTES IN PARI FORTUNA PARI OBLIVIONS FRUERENTUR MDCCVII. ' Ah !' exclaimed the Count, standing behind Silla, his legs apart and his hands clasped behind him. ' My worthy ancestor experienced royal favour and repudiated it, as you see. It is for this reason that I myself would have none of it, and I would never serve a king unless I had to choose between him and our canaille of a demo- cracy. That ancestor of mine was a man of iron. Only kings and democracies would break and throw away a similar instrument. Ugh ! Perhaps you do not believe me ? ' 'I am devoted to my king,' replied the young man, with some emotion. ' I have fought for him and for Italy.' • Ah ! for Italy ! Nothing could be better. But you speak of the passing conditions of the present day, while I refer to institutions that are judged by the testimony of centuries. My own secretary is a democrat, and I have a high opinion of him, for he is the best and most honest creature in the world. For the rest, if you have an ideal I am the last person to wish to destroy it, for without an ideal all feeling is merged in sensuality.' •And your own ideal ?' rejoined Silla. THE CASTLE 37 ' Mine ? Look around you.' The Count stepped up to the parapet above the lake. ^You see where I have chosen my home, among the noblest natural surroundings, amidst a magnificent aristo- cracy, not wealthy indeed, but powerful. Its view is wide, it defends the plains, husbands the forces of the industrial life of the district, distributes pure and life- giving air, and takes nothing in return for all these benefits except its own majestic grandeur. Possibly you understand what is my political ideal and why I live far from the world; respuilica mea non est de hoc mundo. Let us be going.' The Count was an excellent guide, drawing Silla's attention to every object of interest and explaining the ideas of the iron ancestor who had built the castle as ■ though they had originated in his own brain. The old soldier had done things en grand seigneur. A wing of the castle for winter, another for summer, three storeys to each. Kitchens, pantries, offices, servants' rooms ; a grand staircase in the west wing ; noble reception rooms on the first floor. Frescoes adorned these, painted in fantastic confusion by an unknown artist who had heaped together architecture of the Renaissance, loggias, terraces and obelisks, and fantastical scenes depicting cavalry skirmishes, in which the drawing was incorrect and violated nearly all the maxims of Leonardo da Vinci, but which were not devoid of vigour. ' I understand from my friends,' said the Count, show- ing them to Silla, ' that the good man who painted these was a stupid fellow ; some even go so far as to call him a cow. I know nothing about these things, but I am glad to hear it ; for the artists are no favourites of mine.' It was true enough, he neither liked artists nor under- stood them. He had a large collection of pictures, the 38 MALOMBRA best of which were collected by his mother, liie the Marchioness B of Florence, who was passionately fond of art. The Count was absolutely ignorant of the subject, and used to terrify his friends by calmly uttering the most heretical opinions whenever he spoke of it. He would gladly have turned face to the wall a portrait by Raphael, or have thrown a Titian on the nibbish-heap. He regarded them only as so much dirty canvas, and would not have concealed his opinion for any considera- tion whatever. The earliest masters were less distasteful to him, because he found them more archaic and less artistic ; less artistic and therefore better citizens. At the same time he could give no reason for this opinion. Landscape painting was his special aversion; he regarded it as a sign of social decadence, an art inspired by scepticism, by a repudiation of social duties and a kind of sentimental materialism. He was not the man to part with • his mother's favourite pictures, but he kept them prisoner in a long passage on the second floor, on the north side above the dining-room. In entering this corridor by one end it seemed to Silla that someone beat a hasty retreat through the door at the other, and he noticed that his. companion's eyes flashed. The three windows of the gallery were wide open, but could that perfume of ' mown-hay scent ' come through the open windows ? One of the old leather high-backed chairs that were ranged at equal intervals along the walls of the gallery, and gave to it an air of almost episcopal dignity, had been dragged alongside the window in the middle and placed facing a Canaletto of marvellous beauty. On the window ledge lay an open book, much dog-eared but perfectly clean and white. •You see,' said the Count, calmly closing the first of TBE CASTLE 39 the three windows, ' I have here some extraordinary possessions. Mountains, woods, plains, rivers, lakes, and even a fair collection of seas.' ' But they are treasures ! ' exclaimed Silla. 'Ahl the canvas is very old, and of the poorest quality.' With this remark the Count replaced the high-backed chair in its proper place. ' How can you talk of canvas ? Now take this Vene- tian subject for example.' ' I don't even care for Venice, although I am told that it is highly valued. Think of that ! ' He took up the book which was on the ledge of the second window, closed the volume, glanced at the frontispiece and, as though he were doing the most natural thing in the world, threw it out into the:; court- yard and shut the window. A heavy crash followed, with the noise of broken panes, and a hail of bits of glass falling on the gravel. The Count turned to Silla, continuing his conversation as though nothing had happened. ' I have ever held in detestation that garish, reeking, ragged city of Venice, which is dropping, piecemeal, her greasy courtesan's cloak, and begins to show some half-soiled linen, and a shrivelled, dirty skin. You say to yourself, this man is a coarse fellow. Do you not? Yes, others have intimated to me the same thing. And naturally. But remember that I am a great admirer of the old Venetians, that I have relations at Venice, and a dash of Venetian blood in my veins, and that of the best. I am a man of plain speech, of a school new to Italy, where, Heaven knows, there is no lack of sensuous fools. Where will you find an educated Italian who will talk to you of art in the way that I have done ? The 40 MALOMBRA large majority know nothing whatever about it, but they take good care not to confess the fact. It is curious to stand and listen to a group of these fools and hypocrites in front of a picture or a statue, and to watch their desperate exertions in expressing admiration, each one believing that he has to deal with connoisseurs. If they could all simultaneously remove their masks, what a shout of laughter you would hear.' He stepped up to the third window and called out, ' Enrico.' An almost child-like voice replied, — ' I am coming, sir.' The Count waited a moment, and then added, — • Bring me up that book.' Then he shut the window. Silla could not tear himself away from the pictures. ' I could stay here all day,' he said. ' What ! even you ? ' Who was the other person who came here ? Perhaps the young lady of whom the driver had spoken to him ? Did the arm-chair out of its place, the book, the scent of ' mown-hay,' testify to her recent presence ? That hurried closing of the door, that flash of anger in the eyes of the Count ? Up to this moment Silla had only seen the Count, Steinegge and the servants. Nobody had even men- tioned other inmates of the castle. A few hours later, after having gone all over the garden and the castle without meeting anyone, he retired to his room to dress, and as he went into the dining- room with the Count and Steinegge, he observed that four covers were laid, one at each side of the table. The guests of the north, south and west took theii places ; but the unknown one of the east failed to appear. THE CASTLE 41 The Count left the room, but returned after ten minutes and ordered the cover to be removed. ' I had hoped,' he said, turning to Silla ' to introduce you to my niece, but it would seem that she is feeling indisposed.' Silla expressed regret; Steinegge, more formal than ever, went on eating, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate ; the Count looked very glum, and even the butler wore a mysterious expression. All through dinner the only sounds in the cool, shaded, room were the obsequious tread of the butler and the clinking of plates and glasses, which resounded among the echoes of the roof. Through the half-open windows was heard the noisy chirp of many grasshoppers ; one saw the glint of sunlight falling on the green leaves of the vines, and the changing hue of the grass as it bent hither and thither before the breeze. The prospect outside was more cheerful than that withia CHAPTER III PHANTOMS OF THE PAST The sun had set and the grasshoppers had ceased to chirp. The wooded hillside facing the library stood out in dark outline against the clear, orange-coloured sky, from which a last warm ray of light fell on the marble floor near the windows, and outside on the clear brown leaves of the magnolia, and on the gravel of the little garden. Through the open window came the fresh air from the valley and the twittering of the sparrows in the cypresses. The Count, seated at his usual place, had his elbows resting on the table and his face covered in his hands. SiUa, sitting opposite to him, was waiting for him to speak. But the Count seemed to be turned to stone; he neither spoke nor moved. Now and then he gave a sign of life when he raised his eight thin, nervous, fingers from his forehead, stretched them out, then again clasped his brow as though he wished to press them into the bone. Silla watched a little shadow flitting across the floor, the shadow of a sparrow which could not find its way out, and was dashing itself wildly hither and thither, along the bookshelves and across the ceiling. 42 PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 43 Behind the stern brow of the old nobleman there was a wild flood of thoughts which could not find their way out. It was the hour which brings unrest to the heart ; that hour in which the light that guides us fails, and things corporeal and intellectual feel themselves free, as it were, from a vigilance that has become wearisome. Hills seem to leisurely lay themselves down flat upon the plain, fields spread themselves over villages and dwellings, the shadows take form and shape, human forms disappear in mist. In the heart of man, the impressions, the thoughts, the present, sink into oblivion, and are replaced by a confused upward movement of distant memories, of phantoms that move our pity, and lead us to sigh in secret. Presently, with a sudden movement, the Count raised his face and said, — 'Signor Silla!' Then after a moment's silence he slowly resumed, — ' When you read my letter, the name which you found subscribed to it was unknown to you ? ' ' Quite unknown.' ' There was in your mind not even the faintest memory of this name ? ' ' Not the faintest.' 'Among those who brought you up, did you never hear any mention made of one who would be in a position to assist you should you find yourself in diffi- culty?' ' No. Who is supposed to have spoken to me in this way?' The Count hesitated a moment, and then repeated, in a low voice, — • Those who brought you up.' ' Never ! ' 44 MALOMBRA •At least you will remember that you have seen my face before ? ' Silla was taken aback by the manner in which the Count persisted, but simply replied, — ' I have no such recollection.' 'Well,' rejoined the Count, 'one day, nineteen years ago, a day in which you had been punished severely for breaking a vase that stood in a dark room where you had been locked up, you then saw me for an instant.' Silla jumped to his feet ; the Count rose also, and after a moment's silence, walked round the table and stood near his interlocutor, placing himself sideways to the dying glow of the setting sun. ' Do you remember now ? ' he asked. Silla replied in confusion that he did not remember seeing the Count, but he did remember breaking the vase, and then, after his punishment, seeking refuge in his mother's room. ' You see that I have known you for a long time. You must feel that. And now I am going to tell you what I know about you.' The Count set to work to walk up and down as he talked. His deep voice went rising and falling among the dark shadows of the room, his strange figure was now in light, now in shade, as he crossed before the windows and then passed on. 'You were born at Milan, in the Via del Monte di Pietk, in 1834. Your mother brought you up, your father gave you a silver cradle and a maid who passed in the world as your nurse. This woman died soon after leaving your service. You disliked her cordially. Did you not?' ' I don't remember. They have told me so. I heard it more than once from my mother.' PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 45 ' No doubt. Do you wish to know how far back your memory goes ? You were five years old. You had been put to bed an hour earlier than usual. During the day there had been an unwonted bustle among the servants, and much going and coming of carpenters and the like, with an immense accumulation of confectionery and flowers. Late that night you were awakened by the strains of music. Then the door of your room opened. Your mother came in, bent over you, kissed you.' ' My lord ! ' exclaimed Silla, in a hoarse voice, ' how do you come to know all these things ? ' 'Some years later,' resumed the deep voice of the Count, without further explanation, 'when you were thirteen, that is to say in 1847, something unusual occurred in your household.' The deep voice relapsed into silence, the Count stood still some distance off, near the door leading into the little garden. ' Is that not so ? ' he asked. Silla made no reply. The Count resumed his walk. 'Perhaps it is cruel,' he went on, 'to recall these details, but I am no friend of modern sentimentality ; and I hold that it is beneficial to a man to go over the lessons he has learnt from adversity, and to renew the pain which preserves their precepts in his mind. Be- sides, pain, believe me, is a fine tonic ; and in certain cases it is a comforting sign of the vitality of the moral sense. For where there is no pain there is gangrene. To return, therefore. In 1847 something unusual occurred. You went to pass a few days at Sesto with the C s. Your carriage, on the return journey, stopped before another house in the Via Molino delle Armi. It was- a very different house from that in the Via del 46 MALOMBRA Monte di Pietk, and the life which you led there was a very different life. The new house was badly furnished, and you had few servants. You know where part of your old furniture is to be found.' ' What do you mean ? ' •Well, of course, they were sold.' ' But how do you — ' ' That is another matter, we will speak of that later on. What was I saying? Ah, you went to live in a fifth floor in the Via Molino delle Armi. From your bed room window you could see our mountains here. At this time you had already indulged in the usual dream of becoming a great man, and filling the world with your name.' • It appears to me, Count,' said Silla, ' that you have said enough. Pray, tell me what you desire of me.' ' Later on. It is not enough. I am about to tell you facts about yourself of which you are ignorant. Your salutary dream of a glorious future preserved you from the usual dissipations of the young. Unfortunately, your ambitions took a literary turn instead of pursuing a line of action. Allow me to go on. I am an old man. And so you took to hterature. But you were lacking in the force of character and reliance on yourself which were necessary for a manful pursuit of this career. Instead of wrapping yourself up in your litera- ture, you went off to Pavia. What did you study at Pavia ? ' ' Law.' ' You studied everything, except law. Oh ! I know you wanted a profitable employment, thinking of your poor mother, but in that case you should have given yourself up to it like a man ; have cut away half your heart and pushed forward with what remained. What PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 47 did you do on your return from Pavia? You published a novel. Now here comes a fact of which you are ignorant. The small sum of money which your mother gave you to defray the expenses of publication was not, as she led you to believe, a gift from her relations ; the day before she had disposed of her remaining jewellery — cherished family relics — to a goldsmith.' ' What right have you ? ' cried Silla, springing towards the Count. 'What right have you to know of these things ? ' ' My right ? A very idle question, Your right is to look me full in the face.' The Count rang the bell, Silla remained silent, breathing hard. The Count went to open the door, and remained until he heard a step in the passage. ' A lamp,' said he ; and went and sat down . at the table. 'It's not true. It's not true,' said Silla, sottovoce. ' I was not the bad character that you say. Prove it, if you can.' The Count made no reply. • I,' continued Silla, ' who would have given my life's blood for my mother, who worshipped her — I, who did not even wish to take that money because my mother's relatives did not approve of my taking up literature, and because, knowing them, I was afraid of rousing them against my mother on my account' The Count laid a finger on his lip. Just then a servant came in with a lamp, placed it on a table and retired. ' When I, my dear sir,' rejoined the Count, ' make a statement as to fact, the fact is as good as proved.' ' But in Heaven's name, who—' 48 MALOMBRA ' Let the matter rest where it is. I did not accuse you of voluntarily accepting the sacrifice. You know nothing about it. That is how life goes. Young men have ever the ridiculous vanity that the earth is blessed by their tread, and the sky by their glance, and all the time their parents are toiling and moiling to help them onwards, concealing what they suffer in consequence, at the very time of life when their strength is failing, their spirit is weary, and all the pleasures of life are one by one disappearing.' ' Heavens ! if that were true in my case, call me any- thing you will.' ' I have not invited you to my house in order to insult you. Besides, if you ever have children, you will have to go through the same trials. If I abused you, I should have to abuse myself and the whole foolish human race. To proceed. Your book was not a success. In truth, I feel that I ought to congratulate you on the fact that fortune did not smile on you. In '58 — ' The Count paused a moment, and then resumed in a low voice, — ' There is no fear of your forgetting the blow which fell upon you in '58.' Again he paused, and for some moments unbroken silence reigned. ' At this point I ought to mention,' resumed the Count, ' that if I dwell on the details of your life beyond what is necessary to prove that I know you well, it is because I hope in this manner to better justify the proposals that I am about to make to you. Well, in '59 you did your duty and fought for Italy. Your father — ' •Count!' • Oh, you know me httle if you think I am capable of reflecting on the memory of a man in the presence of his PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 49 son, even though he have committed errors and incurred censure. Your father was not at Milan when you re- turned thither. He was abroad, where I understand he died in May of '62. You found yourself alone with your literature, and were unexpectedly called upon to teach Italian, geography and history in a private school, even the name of which was unknown to you. Did you ever learn how the Directors' choice happened to fall on you?' 'No.' 'It is of no importance. About that time you received an ofier from your mother's relatives, the Pernetti Anzati, did you not ? They wished you to enter their spinning business, and offered you a handsome salary. I believe that is so ? ' ' Yes, perhaps I owed this offer to you ? ' 'Never niind. You refused the offer. Quite right. Well done. Better an occupation that brings little bread and much refinement, than one which turns into money time, health, and a good part of one's mind. However, the school came to grief and has been closed. I imagine that you would not refuse similar honourable employment, and it is to this end that I have begged you to come and see me.' ' I thank you,' said Silla, drily. ' It will, in the first place, enable me to live.' 'Oh,' interrupted the Count, ' who spoke of that ? The Pernetti paid over to you, I know, part of your mother's dower, which they once kept back, amounting to fifteen hundred francs. After that — ' ' After that,' exclaimed Silla, vehejmently, ' after that 1 should like to know who you are who take such an in terest in my affairs ? ' The Count waited some time before replying. D 50 MALOMBRA ' I am an old friend of your mother's family, and I take a deep interest in you for the sake of some persons who were very dear to me. Circumstances have till now kept us far apart; a misfortune which we will now hope to repair. Does this sufiSce you ? ' ' Pardon me. It does not suffice. How can it ? ' 'Very well, let us put my friendship on one side. After all, it is not a benefit which I Offer to you, it is a favour which I ask of you. I know that you have much intelligence, a highly-cultivated mind, that you are reliable, and that you have been thrown out of employment. I offer you congenial employment, half scientific, half literary work, for which I have collected the materials, and which I should like to undertake myself if I were a literary man, or at least if I were of your age. All these materials are here, near at hand, and as I desire to be in constant communication with the person who writes the book, the book must be written in my house. The person in question will of course name his terms.' ' I cannot enter into this subject, Count, unless you tell me how you obtained the knowledge of the matters you have mentioned to me.' 'You decline, then, to discuss the question ?' ' In this way, yes.' 'And if I were to make use of the good offices of a person who has great influence over you ? ' ' Do not trouble to do that. Count ; there is no such person in the world.' ' I have not said that the person is alive.' Silla experienced a shock ; a cold, sinking feeling went through him. The Count opened a drawer of the writing-table, drew out a letter and handed it to him. ' Read this,' he said, throwing himself back in his chair, PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 51 his hands in his pockets and his chin resting on his chest. The young man quickly seized the letter, glanced rapidly at the superscription, and was seized with a violent fit of trembling, which prevented him from speaking. It was in his mother's handwriting, and ran thus: — 'ForCorrado.' He trembled so that he was scarcely able to open the letter. The well-loved voice of his mother seemed to him to have descended from the world of spirits in order to utter words which in this life she could not speak, and which had remained buried in her heart, under a stone more weighty than that of the tomb. The letter ran as follows : — • If my memory be dear to you, if you feel that I have done ought to earn your love, trust yourself to the honotirable man who gives you this letter. From that land of rest in which, by the mercy of God, I hope to be at peace when you read these lines, my blessing be upon you. Mother.' Neither of the two men spoke; one heard a wild, desperate sob, then all was silence. All of a sudden Silla, against his judgment, against his will, against the impulse of his heart, looked at the Count with such a painful anxiety in his large eyes, that the latter struck furiously on the table with his clenched fist, exclaiming, — •No!' ' Great heavens ! I did not wish to say that ! ' cried Silla. The Count rose to his feet, spreading out his arms. 58 MALOMBRA ' A venerated friend,' he said. Silla laid his head on the table and wept. The Count waited a moment in silence, and then, in a low voice, continued, — ' I saw your mother for the last time a year before her marriage. Since then she wrote me many letters, of which you were the sole theme. It is from them that I learnt so many details of your life. After '58 I continued to receive information from friends of mine at Milan. You will now understand how it is that you see here pieces of furniture from your old house. They recall to me the most virtuous and most high-minded lady who has ever honoured me with her friendship.' Silla held out both bis hands towards him without raising his head. The Count pressed them both aJGFectionately, holding them for a few moments between his own. 'Well? 'he asked. ' Oh ! ' replied Silla, raising his head. All that was necessary had been said. ' Very well,' the Count went on ; ' now you had better take a turn and get a mouthful of fresh air. I will send my secretary with you.' He rang the bell, and Steinegge appeared soon after- wards, placing himself, with many smiles, at the disposal of Signor Silla. He expressed gratification at acting as his guide, with a doubt whether the clothes he just then had on were suitable for so honourable a service. They were ? He was obliged. Thus at length he set out with Silla, bowing and indulging in an infinity of ceremonies at every door they passed through, as though there was a torpedo lying outside each threshold. Hardly were they outside the gate in the courtyard when his demeanour entirely changed. Taking his com- PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 53 panion by the arm, ' Let us go to R ,' he said. ' I think we ought to try the wine there, my dear sir.' 'No,' replied Silla, abstractedly. At present he hardly knew where he was. ' Oh ! in what a tone you said that ! You are serious, I see, very serious. Very well, then, I am most serious too.' Steinegge halted, lighted a cigar, puffed a cloud of smoke into the air, clapped his right hand on his com- panion's shoulder, and remarked suddenly, — ' It is twelve years ago to-day that my wife died.' He made a step forwards, then turned round and looked at Silla, hjs arms folded across his chest, his lips pursed up, his eyebrows knit. 'Come, I will tell you all about it,' he added, and again taking Silla by the arm, he moved forward with great strides, now and then making a brief halt. ' I fought for my country in 1848 ; after that I quitted the Austrian service and went to Nassau, where I fought for the cause of freedom. Well, when the tragedy was ended and the curtain fell, I was mercifully sent across the frontier with my wife and child. We went to Switzerland. There I worked as a navvy, with a pick-axe» on the railway. I don't complain of that, it was honour- able toil. I come of good people and was a captain in a cavalry regiment, but for all that it is an honourable thing to have laboured with one's own hands. The. un- fortunate part was that I did not earn enough. My wife and daughter were hungry and half-starved. So, with the assistance of some kind friends, fellow-countrymen of mine, we emigrated to America. Yes, my dear sir, I have been to America among other places. At New York I sold beer and made a lot of money. Oh ! yes, things went well with me there. 54 MALOMBRA ' Es war ein Traum. It was a dream. My wife fell ill of an nervous disorder. We liked New York, were making money, had many friends there. After all, what are all these things compared to health. We leave New York and arrive in Europe. I write to my relations. They are all reactionaries and bigots. I was born a Catholic, but I don't believe in priests, so I get no reply to my letters. What did it matter to them if my wife died ? Then I applied to my wife's relatives. It almost makes one smile, but they hated me because they had hoped to marry their daughter to a rich man, and the little money that my father was unable to deprive me of had been confiscated by the Government. Alto- gether, a nice state of affairs. However, my brother-in- law happened to come to Nancy while I was there. My wife went with him and the child, hoping soon to get well and to return to me. I accompanied her to the frontier. She was very ill, and at mid-day I had to tear myself away from her. An hour before I left her, she embraced me saying, " Andreas, I have seen my native land in the distance ; it is enough, let us remain together.'' She wished to die where I was, you under- stand. Eight days afterwards — ' Steinegge completed the sentence with a gesture, and began smoking furiously. Silla spoke never a word, seemed to pay no attention ; possibly did not hear what he was saying. 'My wife's relations,' the other went on, 'took my little daughter. This was kind of them, because the child would not have been comfortable alone with me, and, comforting myself with the thought that she was happier, I bore my sufferings with cheerfulness. But will you believe me when I say that they have never written to me about her ? I have written to her every PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 55 fortnight until two years ago; and I have never had a letter in reply. Perhaps she is dead. And, after all, one goes on drinking and smoking and laughing. Ah!' After this philosophical peroration, the secretary be- came silent. The rough httle path they were following went slantways over a wooded slope, from the valley in which the castle stood, towards the grimy cottages of R . Beneath their feet lay the calm waters of the lake. At the castle the windows of the library were still lighted up, and so were two others in the same wing at the corner of the second storey ; one facing west- wards, the other towards the south. Before reaching the village, the path twisted away between two low stone walls into a field of rye, interspersed with mul- berry trees. ' Where are we going ? ' asked Silla, as they approached the dark entrance to the village. ' Only a little farther,' replied his guide in a cheerful tone. 'I should be glad to stop here.' Steinegge sighed, but answered, "As you wish. Then we will get off the path.' And they took a few steps behind the wall and sat down on the grass near the hill. ' I con- sult your pleasure, my dear sir,' said the secretary, ' but it is very bad for you not to djink anything. Friends in adversity are few, and wine is the most faithful of them. It is a pity to neglect it. Show it that you see it with pleasure, and it gladdens your heart; treat it badly, and one day, when you have need of it, it will bite you.' Silla did not reply. In his then state of mind it was pleasant to contem- plate the dark stillness of the night, without moon or S6 MALOMBRA star. From the valley blew a fresh breath of cold air, scented with the perfume of the woods. They had been there some minutes when from their right among the cottages was heard the confused sound of many footsteps. ' Angiolina ! ' someone bawled out. Silence. ' Hi ! there ! Angiolina ! ' A window opened and a woman's voice answered sharply, — • What do you want ? ' ' Nothing. Here we are in the alfresco cafi, taking our fresh air like gentlemen, and we should like a little pleas- ant conversation.' ' Drunken, good-for-nothing fellows ! Is this a proper time to sit up talking ? You had better go to the public- house if you want that.' • It is too hot there,' shouted another. • Much pleasanter out here in the open air. Can't you feel the nice fresh breeze ? What's the good of going to sleep? Sheer madness to stop in bed in this hot weather. Even the old gentleman at the castle hasn't gone to bed. The castle windows are still lighted up. Can't you see them ? ' ' No, not from here. It will be the window of Donna Marina's room.' ' Possibly hers also. But the two bright lights below are the library windows. I ought to know, for it's only the other day that I was up there putting in two panes of glass.' •They say there are strangers staying at the castle.' ' Yes, there's a young chap from Milan. We heard it this evening from the cook. I suppose he's come for change of air and to pay court to Donna Marina.' ' A happy man who gets her, and a big fool for his PHANTOMS OF THE PAST 57 pains,' chimed in the woman. ' Signora Giovanna said the same thing to-day when she was telling the curate's Martha how, this morning, there had been another quarrel, and how the old gentleman had thrown down one of my lady's books out of the window and into the courtyard. Then she turned the place into a pande- monium. Signora Giovanna sides with the old Count, but both he and the lady are mad as hatters. If it were only her name it would prevent my wanting her if I were a man. She has a regular witch's name, you know — Malombra. ' ' Really,' remarked Steinegge quietly ; ' very good, very good indeed ! How the woman hits the nail on the head. A witch. This is becoming amusing.' ' It isn't Malombra, it's Crusnelli.' ' Malombra ! ' ' Crusnelli ! ' ' Malombra ! ' The argument waxed warm, and they all shputed at the same time. ' Let us be going,' said Silla. They got up and turned back down the hill towards the castle. When they had reached the back part of the courtyard, where it was so dark that Steinegge began to regret not having brought a lantern, the soft clear notes of a piano broke the silence of the night. The darkness seemed to lift beneath the spell. Not that in fact they could see ought ; but they felt the great mountain walls encircling those ringing notes, while beneath them lay outstretched the whispering waters of the lake. In that isolated place the effect was indescribable, full of mystery, exciting the imagination. The piano may have been an old, worn-out instrument, and in a city, and by daylight, its feeble and plaintive voice might have excited derision ; JS MALOMBRA yet in the solitude and the darkness it seemed full of expression and of feeling. Its voice seemed weary, worn out by too ardent a spirit. The melody, all fire and passion, was supported by a light graceful accompaniment, half-caressing, half-jesting. ' Donna Marina,' said Steinegge. ' Ah ! ' whispered Silla, ' what is she playing ? ' 'Well,' replied Steinegge, 'I should say it is out of " Don Giovanni." You know Vieni alia finestra. She plays almost every evening about this time.' Meanwhile the light in the library had disappeared. 'The Count has gone to bed in disgust,' explained Steinegge. 'Why?' ' Because he hates music, and she plays on purpose.' ' Hush,' whispered Silla, and then added : ' How beauti- fully she plays.' ' She plays,' declared Steinegge, ' like an evil spirit with amorous propensities. I counsel you, my dear sir, to place no trust in her music.' CHAPTER IV CECILIA ' From Donna Marina Crusnelli di Malombra to the Signora Giulia de Bella. ' 2&tk August 1864- ' A most graceful toilette. But how came you to light upon so poor an idea as the myosotis ? Do not forget me on the right ; do not forget me on the left ; do not forget me, ladies and gentlemen. Perhaps one blossom fell on the sloping shoulders of dear Mr D ; another may have caught fire in the r d whiskers of Count B ; while the tall, gawky son of the house picked up a third and hid it carefully in his Latin grammar. Heavens ! if there had been none left for your husband ! When I give a fancy-dress ball, you will see how I shall go ! ' Send me a tiny bottle of egnatia. My nerves are out of tune like a boarding-school piano. It is midnight and we cannot sleep, neither I nor the lake, who is murmur- ing about it down below. The Dart is there too, rattling her chains, and anxious to be off and to take me with her. A nice idea ! A cold shudder would go through you and the gallants to whom you are now offer- ing tea and cigarettes, if you could see me wandering over the waves, alone in my skiff, like a wild woman of the 59 6o MALOMBRA woods. Never mind, I will sacrifice for your sake the Darfs wishes and my own ; for if I had not to write to you, I should certainly go for a sail. ' Now tell me why it is that my uncle's ink never dries. Tell me why, in September, the castle is to be visited by my cousin, the Countess Fosca Salvador, and His Ex- cellency Nepomoceno, commonly called Nepo, son of the aforesaid. ' Yes, I am thinking about it. And why not ? Why should I not marry Signor Nepo and go far away and forget even the name of this odious prison-house ? The Salvadors have a palace at Venice, in style half Byaantine, half Lombard, in colour brick-red, and standing in the middle of some greenish water between two deserted evil- smelling canals, all beauty and squalor. A touch of the East, a Canaletto, a living Guardi, in which one would gladly pass two months in each year ; though not with the old Countess, who is an old windbag, full of trite and scandalous chatter. Of Nepo I know but little. I only saw him once, at Milan. He has a well-satisfied air, and a soft, smooth way of talking which reminded me of whipped cream. They said that he was making a profound study of political economy, and that, in anticipation of the liberation of Venice, he was paving the way towards his election as deputy for the district in which he has his estates and his rice-fields. This made G , who can't tear him, call him a lobby-man. Countess Fosca, whom I have heard speak of my uncle with expressions of horror, has announced this visit of hers in two letters — one for my uncle, one for me, both couched in terms of the tenderest affection. ' Another item of news for you — we have a Black Prince staying at the castle. I will tell you about him; it is a theme which may coax sleep to visit me, and CECILIA 6i check my pen, which is darting hither and thither like a tarantula's tongue. Black, in the first place ; yes, he is very black, except, perhaps, at the elbows of his coat. Prince — no, by no means. He is, in appearance, a commonplace bourgeois. I call him the Black Prince because he cultivates the reserved demeanour of a mysterious per- sonage. And now for the romance. Oh, yes, there is a romance. You must know that my uncle, in his liberality, has given me as boatman the son of the gardener, an impudent page thirteen years old. Partly from him, partly from my maid, partly from the walls, which are full of them, I have gathered the rumours that follow in the train of this gentleman. He is said to be the son of an old flame of my uncle's, who died years ago at Milan in misery ; and the Count has summoned hitn hither to arrange, little by little, a marriage in the family, 'You understand, my dear Giulia, the stem old anchorite is believed to have had his Capua. I, dear, have never yet meit the man worthy to be loved by me, but I love Love, and the books and the music that speak of it; I am not going to have my life guided by a libertine who has become good in the wilderness. As regards the danger, which I may be said to run, of soiling my hands by touching this rather soiled linen, as you know, it is a danger for them, not for me. 'He arrived at the castle a fortnight ago, early in August, in the dead of night, like a contraband package. The following day I had a great scene with my uncle, who imagines that he possesses powers of life and death over my French authors if they happen to leave my apartments. So he took up my De Musset, whom I 62 MALOMBRA had left in front of my beloved Canaletto, and, like the bear he is, flung it out of the window. On that day I caught sight, at a distance, of the Black Prince ; but I did not go down to dinner, although my uncle came and begged me to do so, with the benign manner which he always assumes after indulging in one of his passionate outbursts. Next day the gentleman de- parted, but returned on the i8th with arms and baggage- train, and definitely went into camp here. You will understand that, during these ten days, I have occasion- ally come into contact with him. 'Well, dear, I believe the story that is going about; but my uncle knows me, and treats me diplomatically. He has never mentioned his visitor, either before or since his arrival. Indeed, our relations are such that all the world might come to the castle and leave it without his mentioning the matter to me. He keeps his young man shut up nearly all day in the library. At meals they talk of nothing but books. In fact, anybody not behind the scenes would say he wanted him to marry Signer Steinegge and not me, for he makes them work in the same room, and sends them to take walks together every day after dinner, even when it rains. The two gentlemen seem quite taken with one another — a kind of love at first sight. I think I have already told you about the horrid man who spends his time translating German for my uncle ? Les deux font k paire. In the early days the creature wished to act the fine gentleman and the wit, but I speedily put him in his proper place ; and now I have done the same for his friend, who, the day after he had been presented to me, forgot himself to the extent of offering me his hand. As a matter of fact, he remem- bered himself while the hand was in mid -air, and CECILIA 63 pulled it back before he had actually extended it for me to take; but he was on the point of doing so. It was not a vulgar kind of hand, I noticed, but re- sembled my uncle's, who has the hands of the Ormengos. After this rebuff, his bearing has been unexceptionable, even haughty ; I must give him his due to this extent. You must remember that I made an impression on him without any fault of mine. I knew it from the moment we met, and can the more readily admit the fact in that it is so little flattering to my self-esteem. I am not constituted like yourself, my dear Giulia, who, for five minutes, would flirt with a commercial traveller. Admit that you would! The Black Prince, for your information, is about thirty years old, is not good- looking, and yet one cannot call him plain; his eyes are not wanting in intelligence, and my maid might possibly think him nice. I cannot bear the sight of him; to me he is objectionable, odious. I assure you that no fear of risking my interest under my uncle's will will induce me to abase myself to think of this man. I do not even understand such things. There is an end of it. 'How do I spend my time? Always the same life. I read, play the piano, write, walk, go for a sail, and, latterly, I have taken to fighting ennui with pistols. Literally ; you remember the beautiful saloon pistols which poor papa gave to Miss Sarah and me? Well, after four years I suddenly remembered that mine were here, and now I make practice on the statues in the garden, especially on a rather grimy Flora, which would be an excellent likeness of the instructress of my youth, if only I could give her a pock-marked face. Then I have amusements which rank as "extras." For example, some fine evening I intend to go to the 64 MALOMBRA nightly rendezvous, which the silly old country doctor is trying to obtain from Fanny. I hasten to add that I am waiting for the full moon. ' Oh ! and the mysterious correspondence ? Cut short, my dear. Terminated by the last letter which you for- warded to me from "Lorenzo." So in future you need do no further violence to your feelings, and need forward no more letters from the poste restante, at anjrrate not on my account. He desired, it would seem, a platonic pas- sion, a tie of the philosphic-senti mental kind, a Pallemand, Just fancy ! my flippant tone offended him, and he broke off the correspondence with a long tirade full of fire and pride, with certain sarcastic touches that sehd a shiver down one's spine. He does me the honour to attribute to me a certain amount of wit. Then follows a sarcasm. What is wit? A cold, meaningless, empty gleam of waters bathed in rnoonlight. Now I ask you-^rf the shining waters are the wit, what is the moonlight ? The moon, too, is cold and empty, but not meaningless. She is real and solid. Does the flash of wit come from some cold light of abstract truth, from some lofty and desolate negation ? In that case I detest it, as I detest this pedant Lorenzo, because I have my own faith, and one very different from what I believed in when we were at the last mass in San Giovanni. There is nobody now who can say to me. Mademoiselle. Ah ! Giulia, if you only knew what torments I endure these sleepless nights, and what is in my heart. But neither you nor anyone else will ever know. ' Forgive me if I leave you for a moment. I have been to listen to the murmuring of the waves, and now return to you. Fortunately the waves' voice is monotonous, they keep on repeating themselves. One would think they were saying prayers. Sleep is stealing over me ; is CECILIA 6S coming with the distant shadows of the Countess Fosca and Count Nepo, and their trunks. Farewell, myosotis. ' Marina.' After writing this characteristic letter Donna Marina got up and went to look at herself in the glass. From the ample folds of her white wrapper rose up, as from a cloud, a fine graceful neck, and amid two masses of auburn hair a small, delicate face, the face of a young, capricious child, with two large piercing eyes, eyes made for empire and for love. Her face, neck and bosom, which was just visible through the white folds, all had the same rich white hue. She glanced at herself for a moment, shook her head, throwing back the two masses of hair upon her shoulders, and who knows how many troubled thoughts behind her, and placed the candle on the little table near her bed, striking the silver hard upon the marble, as though to defy the solitude and silence. And now, pursued in her dreams by some wearing anxiety, she sleeps tossing about uneasily beneath her coverlet. While all the other inmates of the castle are asleep too, let us talk in whispers of Donna Marina and of the thoughts that are in her heart. CHAPTER V A STRANGE STORY She was the only child of a sister of Count Caesar's, and of the Marquis Filippo Crusnelli di Malombra, a Lom- bardy nobleman who lived in Ji'aris between 1 849 and 1859, squandering there a rich dower that had been re- alised in a frantic hurry after Novara. Marina had lost her mother during their stay in Paris, and passed from the hands of a severe Belgian governess into those of an Eng- lish lady, young, good-looking and vivacious. When the Marquis returned to Milan in 1859 Marina was eighteen, her head full cf romantic ideas, which filled her instruc- tress with amazement, and a sarcastic smile upon her lips which gained her few friends. In the winter of 1859-60, during which he established at Milan a splendid reputation for hospitality, the reck- less Marquis decided to return from Paris and to re-enter Milanese society with the dash of a mail-coach rattling through a quiet market town. He gave dinners, balls and suppers. Miss Sarah doing the honours of the house. A few old ladies, relatives of the Marquis, protested seriously with ' dear Philip,' doing so with the air of persons discharging a lofty duty and expressing at the same time the opinion of a venerable caste. Their argu- ments fell upon deaf ears; diplomatic relations were broken off, and his relatives would have no more to do 66 A STRANGE STORY 67 with ' poor Philip.' So they used to tell their friends, and their friends humoured them by talking scandal, in de- ference to their views, of the Marquis, Miss Sarah and Marina, above all of Miss Sarah. Nay, these people even brought the newest and choicest bits of scandal and offered them, wrapped in honeyed phrases, to the anxious relatives. X. and Y. have refused the Marquis's invita- tions, other letters of the alphabet have accepted, but they treat Miss Sarah with marked coldness. Lady R. made her feel clearly what she thought of her. It is said that the governess will soon accompany Philip back to Paris; with his French army of attendants, perhaps. Stupid jests, made over cigars and whisky and soda, are in circulation. Miss Sarah is going with the cavalry. Donna Marina with the artillery, and Philip — poor Philip ! — with the infantry. Why with the infantry ? Because he begins to see trouble ahead in his affairs, rocks and a whirlpool in front of him. The grand suite is a burden to him ; he puts up with it because Sarah wishes it, she not knowing the true state of affairs. She is anxious to get Marina off her father's hands, and then to make the grand coup herself. Young Ratti was trotted out, but his father, on information received from Paris, sent him off to Constantinople. Hereupon that miserable punster R. remarked that if the rats leave the house it is a agn that the house of Crusnelli is tottering to a fall. All these things were duly related to the old ladies, tongues were set wagging in Milan about the financial affairs of the Marquis, but the voices were timid, vague, and found little credence. For the most part they were true; but heaven knows how much champagne would still have flowed in honour of Donn^ Marina if an 68 MALOMBRA aneurism had not carried ofiF her father, and with him the champagne and Miss Sarah. Count Caesar d'Ormengo was summoned to the family council on behalf of Marina. The council was in time to save the honour of the family name and a small remnant of the property. The Count and the defunct Marquis had never been friends, and for some years had ceased to meet. But the Count was Marina's nearest relation, and, of all the family, he alone offered her a home. Marina would have refused the offer if she could have done so. The appearance, habits, and stern speech of her uncle roused her dislike ; but the friends of the days of prosperity had disappeared ; her father's relations showed her a certain grave sympathy, with an undefined undercurrent of rebuke, which she observed and indignantly resented. Only, she had not an in- dependent fortune ; so she accepted the Count's offer. She accepted it coldly without a word of gratitude, as though Count Caesar, her mother's brother, did but fulfil a duty, and in so doing obtained the advantage of a companion in his dreary solitude. Marina had never been there, but she had often heard her father speak of the ' bear's den,' which the bear had abandoned in 1831, returning to it twenty-eight years later in 1859. Not that she was afraid of the prospect of living there; on the contrary, she rather liked the idea of the castle buried among the mountains, where she would dwell like a banished queen who prepares, in the shade and silence of the forest, to regain her throne. The danger of being buried alive for ever did not even occur to her, for she had a blind and complete faith in fate ; and, feeling that she had been born to enjoy the splendours of life, she was disposed to wait her return to them in haughty indolence. A STRANcn Stony 69 She arrived at the castle with her uncle one stormy evening. The Count himself led the way to the rooms set apart for her in the east wing, looking towards the mountains. He had caused them to be simply but comfortably furnished, and had had fires lighted in all the rooms. In his niece's bedroom he had placed a portrait of his sister by Hayez. Marina followed him quietly, looking in silence at the walls, the ceiling, the furniture and the portrait, listening to her uncle's remarks on this, that and the other ; she threw open a window, and remarked quietly that she wished for a room above the lake. Her temperament caused her to wish for the mur- muring of the water and the howling of the wind, and she was by no means abashed by the Count's lowering brow and flashing eyes. She remained unmoved be- neath his sarcasms, which he suddenly cut short, rather to her surprise, by a curt 'As you wish.' The Count went out, giving an order in a low voice to his old house- keeper, Giovanna. The housekeeper' led the way, candle in hand, followed by a lugubrious train of servants carrying luggage. Marina brought up the pro- cession with Fanny, her maid. They had to pass from one end of the castle to the other. As they went out of one room into another, Marina would turn round to gaze into the darkness, constraining the entire procession to come to a halt. Everyone's gaze was turned towards her ; the old housekeeper looked very grave, the servants half-confused, half-frightened.* When they had entered the loggia which joins the two wings of the castle, Marina stepped up to the balcony facing the lake, cast a glance towards the gloomy hillside opposite the east wing, raised her eyebrows and turned to the housekeeper. 76 MaLOMBRA 'Where aie you taking me to?' she asked. Im- mediately all the servants put down the baggage they were carrying. The old housekeeper placed her candle on one of the boxes, wrung her hands, and shaking her head, whispered, — ' To a very uncanny place, my beautiful young lady.' 'Then I shall not go there.' ' It would be better not to go,' exclaimed one of the servants. ' All very well for you to talk,' rejoined the old house- keeper in severe tones. 'And how about my master? God be merciful to us.' ' What is it you mean ? ' asked Marina, impatiently. ' Is my room a granary, or a cupboard, or at the bottom of a well ? ' ' Oh ! the room's all right enough.' ' Then what is it ? ' ' What is it ? ' intervened the first speaker, an old half- educated peasant. 'Excuse me if I join in your con- versation — the devil is in it, I trust that I make myself clear.' 'Be quiet. Hold your tongue. What have you to do with the matter ? Be prudent.' ' Prudent ! You're right there, Giovanna. Prudence teaches us that we should not go into those rooms.' ' Forwards,' said Marina. ' The Count's orders must be obeyed.' And she stepped forward with Giovanna. Entering a long corridor they at last reached a staircase on the left, and going up it came into another passage in the storey above. When Giovanna threw open the dreaded door, Marina snatched the candle from her and rapidly entered the room. It was a good-sized room, very lofty, with a brick A STRANGE STORY 71 floor, the walls gruesomely draped with ragged yellow hangings, the ceiling semi-vaulted, with a fresco in the centre. There was a huge four-poster, whose tester looked like some old nobleman's coronet that had lost its way. A few antique chairs, faithful companions of fallen grandeur, completed the furniture of the apartment. Marina had all the windows flung open, and sat down on one of the window-seats, looking out into the darkness and revelling in the fresh breezes, Ustening to the mingled murmurs of the waters and the woods. To her they seemed voices of reprimand and menace, friendly to her angry uncle, inspired by a higher and a malignant power. Marina sat there long, fascinated, and without notic- ing the feverish bustling hither and thither, the broken ejaculations of the servants who, behind her, were putting the room in order and bringing in linen and furniture. Often during the past years Marina had seen vague visions of solitary wildernesses, on which her thoughts rested, and passed on without either desire or disgust. Now those visions recurred to her. She re- called something that reminded her of this black solitude. At the Scala ? Yes, one night at a masked ball at the Scala; another night, in her own home, as she was going to bed after a grand reception, there flashed across her brain a dark vision of solitary mountain-passes. She had paid no heed to these phantoms. And now she was face to face with the reality. ' Signora,' said Giovanna, timidly. Marina did not reply. ' Signora.' Silence. 'Signora Donna Marina.' The latter started and turned round sharply ; only the 72 MALOMBRA housekeeper was in the room, the others had gone away. 'Well?' ' I hope your ladyship will put up with things as they are for to-night. To-morrow let us hope that his lordship wUl change his mind. If not, we will try to make the room more comfortable. Can I get you anything, my lady?' ' Certainly.' Having given this laconic answer, Marina left the good old woman standing where she was, open-mouthed, took two or three strides down the room, and then turned back to her again. ' This devil of whom they speak — where is the devil ? ' ' Ah ! the Madonna guard us ! I do not know. They talk like that, your ladyship. Ido not know.' ' What do they say ? ' ' Oh, don't be afraid.' ' What do they say ? ' ' They say that in these rooms there is the spirit of a poor gentleman who died years ago — the father of his lordship, and therefore your ladyship's grandfather.' Marina laughed. ' So my uncle is the son of a devil.' ' Ah, my lady, do not talk in that way. His lordship's father was no devil, though he may have been just a httle bit related to one. You must know that he kept the Countess shut up here, as if in prison — not the Count's mother, the first wife, a Genoese lady much younger than the old Count. There was an old man living at R who remembered seeing her, and said she was so lovely that her face was as deUcate as a child's. Well, this poor lady went mad, and at night she would write poetry, and sing for hours together, always the same air, A STRANGB STORY 73 and the fishermen at R , when, they went out in their boats at night, could hear her a mile away. Yes, and the windows had to be fitted with iron bars. I re- member when they were pulled down, for I was bom at the castle. •Soon the poor lady passed away from this world, and when, years afterwards, his lordship, your grand- father, died too, the people began to say that strange sounds were heard, and that they used to come from this room. And they said that the spirit of the lady's husband had been condemned, as a punishment for having been so wicked, to pass seventy-seven times as many years in this room as he had kept his poor wife shut up here. To this day there is not a peasant for miles round who would sleep a night here if you were to give him a million francs.' • A silly story,' murmured Marina. ' What is there in the room beneath ? ' ' A bed which used to belong to this lady, your grand- mother. No one has used it since.' ' And above ? ' 'The apple loft.' ' And that window there, what does it look out on ? ' ' It looks out on to the lake, for here we are at the corner of the castle.' ' And that door there ? ' ' That leads to a big room like this, facing the same way, where your ladyship's maid can sleep.' At this point an outburst of weejnng and lamentation was heard in the neighbouring passage. It was Fanny, who was standing with her back against the wall, sobbing bitterly. Between the sobs she repeated that she wished to go away, to return to Milan at once. Giovanna was amazed at the patience, kindness and 74 MALOMBRA tact which Marina lavished on her wayward handmaiden, who had completely lost her head, and to whom she little by little restored her self-control without getting from her a single direct reply. She wanted, she said, to go to Milan, to her own home ; she had no house there, she knew, but she would go to somebody else's house. At Milan there were at least fifty houses where carriages were kept, where she would be as welcome as manna from heaven, and before she left Milan splendid offers had been made her. Such a place as this she had never dreamt of, and all the gold in the world would not induce her to stay longer than a week; the idea of sleeping in that dreadful room had made her go out of her mind. Her wages and perquisites were good enough, but all the perquisites in the world would not make her stay beyond a fortnight or a month, even in another room. Wages were of no importance to her ; if she did stay it would be out of attachment to her mistress, and not for an increase in her salary; and, moreover, she was feeling far from well, and felt a great need of a substantial meal and of something cheering to help it down. So peace was made, Giovanna being instructed to find Fanny a bedroom farther away from the ghost's chamber, and Marina took possession of her own apartment. Even her stern uncle was at last won over by Marina ; there were no humble excuses and no caresses, both he and she were above such weaknesses, but the old Count broke through the ice with studied politeness, and a few little attentions, slight in themselves, but sufficient to re- move the barrier between them. At first, Marina's im- petuous bearing puzzled him and roused his distrust ; and her strange behaviour on the stormy evening when she arrived was to him an inexplicable enigma. He then offered her a more cheerful room in the left wing of A STRANGE STORV 75 the castle, but Marina refused it; she liked the fear- some legend narrated to her by Giovanna. The very solitude and sadness of the old castle assumed, within the four walls of hei chamber, a fantastic and pathetic shape, and she observed that the eyes of the servants and peasants on the estate followed her with admiration mingled with dread. She had obtained the Count's per- mission — and the feat appeared to Giovanna to surely savour of witchcraft — ^to arrange her own room from top to bottom in accordance with her own tastes. She tore down the ragged old yellow hangings and replaced them by beautiful tapestries which the Count had stored away in a granary, deeming them of no account what- ever. Over the brick floor she laid down a light wooden flooring with a bright check pattern, and over this she flung a tapestry carpet from the foot of the bed to a table covered with maroon velvet. The old coroneted bedstead remained, but its court of antique chairs was summarily banished. A gallant company of dames and cavaUers of the old regime, all fine airs and mincing smiles, last unsold relic of the splendours of the house of Crusnelli, came from Milan, and spread their peacock feathers before the surly monarch. When the dehcate face and figure of Marina passed through the midst of these elegant antiquities, in the bright blue dress and long train which she sometimes wore, from caprice, in her own rooms, she looked as though she had descended from the fresco on the ceiling, from that clear sky through which an Aurora and her gay train danced with the Naiads ; fallen, as it were, into a dark, subterranean realm, where her youth and beauty still shone indeed, but with diminished splendour. The goddess above her, rosy from sole to crown, had not, like her young prototype, the flashing fire of life and thought 76 MaLOMBRA within her eyes, and although she walked the sky with all the symbols of divinity, yet she appeared, in comparison with Marina, but a glorified cook. In the next room, which had inspired such terror in poor Fanny, Marina placed her Erard, a souvenir of her stay in Paris, and her books, a collection, be it said, of every kind of plant, and with more poisonous than health- giving specimens among them. English authors were represented by Shakespeare and Byron in magnificent illustrated editions, the gift of her father, by Poe, and all the novels of Disraeli, her favourite author. Not a single German book was there, and the sole Italian one was a Monograph History of the Crusnelli Family, published at Milan on the occasion of her father's marriage. The origin of the family was traced to a Signor de Kerosnel who came to Italy in the train of the first wife of Giovan Galeazzo Visconti, Isabella of France, Countess of Vertu. There was a copy of Dante, but in the French garb given him by the Abb6 Lamennais, which rendered him much more pleasing to Marina. She had all George Sand's novels, many of Balzac's, all De Mussel's works, all Stendhal's; Baudelaire's Fkur du Mai; Chateaubriand's Reni ; many volumes of the Chefs d^xuvres des Literatures iirangires, and the Chefs d'oeuvres des Littkratures anciennes published by Hachette. She had made her selection in a spirit of research, paying little heed to obvious dangers. Bound volumes of the Rkvue des Deux Mondes completed her hbrary. The great family row-boat had to keep close to the side of the boat-house in order to make way for the Dart, a graceful skiff from the Lago di Como, which looked like a young lady attending a dancing class, accompanied by her mamma. Signor Enrico, commonly A STRANGE STORY 77 called Rico, the son of the gardener, became Admiral of the Fleet. At first he nourished hopes of a uniform worthy of his rank, and in this he was supported by Marina, but upon this point the old Count, an aristocrat full of contradictory prejudices, was hopelessly opposed to them. He declared, that for the honour of the human race he would rather see Rico without shoes and stock- ings than masquerading about in a livery, even though it should be a boatman's uniform. When one day Rico, waxing bold, ventured to remark that at Como and at Lecco he had seen many boys of his own class very much at ease in their blue jackets, the only reply vouchsafed to him was that he was an egregious ass. Marina hereupon arrayed him in a dark, well-cut suit, which the conceited Rico put on, growing red as a crawfish with delight, and smiling all over. Even the old gardener seemed to renew his youth and his more courtly graces with the advent of Marina. New flowers appeared in the beds, the gravel paths were bright and free from weeds. Flowers and foliage plants were planted in homage to the young marchioness, in the middle of the large flower-bed between the greenhouse and the drive beside the lake. The gardener and the rest of the servants regarded Marina as the rising sun, and there was a brisk com- petition among them to obtain her favour. Giovanna stood apart ; Giovanna looked not so far ahead ; she had neither hopes nor fears. Devoted to her master, respectful to the ' Signora Donna Marina,' she pursued her way in peace. It cannot be said that the Count was brightened up, as parts of his castle were, or that he blossomed out afresh, as did his garden. But even he reflected a touch of new brightness, for youth and beauty and grace, united in one person, irradiate nplem volens tbeJr immediate ;8 MALOMBRA surroundings. The Count shaved more regularly, and his grey locks looked less unkempt. Steinegge's demeanour towards Marina was cold and reserved. This curious secretary, who could hardly write three words of Italian without a mistake, had arrived at the castle a month before her. The Count had engaged his services, on the recommendation of the Marquis di Crema, for translations from German and English, a language which Steinegge knew perfectly, his mother being an English governess. On Marina's arrival the poor man had considered it his duty to ply her with attentions and endeavour to amuse her. The disappoint- ments and the sufferings of his life had not sufificed to destroy the courtly traditions of his youth. As an oflScer he had fought bravely ; he was a fine horseman, and an expert fencer. Was it possible for his bearing towards Marina to be that of a silly secretary? He laid him- self out to bombard her with stately compliments and antiquated gallantries ; he quoted Schiller, and he quoted Goethe. His efforts were not crowned with any brilliant success. The only notice which Marina deigned to talce of the secretary was to indicate by a glance, or an ironical remark, how lightly she esteemed his politeness, his attempts at wit, his aged and dried-up person. In a word, that because it pleased her to be agreeable to the Count, that she would not, therefore, necessarily make herself so to all. In spite of all that the Count might say in his secretary's praise, she persisted in regarding him as a vulgar adventurer. During her sojourn in Paris she had seen not a few of these weather-beaten faces, and the type did not in the least appeal to her. In addition to this, she simply detested everything connected with Germany; the language, the mode of thought, the ideals pf love, the music, people, country, its very A STRANGE STORY 79 name. She used to say she imagined Germany to be one big tobacco pipe, a huge, broken meerschaum head, with the face of a fat bourgeois, and in place of brain a mass of damp, smoking tobacco. From this unwholesome mass issue dense clouds of smoke, thin blue spirals, chang- ing from the grotesque to the sentimental, little clouds that become big clouds and finally overwhelm you and stifle you in their fumes. One day while Steinegge was talking to her with great eloquence of German ideals of Woman, of Marguerite and Charlotte, Marina replied, with cold, aristocratic indifference, — ' Do you know how the Germans strike me?' — and then she related the above kindly little parable. While she was doing so, Steinegge's sallow face flushed crimson up to the roots of his hair, and his eyes flashed fire. When Marina had finished, he said, — ' Signora Marchesina, this old brown pipe has given out fire before now, and will do so again ; in the meantime, I would strongly advise you not to touch it, for it burns one's fingers.' From that day Steinegge had kept to himself his compliments and his poetic quotations. Marina had her own objects in view ; to wit, to win over her uncle, establish her influence, and get herself taken away, at least for a month or two, to Paris, or Turin, or Naples, or some other centre of hfe and fashion outside Milan. To rub along with this much, anr' leave the rest to luck. She had formed this plan the very evening of her arrival, after measuring swords with the Count and seeing of what metal he was made. There was a struggle, before she decided on this course, with her own haughty soul, which revolted from all hypocrisy, although it was sick unto death from dejection an(J ennui. Having repaired the effects of the painful scene of the first evening by a calm and dignified bearing, she 8o MALOMBRA began to praise, one after the other, the castle, the garden, the noble cypresses, the lake, the mountains, the estate, like a person who settles down in a new abode and adapts herself kindly to new habits and new surround- ings. One by one she dropped her immense circle of correspondents ; and the Count no longer raised his eyebrows at the heaps of monogrammed, crested, scented letters which Rico brought up from the post-office in the early days. The sarcasms which occasionally escaped him in those days in regard to Marina's lady friends and correspondents, the sharer in her past follies, very nearly upset her plans for the future ; for replies rose to her lips which would have swept away at one breath the patient labour of months. Her beloved French authors, novel- ists and poets, only left her room by stealth and when the Count could not see them. He had a fierce contempt for everything French except the wines of Bordeaux and Burgundy. A republican of the old school, he used to say that the French make love to noble ideas, and ruin them and cast them on one side. He detested them as inventors of the formula, Ltberti, igaliti, fraterniti, where the second phrase, he would say, lay in wait behind the first to stab it in the dark. And, since he did not measure words in expressing either contempt or respect, he declared that all the French writers put together were not worth old Giovanna's washing bill; that Voltaire was an unbridled buffoon, and that Thiers with his tactics was a foolish rhetorician like Phormio, and would be insulted by Napoleon, could he return, as the former was by Hannibal. When he spoke of Lamar- tine, ' this jangling guitar, the plaything of a republic in its decadence,' certain rough, vigorous Piedmontese phrases that slumbered half-forgotten in his memory rose to his mind and gave forcible expression to his disdain. A STRANGE STORY 8i At such times he would denounce the democracy of France, and their novelists and their poets, for he detested modern poetry and fiction in whatever language. ' Society is sick,' he used to say, ' and these imbecUes of literary men only put it under ether.' So Marina did not let him see her books, but on the other hand she had frequent and open-hearted conversations with him on the subject of religion. The old Count's religious views were peculiar to himself; they were, perhaps, wanting in logic, but were clear and strong, like aU his other opinions. Believing in God and the immortality of the soul, he started from the text, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill to men,' and separated affairs heavenly from affairs worldly, or, as he would express it, effected the decentralisation of religion. ' Remember,' he once observed to an over-zealous Catholic, ' remember that the Almighty marked the birthday of His Son by bestow- ing a religious constitution on mankind.' And then, to demonstrate that God reigns in glory in heaven but does not rule on earth, he coolly cited Lucretius as though he had been an editor of the Civilta Cattolica. He then affirmed, by way of conclusion, that mankind is free to live following such ideals as each man is able to form for himself. Marina's views were not so clear and precise. She had observed the Catholic ritual by instinct, by force of the vigorous beliefs nourished by generations of ancestors. Such cold formalities had long been sufficient to make her believe herself a Catholic. They sufficed also to make the revolution which much reading had effected in her attitude towards belief appear to her something glorious and full of life, in comparison with the sterile formaUsm she had hitherto practised. Her new faith 82 MALOMSRA seemed to her like the bursting of winter's bonds by the buds and flowers of spring. In her new home she resolutely avoided all outward forms of worship. Her uncle, she observed, did the same ; and she was curious to learn his reasons, with a view to being confirmed in her modem agnostic attitude. But the Count did not afford her much comfort ; he regarded religion from the historic rather than the philosophic point of view. He had become sceptical from observing the ills which flow from the war of faiths, and the fact that their evolution is regular, and controlled by a general law of develop- ment and decadence. He did not care to advertise his scepticism. He even went so far as to tell Marina that perhaps no great harm would be done if all women went to mass. She replied that, from this time forth, if she went to mass she would also wish to be able to join in the prayers ; but that active h3^ocrisy was the monopoly of the men. To her a religious democracy was as repugnant as a political democracy was to her uncle. She was not by nature irreligious. But she did think that there ought to be a special kind of religion for the aristocracy, a freer religion, without formulas, without, she almost thought, moral sanctions, or, at least, with moral laws adaptable according to circumstances. A religion in which for the ideas of good and evil were substituted the less vulgar ideas of beautiful and ugly, of good and bad taste. A refined appreciation of beauty and of harmony would take the place of a sense of moral rectitude, or con- science; the senses would not be fought against, but controlled by reason and the aesthetic feeUng. A god ! Yes. In the world of new youth and beauty beyond the grave. The Count detested music, and Marina knew better A STRANGE STORY 83 than to touch her piano when he was in the library. She did not hesitate to argue with him about painting, and to express her unqualified admiration of pictures which he thought little of. Marina revelled in an old painting as she did in an easy-chair, but her admiration comprised only the centuries when art was at its zenith. The works of the best Venetian school made her blood course quicker through her veins, and roused within her a strange flood of ambition and vague desire which she herself could not explain. The Count had in the draw- ing-room a superb ' portrait of a lady,' attributed to Palma il Vecchio. Marina's eyes sparkled as they rested on the roguish, laughing face, on the beautiful shoulders above the rich dress of yellow brocade. In these dis- cussions on art the Count displayed a most placable spirit; nay, a look of tenderness often came into his glance as Marina warmly defended her favourite painters ; the old man was reminded of his own mother, and listened in silence. Yet, in spite of the growing favour with which her uncle regarded her, Marina felt an increasing aversion for this austere man, who despised letters, arts, refinements of all kinds, and who had imposed upon her the indignity of concealing, at least in part, her own feelings. She had nothing of the hypocrite in her, and was a thousand times upon the point of bursting out with the avowal that she could not bear the Count, and did not understand having to owe him either gratitude or respect or obedi- ence. But she held her peace. She checked the rising outbreak with an effort, unchained the Dart, and went off, sometimes alone, sometimes with Rico, tied up her boat alongside some lonely bank, and started off up the mountainside at a pace, and with an energy, of which one would have hardly thought her slight frame was capable. 84 MALOMBRA The peasants whom she met gazed at her in amaz«s- ment. The men and boys took off their caps to her, the women passed her unheeded. They said among themselves that she went out in search of the evil spirits of the woods, and that she had never been known to set foot in church ; and that she had doubtless been excommunicated like the ' Mad Lady of the Castle ' of years gone by. When Marina had quieted her nerves by violent exer- cise, she would re-descend to the lake, where the Dart was patiently awaiting her, frequently adorned with Rico's jacket and boots, while that industrious young gentle- man ran about barefoot in the neighbouring copses, gathering fruit, setting snares for field mice or traps for birds, with a skill that was the envy of all the mischiev- ous young monkeys in the neighbourhood. He was a strange lad, was Rico. He came to the front at shooting, fishing, swimming, in a fight, and at school. He read and re-read with enthusiasm all the little books he gained as prizes, among them the Guerrin Meschino, beginning and end of a boy's library. He occasionally discharged with credit the functions of parish clerk, and was known to boast that he could chant his Latin as well as ' his honour the curate,' and he held his head high as he passed along in his white surplice before the crowd of small, unwashed urchins collected at the rail in front of the high altar. To his patrons he was loyally attached. He used to say that he loved, first, God, then the 'gentry at the castle,' then his mother, then his father, then the schoolmistress, then the curate. For him, there were no other gentry in the world than the Count and Marina. He spoke of them always as though his interests were bound up with theirs, contrast- ing ' our castle,' ' our garden,' our boat ' with the other A STRANGE STORY 85 things of which he heard speak. He was a regular chatterbox ; whether he was playing, working, or eating, he- was always talking and always laughing, save only when in the presence of the Count, when he took refuge in silence. He knew aU the gossip of the countryside, and possessed an inexhaustible store of tales and local legends. Marina would often inquire of him touching the stories about the Mad Lady of the Castle. He related them with a thousand variations, weaving into them his own capricious and poetical fancies, especially in the final catastrophe. One day the heroine of the tragedy took French leave and disappeared, going straight off to the abode of the Evil One. Another day, her husband had her flung down into the Acquafonda in Val Malombra, as the country people called a deserted gorge among the mountains facing the castle ; Marina used to call it her last remaining estate in fee simple. The favourite finale of the youthful novelist was, how- ever, this : the unhappy prisoner issued forth from her prison at midnight, encircled with a ray of moonlight, and dissolved into thin air. Marina used to delight in these narratives, and in the local gossip which the boy retailed to her with an extra- ordinary mixture of malice and ingenuity. She had passed a year at the castle, and there was as yet no talk if any change. Her health began to suffer in conse- quence. Nervous attacks, not serious indeed, but of fre- quent occurrence, began to make themselves felt. She determined to make these serve her purpose; in the meanwhile, any distraction was welcome, even such as she derived from Rico's chatter. Thus April of 1863 arrived, and with it, in the calm splendours of the sunset, an evening of ill-omen to Marina. 86 MALOMBRA In the west, great masses of cloud were aglow in the setting sun, only divided from their reflections in the lake by the thin dark line of hills ; the green hilltops opposite the castle were bright with sunlight, and so also were the inaccessible peaks of the Alpe dei Fiori. At their base, in the shadow, there was a dim soft light, a warmth from the sinking sun ; along each little valley swept gusts of air perfumed with the scents of spring. Through the clear atmosphere rang merrily the bells of R , where, outside the big black central door of the parish church, and between it and the vicarage, was assembled, on the east side of the lake, a slowly-moving stream of people. There was a confused movement among them, and a noise like that of a lot of fowls in a farmyard, or of young geese as they struggle through a newly-opened gate lead- ing to their feeding grounds. The crowd pushed and shouted round the sellers of cakes and sweetmeats, pushed and shouted round the hawkers of trumpets and penny whistles, who were strolling hither and thither mak- ing music among the throng. Beneath the walnut trees, and among the great laurel bushes near the church, there was a noisy sound of eating and drinking. Somewhat apart from the crowd all the beauties of R and the neighbourhood were collected ; mothers and daughters, smiling and elegantly attired ; portly matrons in black silk with gold chains, gold earrings, gold hairpins ; grave and modest maidens, whose hats and ribbons were calcu- lated to turn any young man's head. The priests walked sedately amidst the crowd, with swelling chests, and red faces, their broad-flapped hats on the back of their heads, and cigars in their mouths. A crowd of naughty boys had slipped into the church by the belfry door and set to work to tug wildly at the ropes of the three bells, which now rang out like mad things, without measure or decorum • A STRANGE STORY 87 until the sacristan fell upon the young scamps with re- proof and castigation. As they fled through the door in a bevy he dismissed them with one hearty, collective kick, and furiously banged to the door and locked it. Rico, who was standing hard by with his whistle between his lips, supported, I regret to say, the high-handed action of the ecclesiastical authorities, and rushed off in pursuit of the trespassers, shouting, ' Wait till I catch you ! Wait till I catch you ! ' Nobody thought fit to wait for him, how- ever, and he, rushing wildly forwards, butted a priest of a neighbouring village fair between the legs. The enraged ecclesaistic, calling him 'a confounded ass,' gave him a severe shaking, and a hearty cuff over the head to boot. Poor Rico retired crestfallen and went off to look at the band from V which, after playing in the most ravish- ing style in church, had now settled down at a table for a little refreshment. The boy, scenting something in the wind, soon discovered, from what he overheard, that in a short time there was to be a musical promenade on the lake. He at once formed the idea of asking his mistress whether she would like to go out in the Dart and see the spectacle. Running off swiftly as a hare, he leapt over the low wall between the vicarage and the park, and was quickly lost to view among the trees on his way to the castle. Marina was walking that evening, in the garden along the stone balustrade above the lake, accompanied by a ^ort man in a long dark overcoat with big feet and an awkward walk, who did not know what to do with his hands, and smiled at frequent intervals. It was the poor Httle doctor of R , commonly known as the painter, from a weak habit he had of dying his beard. ' What a pity it is, doctor,' quoth Marina, leaning over the stone- work and gazing at the sunset, ' what a pity it is that this 88 MALOMBRA air makes me feel so unwell. How wrong it is of you not to introduce some fresh element to suit me.' The painter gave a great sigh, clasped his hands, placed his head on one side, and began, with his usual professional smile, — ' If I could, Signora Marchesina, if I could.' That is as far as he got. ' Now, just think. Could not you build me a little house of steel and glass, such as they make for the palms and orchids, and then fill it with nice, mild, warm air? Why don't you speak, doctor? Tell me, suppose you don't build me this little house, what will happen to my heart and nerves ? ' ' One cannot say, my dear lady, one cannot say ; there may arise a good deal of disturbance, especially with the heart' (' If I were not an owl,' thought the painter, ' here I might put in some pretty speech.') 'Yes, and now I come to look at you, your heart action is, ah, a little weak, a little sensitive.' ' To air ? ' suggested Marina. 'To air,' replied the poor little man, falling into the trap ; ' and in a mountainous country one may become subject to frequent palpitations, which, recurring frequently and becoming violent, end by causing an organic disease which may at any time lead to — a precipice ! ' ' How kind you are, my dear doctor. And the nerves ? ' 'Of course. There are the nerves, too. Now, yotir nerves, being acted upon constantly by this air, wish to accomplish a revolution. They wish to assume the com- mand and to act like tyrants. Do you take my mean- ing ? The air here suits you very well indeed for three or four months in the years ; not for more ! ' ' That is how things stand, doctor ? ' 'That is how they stand.' A STRANGE STORY 89 ' I must ask you on no account,' said Marina, looking as grave as a judge, ' on no account to repeat what you have said to my uncle. He would think that I am long- ing for change. Whereas I would never ask that sacrifice of him, my dear doctor ; 1 will rather go on drinking the poison distilled by old Mother Nature. I am neither old nor ugly, and I have no kind of wish to become either. Do you wish to become old, doctor ? ' Like a sweetmeat flavoured with English mint, which, when placed on the tip of your tongue, sends through you a feeling of either heat or cold, you are not quite sure which, so the last unexpected sally of Marina's, and the look which accompanied it, invaded the being of the un- fortunate painter, making him feel at once cold and hot, snubbed, and incited to advance. Although old and ugly, he was of an amorous tempera- ment, inclined to mild country flirtations, capable even of quixotic enterprises. He imagined that he was in love with Fanny ; an exquisite treat for her ! But this compli- ment from Marina, from a goddess to whom he had never ventured to raise his eyes, made him lose his mental balance. He did not notice the quiet smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. Nor did he see the Count, who was walking slowly towards them, his head bent forwards, his hands folded behind his back, and his coat open, flying in the wind. 'What is written on the gravel, uncle?' inquired Marina, with a smile. ' There is written that you have walked too far, and that our little doctor here has been carrying on a violent flirtation with you. Is that not so, doctor ? Be covered, be covered. Well, and how do you find my niece ? ' ' Very well on the whole,' interrupted the latter. ' Tell my uncle all about it in your learned language, doctor 90 MALOMBRA As for me, I cannot stand the crack-jaw terms, and I will wish you good morning.' With these words Marina held out to the doctor a deli- cately perfumed hand, beautifully formed, almost trans- parent in its whiteness ; she did this in such a way as to make him take it in silence, and then she turned towards the castle. Marina had a curious light in her eyes. She was well assured that the doctor would represent to the Count the necessity of taking her away for change of air, and that he would also mention her heroic self-sacrifice in declaring herself ready to face a whole legion of ill- nesses rather than demand sacrifices from her uncle. Upon this she based many hopes. She was on the point of going indoors when Rico appeared before her, all out of breath ; and hurriedly placing before her his brilliant idea, received his answer, and dashed into the vestibule, reappeared laden with cushions and wraps, and away like lightning to the boathouse, slowly followed by Marina. The evening was very pleasant and the little Dart glided smoothly over the clear water. Rico had recovered his breath, and the sharp, black prow seemed to fly through the waves. Every now and again the rower stopped to look towards the village of R . The boats were not coming, but from afar one could hear bursts of music, now louder, now dying away. The band had doubtless halted on the market-place while the lads and lasses danced. Rico proposed to row towards land, but Marina ordered him to rest on his oars well away from the shore. He commenced a childish eulogy of the band, 'of the famous performer who had studied at Como, of the other prodigy who had played at Lecco, of their fine instruments. Donna Marina told him to be quiet. He be quiet? 'Now they're playing, they're coming; look there I No, they're not coming yet; now they're A STRANGE STORY 91 going on board ; ah ! lights. They're lanterns ; they're Chinese lanterns ! Yes, now they're coming ! Listen to the music, listen ! ' 'Row,' said Marina, 'towards the music' The pro- cession was headed by two boats, gaily lighted up, cram- med full of musicians, all standing up, and playing, with cheeks puffed out to bursting point, on flutes, trumpets and clarionets all held out in line, and blaring forth in sudden bursts of sound. Then followed the ordinary boats full of pleasure-seekers. At the end of each tune a confused Sound goes up from the latter, praise of the music, directions to the rowers, hints to the steersmen, shouts to this one and the other, cries in every note and every key. The flotilla advances slowly through the dark shadows of the lake, and passes in front of Marina. The music changes to a pot-pourri of popular airs of Lombardy, and all the good folk in the boats feel their blood stirred with a warm glow of pride and passion. It is their loves, their joys, their transient happiness that are being sung, it is the music born of their own life which is ringing so nobly among their beloved hills. The musicians display an unwonted dash and fire, the oars come down with a heavy splash, the old boats leap forwards. All the company are singing together, — ' ZV sftt'anni che son maridada PercM sera la bella biondin' Row hard, comrades ! Even that old boatman there can remember the days when he was young, and he bends forward now over his oar with his old quavering voice, — • Passeggiando per Milano Vera un giorno ch'el pioveva La mia bella la piangeva Per vedertni andar soldi, ' 92 MALOMBRA Sing on, sing on, stout old waterman. Put into your song all the strength of your voice, all the fire of your heart. Have you not also felt, when you were young and handsome, two soft and loving arms about your neck? Rico allowed himself to be carried away by the general enthusiasm, and, forgetful of his special duties, made his leathern lungs do double work, and rowed and sang simultaneously, — ' O eke pena, oh che dolore Che brutta bestia che fi Famore I ' There is not a breath of air stirring. On the wooded mountain sides every blade of grass, every fresh young leaf listens motionless to the distant strains of .music ; in the ^poplars on the. meadows the .nightuagalfis.husk. their-jsong ;- the big fiskjr.ise, to .thg suifaG.e. oiJhR ,I,ake in astonishment at the glare of the torches and the lanterns ; while the smooth, level surface of the lake heaves slightly beneath the shining tracks traced by the procession of boats. That evening the mountain air did not harm Marina. She would, perhaps, have pre- ferred the Grand Canal at Venice, or an evening stroll at Bellagio, where the exquisite fragrance of the air is in itself an ecstasy. Yet the poetic charms of this April evening on the lake were not lost upon her, nor the simple beauty of the ballads which the people were singing. She was mindful, too, that, perhaps, in a short time she would have left lake and mountains be- hind her; the future was full of uncertain hopes, and she regarded the present in a not unkindly spirit. The music and the rustic scene before her struck Marina as being like to some rare delicacy, welcome, ^ STRANGE STORV 93 just for once, to a refined and curious palate. In a similar spirit she would have admired a Flemish land- scape or an air by Cimarosa. As the music and singing slowly died away in the distance, and the Dart began to move towards the castle, the impression of that evening began gradually to sink into her mind, just then under the influence of the voluptuous languor of spring. But a strange sensation of dread was present also, resembling those passing fears which occasionally assail us and then vanish and we forget them ; but which subsequent events proved to have been the winged messengers of impending disaster. The village clock at R struck nine. The sound struck her as different from the usual one. How could this be? She listened again. Then it flashed across her that on a previous occasion she had been on the lake at exactly the same spot and the same hour, that she heard the clock strike and made a similar remark. But when ? It had often happened to her, especially in her girl- hood, to be struck by similar reproductions of circum- stances, by the recurrence of the same thought without being able to recall the original occasion. When she told her friends, her father shrugged his shoulders, and told her to pay no attention to such silly trifles. Miss Sarah had said ' Really ? ' Her girl friends assured her that the same things happened to them every day. So Marina kept her own council in future, but she pondered on the matter nevertheless. These flashes of memory had reference to trifling occurrences. Thus she was in doubt whether they were true recollections or only hallucinations. This time she had no doubts. Thinking it over again 94 MALOMBRA and again she was sure that she had never been on the lake at this hour. It was therefore an hallucination. When she reached the castle the Count had already retired to rest. Marina paced for a few minutes up and down the loggia, then went to her rooms, where she took up a book, threw it away, took up another, laid that down, began to write a letter, then tore it up, and taking off her two rings she threw them on to the lid of the old-fashioned escritoire, which she used as a writing-table, and went to the piano. She played one of her favourite pieces, the great scene of the apparition of the nuns in 'Robert the Devil.' Opera music was the only kind which Marina ever played. She played now as though the desires of the ghostly sinners had entered into her, only in greater strength. At the passage of the temptation she broke off, she could not go on. The internal fire within her was too strong for her, seemed to overwhelm her and choke her. She rested her head on the reading-desk, even that seemed to burn her. Marina jumped up and gazed out into the darkness. The noble music was still ringing through the air, she seemed to breathe it, to drink it in. At length her glance fell on the floor at her feet, and chanced to light on a glistening object at which she now gazed almost unconsciously, it seemed to fascinate her. She stooped and picked it up. It was one of the rings she had thrown down on the escritoire. She looked for the other. It had disappeared from the lid where she had placed it. It was not in the desk, not on the floor. Marina began to be annoyed, and felt for it beneath the escritoire. It was not there. Thrusting her hand inside the desk, in a little space between two small drawers she came across a little A STRANGE STORV 95 hollow, just big enough for her finger to enter, and there she felt her ring. Being unable to introduce more than one finger, she endeavoured to raise the ring by pressing it between her finger and the wood. To her astonishment it remained fixed where it was, appearing to be held down by a little hook. While Marina was endeavouring to overcome this resistance, she suddenly heard the click of a spring, and the woodwork on which her hand was resting suddenly fell several inches lower. The ring fell with it, and Marina, in astonishment, hastily withdrew her hand, but then, feeling again, found that at the bottom of the secret drawer the hand entered into another receptacle containing various objects hidden away. These she puUed out one by one. They were a prayer- book, a tiny mirror framed in silver, a lock of fair hair tied with a black silk ribbon, and a glove. Marina in amazement examined and re-examined all these under the light from the candle. The hair was very soft and fine like a child's ; the glove was a one- buttoned glove, very small and still retaining the shape of the delicate hand that wore it; it looked like a live thing, so well was it preserved. To whom had these relics belonged ? What romance or hidden design had led to their being put away thus secretly ? Marina again felt in the mysterious cavity, hoping to find some manu- script, but without success. Then she again looked at the objects she had found. It seemed to her that each one of them was longing to speak to her, to tell her its secrets. At last, as she turned and twisted about the mirror, she noticed some letters scratched upon it with a diamond. Letters and numbers traced by an uncertain hand. After much patience Marina was able to decipher the following curt inscription : — 96 MALOMBRA 'My portrait. 2d May 1802.' A dim and distant light seemed to flash across Marina's memory — 1802 ! Was not that the year in which the mad prisoner was kept confined at the palace ? Perhaps she had written those words — perhaps the glove and the lock of hair w^re hers. But hidden away by whom ? Marina, almost without knowing what she was about, took up the prayer-book and began turning over the leaves. A sheet of paper fell out, folded several times and covered with a yellow, faded writing. She opened it and read as follows : — ' Memorandum. ^ id May 1802. ' Yes, I must remember, great heavens ! If not, why enter a second existence ? I have prayed to the Holy Virgin and Saint Cecilia to reveal to me the name by which I shall then be known. They have not granted my prayer. , Nevertheless, whatever be your name, you who have found and are reading these words, recognise that within you dwells my own unhappy spirit. Before you were bom you had undergone immense sufferings ' (these last two words were repeated ten times over in large letters) ' under the name of Cecilia. 'Remember Marina Cecilia Verrega di Camogli, the unhappy wife of Emanuele d'Ormengo. Remember the night of the loth of January 1797, at Genoa, in the Villa Brignole ; remember the pale face, with the mole on the right cheek, of your sainled aunt, Sister Pellegrina Con- cetta. 'Remember the name of Renato, the red and blue A STRANGE STOJRy ^ uniform, the epaulettes, the gold lace and the white rose at the Doria's ball. 'Remember the big black coach, the snow, and the woman at Busalla, who promised to pray for me. _' Remember the vision which I had in this room two hours after midnight, the words of fire upon the walls, words in an unknown tongue, and yet clear to me in this one respect, that I gathered from them the comfort of a promise from heaven. I cannot repeat those words, I can but record their sense. They said that I should be born anew, that I should live again here between these walls, that here I should be avenged, that here I should again love Renato and be loved by him ; they said some- thing else, dark, incomprehensible, illegible, perhaps the name which he will then bear. 'I would fain write the story of my life, but the strength fails me; let the hints which I have given suffice. ' Change names with me. Let me return as Cecilia, let him love me under that name. ' This escritoire belonged to my mother; nobody knows the secret. I am placing in it the silver-mounted mirror which my mother got at Paris from Cagliostro. I have looked at myself in it long and fixedly ; for the mirror retains the features of the last person who looks at her- self in it. I have inscribed the date with my diamond ring. ' This is a lock of my hair. Don't you remember it ? Just think. It is curious for me to be speaking to you as though you were not I ! How soft and fine my hair is. It is going to be buried without a kiss or a caress. How fair it is. It is going to be buried. ' And you, too, little white hand. Put a glove along- side my hair to remind me of you, little hand. Note G gg MALOMBRA that the thumb of the glove is a little short for me. Who knows whether I shall have so fine and soft a hand ? One kiss, and farewell. ' I have but a few days longer to live. It is the even- ing of the 2d of May 1802. I know not the hour, for I have no watch. ' The windows are wide open, and this is what I feel. A soft mild air, and a greenish-blue sky, pleasant to gaze on. And the voices of the lake and the Jbells and these hot tears of mine, is it possible that you do not recall them? 'My soul, fasten upon this fact. Count Emanuele d'Ormengo and his mother are my murderers. Every stone in this house hates me. Nobody takes pity on me. And all for a flower, a smile, a calumny ! But now no longer. For now, with heart and mind I am his, all his. ' Five years and four months have I passed here, with- out one word from them to me, or from me to them. When I am carried away to the churchyard perhaps they will come too. They will be in mourning, with grave faces, and will chant the responses : "Luxferpetua luceat ei." Oh ! that at that moment I could rise from my bier and speak. ' Mother ! Father ! Are you indeed dead and unable to defend me ? Ah ! vile d'Ormengo, they at least are free from suffering. ' Here let me pause a moment. My thoughts do not obey me, they move in a whirl, they all press close together here, in the middle of my forehead, in a wild hurly-burly from which there is no relief. ' Farewell ! O Sun ! till we meet again ! ' Black door, black door, it is not yet time to open. _ • Let me be calm. A few rules for that day. A STUANGS STORY 99 'When, in the second life, I shall have found and reread this manuscript, I shall at once kneel down and return thanks to God; after that, having compared my hair with the lock I have placed here, having put on the glove and gazed at my reflection in the glass, I shall shatter the mirror into fragments, for it will have to be renewed before it can serve me again. Then I shall replace everything in the secret drawer. After that the spring must be pressed to make everything go into place. ' Put all your faith in the Divine promise ; leave the rest to God. ' Let there be sons, nephews, cousins ; the vendetta will be good for all. Wait for it here, here. ' Cecilia.' Marina read the manuscript eagerly and did not understand. She read it again. At the passage, 'You who have found and are reading these words, recognise that within you dwells my own unhappy spirit,' she stopped. She had not noticed them before. Her eye rested on these words, and her hands shook as they held the manuscript. But only for a moment. She continued to read, and the white, trembhng hands seemed to be turned to stone. On reaching the words, ' I shall at once kneel down and return thanks to God,' she folded the paper, keeping the place with the first finger of her right hand, and remained motionless, her head slightly bowed as though in thought. She then returned to the manuscript and read it for the third time. Then she laid it down and took up the lock of hair. Her hands held it firmly and handled it 100 MALOMBRA softly ; there was no nervous tremor now. Her face was as marble ; showing neither incredulity, nor belief, nor pity, nor fear, nor wonder. There was a heavy footstep in the passage. Marina became transformed, her eye flashed, the hot blood rushed to her face; she violently closed the escritoire and strode towards the door. It was Fanny, who had a step like a cuirassier's. ' Go away,' said Marina. ' The saints preserve us ! How strange you look. What has happened ? ' ' Nothing ; I do not require you this evening. You may go to bed,' repeated Marina, more composed in voice and manner. Fanny retired. Marina listened to her retreating footsteps till she heard them go down the stairs. Then she returned to the escritoire. But she hesitated to re-open it, and looked at the curi- ous carving, the allegorical figures in ivory inlaid in the ebony, which at that moment seemed to her to have the funereal expression of spectres rising to the surface of some stream in Hades. She determined to open the escritoire. She started back ; the lid had been banged down hastily and the little mirror had been shattered to frag- ments as Cecilia had wished. Marina re-read the last page of the manuscript, unbinding her own hair and comparing a tress of it with that of Cecilia ; the living and the dead were in no way similar. She took up the glove. How cold it felt. It made her shiver. No, not even the glove fitted. It was too small. Marina replaced in the secret drawer the manuscript, the book, the glove, the lock of hair, the silver frame, and the pieces of the mirror, and pressed hard on the A STRANGE STORY loi little knob. The spring clicked and the woodwork sprung back into its place. Then Marina knelt down, placed her arms on the top of the escritoire, and hid her face. The candle burning above her head lighted with a golden shimmer the tresses of her hair, and seemed to be the only living object in the room. The flame rose and fell in strange fashion, as though anxious to descend and whisper to Marina, ' What is it ? ' But even had the spirit of light thus spoken in the little white ear of the prostrate girl, no reply would have been vouchsafed, for Marina was speechless and senseless ; her heart barely beat, and the blood hardly stirred in her veins. Her strong will, her powerful intelligence alone, amid the dismal silence of the room, fought with the hideous phantom that had seized on her young life and now sought to poison her blood, encircle her form and consume her body and soul, with a view to replacing her identity with its own. At other times Marina's worldly-wise scepticism would have prevented her from even allowing herself to be approached by any phantom from the other world ; but that this veil of scepticism, which usually masked her thoughts like a growth of weed upon a stagnant pool, had been broken up and dispersed by the strange anguish of mind into which she had been thrown as she returned to the castle. Her first impression as she grasped the weird idea suggested by the manuscript had been one of dread. This- feeling she overcame by force of will, and deter- mined to submit every circumstance to a cold scrutiny, and to thoroughly understand it. Giving herself up to a profound meditation on what she had read, she seemed to hear an imperious voice within her which said, ' No, it is not true.' iM MALOMBRA And then she began to harbour doubts as to this voice, and the voice was silent. If the voice's utterance was to carry weight it must represent a conclusion arrived at by weighty arguments which had passed through her mind with the rapidity of lightning. It was necessary to go through the mental process anew, to retrace the way step by step. The writer of the manuscript was insane. The local tradition, her own confession, the exultation and feverish disorder of her ideas, the general tenour of the manu- script, all combined to establish this fact. Did the idea of a second existence on earth contain something so original as to constrain one to suspect inspiration from on high, and to force one to take CeciUa's visions seriously ? No, it was a theory as old as the hills, one so widely known that the unhappy sufferer may easily have heard it, or read it, or found it, in her days of trouble, looking in the recesses of her memory. Seizing upon it she used it as a mental stimulant, nourished her thoughts on it; thus the idea became part of her being. And the visions? Doubtless the walls would give to the sufferer the answer which she implored with all the force of a strong will and a vivid imagination. They replied with letters of fire. Yes. With clearness ? No. What meaning had the mirror, and the lock of hair, and the glove ? What object was served by com- paring the living hand and hair with the dead ? Did she hope to be born anew, and to rise again ? No. The manuscript was the work of delirium. To prove the converse, it was necessary that Marina should feel some recollection of a past existence rising within her mind. Disclose thy secrets, O ! my soul. She commenced interrogating herself as to the past events alluded to in A STRANGE STORY 103 the manuscript, like one who leans over a dark well and calls and listens for some voice or echo in reply. Camogli? No echo, no recollection. Genoa? Silence. Sister Pellegrina Concetta, Renato? Silence. The Doria Palace, Villa Brignole, Busalla, Oleggio? Silence, always silence. Thus it happens that in some railway waiting-room filled with travellers, and dimly lighted by a smoky petroleum lamp, an official calls out a long list of names of distant stations. Nobody responds. They are waiting for another train. But who can say that there are not travellers for this line, who have not heard because they are lying asleep on the benches behind, wrapped up in their long cloaks ? ' It is the work of a mad woman,' said Marina to her- self, 'and I am making myself ridiculous, racking my brains about it in this fashion. Ridiculous!' she. re- peated out loud, and jumped to her feet. The word which she had uttered seemed to her to be harsher than the one which she had harboured in her 'thoughts. Not only harsher ; exaggerated and false. It struck on her ear as though it had been uttered by somebody else. At the same time an uneasy sensation began to take possession of her, weariness alternating with impatience, while her will seemed to be paralysed. It was a strange chance, she reflected, that had trans- ported her, in the flower of her youth and beauty, from the bright city of Paris to this deserted room, left unin- habited for seventy years. A curious chance which had made her ring roll down to the spring of the secret drawer, thus revealing to her the sentence — ' You who have found and are reading these words, recognise that within you dwells my own unhappy spirit' Delirium. But was there any trace of imbecility in the manuscript ? Exaltation, yes, confusion of thought, 104 MALOMBRA yes, but after a captivity of five years to form so striking an ideal ! An old established idea ? But would not that be an argument in its favour? Marina began to tremble, she seemed to hear herself being called, being implored, by thousands of unknown spirits who had held this faith ; for a moment she felt herself yielding to their entreaties. And the blood coursed ever more feverishly through her veins, while the action of her intellect and of her will grew feebler and feebler. She could not recall Camogli or Genoa, Renato or Pellegrina Concetta, not one day of her previous exist- ence, not one hour ; but how many isolated moments ! How often had there flashed across her mind the memory of moments shrouded in the shadow of an unknown past. On this very evening, the bells ! Her blood ran cold, there was an indescribable choking gripping at her throat. She was seized with the fear of suffocating, with the wild instinct of self-preservation. Then the reflection struck her that she could not be Cecilia, because she had the Ormengo blood in her veins ; but the stern monitor within her made reply — ' No, what has the blood to do with it? You hate, you have ever hated, your uncle ; the vendetta is thus of more exquisite relish. God, with a view to its more perfect accomplish- ment, has placed you, unrecognisable, in the midst of the enemy's household.' A great fear came over Marina, she desired to escape from the conflict raging within her j she took hold of the candle and passed into her bedroom. The windows were open, a puff of wind blew out the light. She endeavoured to relight it, but did not know what she was doing, and gave up the attempt. She then flung herself down, half fainting, beside the window, for the breeze to revive her. There it suddenly flashed A STRANGE STORY 105 across her how, on the evening of her arrival at the castle, looking out of that self-same window she had thought that she recognised in the darkness the form of an old dream, a weird spectre which had visited her years before, amid bright scenes and gay festivals. This was the final blow ; an indescribable cloud settled down on thought and sight ; she seemed to hear a thousand whispering voices aU around her, rising upwards, then joining and uniting into one loud voice. She lifted both her hands to her forehead and fell to the ground. The white figure lay there beneath the window in the dim starlight as though asleep. Who was to know that a woman had fainted? All the inmates of the castle were wrapt in slumber ; outside, the crickets chirped merrily and the nightingales sang; the fresh, quick breezes of the clear spring night came in out of curiosity through the open windows, searched in all the corners, whispered mysteriously) among themselves ; while from a distant gondola that had lingered behind the others on the lake there floated the careless chant : — KB cossa n sta Merica ? L'i un. mazzolin dijiori CcUtato alia mattina Per darlo alia Mariettina Che siamo di bandonar.' Only the fountain in the courtyard narrated, with an air of mystery, to the arums, a long, long story, which was listened to in religious silence. Not a leaf stirred. Perhaps it was the tale of the lady who had swooned away there hard by; but human ear could catch no syllable of what the fountain had to tell, or gather whether the lady's name was Marina di Malombra or Cecilia Varrega. io6 MALOMBRA The result of this night was that Marina was pro- strated with a violent attack of brain fever, the cause of which none could guess. It is well nigh certain that in the course of her delirium she must have allowed some allusion to the sinister cause of her overthrow to escape her ; but such allusions must have been rare and vaguely worded, for they aroused no suspicion of the truth. Moreover, Marina's strong will, albeit rudely shaken by her malady, was being acted on by a motive pre- cedent. She wished to be silent. The presence of the Count was her severest trial. When he entered the room, or even when his step was heard in the passage, the patient became beside herself, and struggled con- vulsively without speaking; so that after the first few days these visits were discontinued. This open dislike to her kinsman was much commented on by the chattering gossips of R , who put many absurd inter- pretations upon it. The one most in favour was that the Count wished to marry* Marina against her will, and that the girl had become distraught in consequence. The celebrated Professor B , who had been summoned from Milan to assist the poor ' painter,' who was com- pletely out of his depth, considered it his duty to sound the Count upon this dehcate question, a task which he accomplished with the greatest tact under cover of the medical interest of the case. The Count's reply was not less diplomatic. ' My niece,' said he, ' is possibly under a certain obligation to me, though not one of such magnitude as to make her hate me. She is a young lady of great intelligence, while I am verging on my second childhood ; I have reason to believe that we are, upon many subjects, as the poles asunder; these things being as they are, • Such marriages occasionally occur in Italy. A STRANGE STORY 107 the idea of marrying my niece has not occurred to me. You may have heard the contrary from the local doctor, who sucks up like a sponge every stupid report that is in circulation. It is his nature, and he cannot help it. To return to the subject of my niece. Our first im- pressions of each other was unnecessarily disagreeable ; these we subsequently modified not a little, and person- ally I have none but kindly feelings towards her. But I imagine, my dear professor, that when a person's brain is disordered and he or she says " black," one has to understand "white."' Professor B 's scientific skill, assisted by the humble ignorance of his colleague, overcame the malady. After a month and a half Marina reappeared in the loggia. Her face was pale, the pupils of her eyes were enlarged, and had a languorous and yet startled ex- pression. She looked so fragile that one expected the wind to bend her form as it does a tiny jet of water from a fountain. Her vigour and her beauty soon returned, but a close observer could see that the expression of her face was changed. All the lines appeared sharper ; her eyes had at times an unwonted dulness, or else a sinister fire that had hitherto been strange to them. The veil of dissimulation in which Marina had wrapped herself was cast aside. The memory of her little acts of hypocrisy irritated her. Her dresses, which hitherto had been in the severest taste and in harmony with her surround- ings, so as not to offend her austere uncle, no* assumed an aggressive and eccentric style. Clouds of white notes, crested and perfumed, again appeared piled up on the post-office counter. A constant stream of French plays and novels began to flow from the Librairie Dumolard towards the castle. The piano resounded at all hours, whether the Count was in the library or not, with lively io8 MALOMBRA airs by Bellini, Verdi, and Mozart. Meyerbeer and Mozart were the only two composers to whom Marina forgave their German nationality; Meyerbeer in con- sideration of his French citizenship, Mozart in recogni- tion of ' Don Giovanni.' The wild excursions by mountain and lake, through wind and rain, by day and by night, recommenced ; Rico acting with enthusiasm the part of guide, cavalier and faithful follower. To the great astonishment of the inhabitants of R , Marina, moreover, now began to frequent the church where in the past she had never set foot. Truth to tell, her religious revival savoured slightly of the grotesque, for on Sundays and feast days she was still conspicuous by her absence, and only entered the church when nobody was there, sometimes early in the morning, sometimes in the evening. One day, finding the church closed, she proceeded to the vicarage to demand the key. The servant seemed to think that the sky was about to fall in when she opened the door to the ' lady of the castle,' and still more so on hearing her ask for the key of the church. Her first instinct was to slam the door in her face and refuse the key ; but she only ventured so far as to say that she would refer to her master, to whom she ran as quickly as she could, begging him to invent some pretext for refusing the key to the witch outside. The good priest rebuked her sternly, and went himself to open the church for Marina, whose acquaintance he had already made on the occasion of one of his rare visits to the castle. It is not difficult to imagine how, under such a state of things, the relations between uncle and niece de- veloped. The two might be compared to two metal points, highly electrified, which, on approaching each other, at once emit sparks, and lightning flashes in A STRANGE STORV 109 miniature. Marina had abandoned all ideas of travel. During her convalescence the doctor had mentioned the subject, giving a strong hint that the Count would assent to the idea, a fact of which he had assured himself beforehand. The patient replied that she had no idea of leaving the castle, that the air suited her remarkably well, and that the doctor did not know what he was talking about Marina and the Count, from this time forward, may be said only to have met at meal time, but their opposition to one another continued without a break. Even the articles of furniture were penetrated by that dull spirit of animosity, and seemed to range themselves now on this side now upon that. Some of the doors and windows were engaged in the contest two or three times a day. Marina had them opened, the Count ordered them to be shut. A poor old arm-chair, in the passage where the paintings were kept, lost his dignity and his peace of mind in the process. Almost every day one decree placed him in front of a fine Canaletto, and another decree sent him hurrying back to his original place. Fanny, in the discharge of her duties, took occasion to vaunt high the name and the wishes of her noble mis- tress ; the other servants joined issue on behalf of their master. The excellent Giovanna essayed the part of peace- maker, but too often only with the result of drawing upon herself some impertinent remark from Fanny, which she resented and brooded over in silence. The Count de- tested scent of all kinds, which formed a sufficient reason for Marina to use them to excess. French books, which she left lying about here and there, seemed to laugh in the face of the old Gallophobe, and made him tremble with rage. The finest .flow^s in the garden disappeared be- fore they were well in bloom, in spite of the old gentle- no MALOMBRA man's denunciation of the gardener and of Fanny, to whom he attributed these depredations. He naturally treated his niece's maid with scant consideration, and on one occasion was on the point of having her ducked in the lake. The Count thought better of it and cancelled the order, but poor Fanny had a narrow escape of being dismissed instead. Rebukes were showered upon her frequently, in many instances couched in terms of ex- cessive severity because they were aimed, not so much at her, as, through her, at her mistress. Face to face with Marina, the Count kept himself in check, whether for the sake of his sister, to whom he had been warmly attached, or from chivalrous feeling, or from fear of exceeding due bounds. The bearing and be- haviour which his niece had adopted for some time past had at first evoked serious reprimands on his part, ad- ministered in a tone half reproving, half sarcastic, and met by Marina with a cold dignity which only half masked a rising flood of passion and resentment. Withdrawing from this perilous path, the Count adopted the system of significant silence. It was a silence charged with electricity, only interrupted by flashes of disdain on the one side and of irony on the other. At times a small thunderstorm would break, only, however, to pass away and leave the sky clear as it had been before. The wretched Steinegge was in no enjoyable position between the two opponents ; and Marina let no day pass without inflicting some slight upon him. 'Count,' began the poor man one day, ' I am aware that I have the misfor- tune to be no favourite with her ladyship, your niece. Possibly it is the fault of my weather-beaten countenance, which it is not, however, in my power to improve. If my presence in any way accentuates your little family differences, I will take my departure.' A STRANG t STORV iti The Count replied that he was still, for the present at anyrate, master in his own house ; that if Prince Metter- nich were to offer to Signor Steinegge the post of director of the wine vaults at Johannisberg, the said Steinegge would receive his permission to depart ; but, otherwise, No. About a year after her discovery of the secret, Marina received from the Librairie Dumolard, in addition to four or five new French novels, a work of fiction in Italian, entitled A Dream, by Lorenzo. We may add that the copy sent to Marina, and retained by her through an oversight, was the three hundredth issued within two months of publication. Marina had the lowest opinion of Italian fiction, and was not in the least disposed to read this work. That she did so at all was the result of an accident, Fanny bringing it to her one morning on board the Dart by mistake in place of the Homme de Neige. On reaching her favourite anchorage in the Malombra Bay, Marina noticed the mistake, and after the first contemptuous sur- prise resigned herself to reading it. The subject of the book is as follows : — A young man in a state of nervous exhaustion, the result of overwork, has a dream of extra- ordinary vividness, in which he imagines that he sees his own future set forth in the form of an allegory. The first part of the dream is realised by events. Fifteen years pass by. The second portion of the dream had predicted a violent attachment followed by some stu- pendous catastrophe. At the age of thirty-seven the hero is living as a married man in semi-seclusion from the world, to avoid the predicted disaster, when he falls a victim to an overpowering passion. The object of his attachment is a lady of great intellectual and moral refine- ment ; she ultimately returns his love, but there is a long 114 maLombra and resolute contest between love and duty. The hero imparting to her inadvertently the mysterious spell under which he believes himself to be, duty carries ofif the day. The lovers bid a final farewell to each other, and to happiness. Ultimately the hero returns to his humdrum bliss, and forgets the temporary episode. The heroine dies. The story is, in fact, written with great lack of experi- ence of the world, though with a certain psychological accuracy of observation. Marina returned to the castle with her mind full of the book she had been reading. She would have liked to meet the author. Did he believe in what he had written ? That one can resist destiny and overcome it ? If destiny could be vanquished, was it indeed destiny ? If there be no destiny, we are reduced to believing in malignant spirits which make a sport of us, decking out falsehood with the semblance of truth, and so skilfully as to strongly influence our imagination. Marina found no answers to all these questions. With- out hesitating she then put pen to paper, covering eight sheets of paper with a vivacious composition sparkling with wit and irony, and signed ' Ceciha.' After a moment's reflection she added the following postscript : — ' I should be glad to know whether you believe that a human soul can have two or more separate existences on earth. If the author of A Dream does not make use either of doves or swallows as his postal messengers, his reply may be sent in the usual way to Doctor R , Poste Restante, Milan.' Marina then wrote a second letter to the Signora Giulia de Bella, as follows : — ^ STRANGE STORY 113 ' Help me to commit a harmless little escapade. I am just now in a state of astonishment at having read — either from caprice or through force of circumstances — an Italian novel. You may turn up your nose, but listen. This novel is, so to speak, like a nervous man whose gloves are too dark and whose tie is too bright, and who enters your drawing-room in a great state of embarrass- ment, bows to half a dozen people before his hostess, and then oscillates for a quarter of an hour between a chair, an arm-chair and a stool, and finally decides upon the seat that is farthest from the ladies. When he begins to talk, however, you notice that there is something about him different from the rest of your set. He is full of ideas, overflowing with energy ; he is a man t Have you any men in your set, dear? If so, forgive me. ' I take not the slightest interest in learning either the name or the identity of the author, who goes under the simple pseudonym of Lorenzo. He may be a bourgeois with fair hair. The idea which I have formed is this : to engage in a literary correspondence ! I am allowed so few whims that I give effect to those which I do have at once. Y writing to X! What fun, especially if X sends an answer to Y. It might happen that X is pos- sessed of wit, which would afford amusement to poor Y, who is as bored as a princess. Meanwhile, X has no means of guessing from whence comes this letter ; is it not a harmless escapade ? So now, dear, you will leave the enclosed letter, which is addressed " To the Author of A Dream, c/o V & Co., Printers." This, how- ever, is not all, as you doubtless guess. Would you be so kind as to send to the post-office in a few days' time and inquire whether there are any letters for Doctor R , and, if so, 10 forward them to me ? Counting H 114 MALOMBRA upon you, I have given that address, which is an ab solutely safe one. The affair is so harmless that it may possibly tempt you to ask for your husband's permis- sion to take part in it In any event, be silent as to me. ' My respects d ton trls-hcutt seigneur et maitre, if you see him. ' Farewell, love. I am reading an old book. L' Amour, by Stendhal. It is written au bistouri. Marina.' Signora De Bella, whose natural inquisitiveness had led her into more than one freak less innocent than this one, replied half in jest, half in reproof, threatened her friend with a moral lecture, and concluded by under- taking the commission ; secretly reserving to herself the right of reading the first letter before forwarding it. She was, above all things, a conscientious person. The author of A Dream did not lose much time before replying. He maintained, with greater feeUng than logic, his pre-expressed opinion in regard to the decrees of fate and the force of the human will. He demon- strated how, in events to bring about which the will must assent to acts affecting man's conscience, the will is indeed a principal element ; an unknown variable which, when introduced into calculations founded on fixed natural laws, renders the result ever uncertain. He denied the theory of the will assenting to evil by pre- ordained necessity. He argued that it is a necessary corollary of human liberty that man should be able to decide in favour of what is good. He urged that the necessary impulse is derived from the depths of man's nature, where it exists in mysterious contact with the deity, and receives thence a vast, but indefinable, force. This divine influence, which undeniably lies at tlie A STRANGE STORY 115 origin of all human action, surely, by its very nature, is opposed to moral evil and, cl priori, must exclude the necessity of evil. The learned author developed his arguments with an ingenuous energy sufficient to exclude him from the reproach of pedantry, but apt to rouse a suspicion that he was anxious to convince not only his correspondent but himself as well. That there are malig- nant spirits which make a sport of us is certain, he pro- ceeded; nay, they may even deceive us into a false notion of fatalism. Everything points to the belief that, as we exercise power over the beings inferior to ourselves, so we ourselves are subject, within certain limits, to the action of other beings of attributes more powerful than ours. We fall into the habit of attributing to chance that which is, as a fact, effected by them. Prophetic dreams, presentiments, sudden artistic in- spirations, sudden flashes of genius, blind impulses to- wards good or evil, inexplicable fits of high spirits and depression, the involuntary action of the memory, are probably all controlled by superior beings, partly good, partly bad. Such considerations, however, wrote Lorenzo, all fall to the ground if we deny God. He then added the hope that Cecilia was not an atheist, for in that event he would be compelled, with great regret, to break off the correspondence. He next turned to the question of the transmigration of souls. Lorenzo believed in the theory. The condition of a soul in a human body is undoubtedly one of repression, of pain, and this can only be explained by sins committed in a previous state. The sufferings of innocent creatures, the unequal distribution of sorrow and happiness, the fact that some souls quit this life unsoiled, within an il6 MALOMBRA hour of entering on it, thus obtaining that reward which costs others long years of bitter strife, all these phenomena can best be explained by attributing to our present life the character of a state of expiation and preparation. Admitting the theory of transmigration, the author added that human reasoning can go no farther, and that the problem, whether our previous existences were earthly ones or astral, is insoluble, and that attempts to answer it are mere efforts of fancy. This tremendous epistle, forming a whole volume, con- cluded with the hope, beautifully and poetically expressed, that the mysterious correspondence might be continued. The Signora de Bella's supple fingers quickly undid the envelope, but so much philosophy was too much for her, and she hastily skipped from the first page to the last. She then wrote a Une to Marina to this effect : — ' I am certain that the letter is everything it should be ; it is so heavy.' Marina, for her part, read the document greedily. The ingenuousness of the writer in replying with such expansive- ness to an unknown correspondent raised a slight smile ; but she trembled slightly as she read the name ' Cecilia.' It was only natural that he should so address her ; yet she was profoundly impressed. After a few days she wrote again, completely conceal- ing her real feelings. Passing altogether from questions of fatalism and transmigration she sought rather, it seemed, to rouse her correspondent to exercise his wit and irony, if he had any, by teasing him whenever a chance offered. She laughed at the pedantry which marked his epistle, at the common-place nature of his mm de plume, and in- quired whether there was any basis of fact at the bottom A STRANGE STORV 117 of his novel, and whether he had published other books, and if so, why he concealed the fact. This letter reached Corrado Silla about a fortnight before he left Milan. We already know in what manner he answered it. CHAPTER VI A GAME OF CHESS ' Yes, Christianity I can understand,' remarked the Count, as he took up a bishop and examined it attentively. ' What are those stupid servants about, to keep us in the dark like this ? ' The windows were half closed, and the outer blinds closed also. Silla rose to let in a little daylight. 'No, I beg of you J let those people of mine come. Will you have the kindness to touch the bell ? There, near the door, that round knob, twice. Christianity. Oh ! I do not propose that you should write against Christianity. You say that, after all, it was Christianity which brought the doctrine of equality into the world. But what do you desire to prove by that argument? That prior to Christianity there were no such things as democracies ? ' ' My scheme is that our book shall treat of the doctrine of equality in its worst development, that is to say, in the field of politics. And among the other superstitions that we have to pulverise, will be the superstition that the author of this coarse equality of the politicians was Christ. For the rest, listen to me. Equal before God, I grant you, is well enough — the point of view is one of vast distance — but equal among ourselves! One requires A GAMM OP CHESS 119 great stubbornness, a great physical and intellectual blind- ness, to maintain that we are equal one to the other. If there is one thing which arrests men's attention it is their natural inequality in mind and body. My cook, for ex- ample, is much more like Hannibal and Scipio than a gorilla is, but he is not their equal ; and all the rhetor- icians of 1789, and the self-seeking demagogues from then to now, will not make him so. Check.' 'You cannot move there. But pardon my pointing out that mankind possesses in common the great funda- mental constituents of human character, which are known to all, and many other more subtle points of uniformity. I believe that men resemble each other in their moral characteristics far more than they seem to do. Ought not these points of uniformity to be recognised by law ? Do they not justify the doctrine of equality and the rea- sonable application of it? That there were demo- cracies before Christianity I admit ; all the principles of Christianity were in existence, one may say, but it was Christianity which furnished them with a foundation, a stimulus, an ideal. Consider the immense importance attached to each human soul ; consider the doctrine of goodwill among men ; there is no more powerful leveller than love.' ' Excuse my saying that there is some youthful con- fusion of thought in what you urge. Granting that the modern democracy is based upon rapacity and arrogance, not upon love ; yet I maintain that love tends to main- tain inequalities; I maintain that the more a servant loves his master, the more a soldier loves his general ; the more a woman loves a man, the more a weak man loves a strong one ; the more a small man loves a big man, the more are these inequalities respected. It is rapacity and arrogance that tends to destroy them.' 120 MALOMBRA 'But your argument assumes that the love is all on one side,' rejoined Silla. ' And on the side of inferiority. Whereas I take it that there is a little love on the other side too.' ' Certainly I assume that the love is on the inferior's side. Perhaps you will tell me that God, of his loye, was made man? I will not enter upon that field. I maintain that he who loves^ if he be a man of intelli- gence, cannot, and dare not, divest himself of the social functions which belong to him. Believe me, your re- ligion, which inculcates respect for the inequalities created by human laws, ought still more to preserve respect for those which bear the impress of a superior being's will. Your love of your neighbour might be better employed than in jerrymandering democratic re- publics, and preaching the equality of the pawns and the other pieces, because they are all made of wood, and live on the same chess-board. But, my dear sir, half an hoiu: ago I said, " Check to your king." ' ' You can't ; there is the knight.' The Count inclined his big, shaggy head over the chess- board. 'True,' he remarked; 'one cannot see in this light. But just look whether no one has come. No, I do not wish that you should have the trouble of opening the bUnds.' He rose and touched the bell. 'Count,' said Silla, 'you must excuse me if I put a question to you.' ' By all means.' 'According to your view, are differences of birth also among those differences which are to be re- spected ? ' •By my faith, I should think they were. I would A GAME OP CHESS tai make you a present of hundreds of squireens of the pre- sent day at a halfpenny the pair, but do not you under- stand that the differences in the type of individuals creates the different types of families, and that the great families which have been pushed to the front by a mighty impulse^ and have maintained their high position for centuries, play a leading part in the social system, and are, in a sense, superior beings. Living, as they do, for four, five, six hundred years, and disposing of a force altogether above the ordinary, they are able to preserve their healthy traditions through many genera- tions, oppose to the passing interests of the day the vital interests of the country, place the fruits of their ripe experience at the service of the State, and act as a guide and an example to the people.' ' Your lordship rang ? ' inquired the footman. ' In the name of all that's holy,' cried the Count, ' who ordered you to keep all the windows closed ? ' ' I did not shut them ; it must have been Miss Fanny.' The Count brought down his clenched fist on the table. * Where is Miss Fanny ? ' ' I believe she is downstairs in the courtyard.' ' What is she doing there ? ' The footman hesitated for a moment. ' I do not know,' he answered. The Count got up, walked to the window and flung it open, muttered something in forcible Piedmontese, and said to the footman, — ' Let them both come up.' The footman bowed. 'So you did not know, didn't you?' exclaimed the Count. The discomfited servant withdrew. •It is too absurd,' said the Count. 'That ass of a 122 MALOMBRA doctor making love to my niece's maid. Billing and cooing in the garden like two doves.' A minute later the ' painter ' entered, blushing crimson and exclaiming, — ' What a coincidence ! what a coincidence ! to have arrived just in time to play a little game — ' 'With Fanny,' interposed the Count. The doctor laughed heartily and remarked that his lordship was pleased to be facetious. Though there was not much mirth on the Count's face, upon which the doctor kept his eyes fixed, laughing ever less and less. He then remarked that Fanny had not come because she had been called away by her mistress. ' Allow me to give up my place to the doctor,' said Silla, rising from his seat. The doctor protested vigor- ously, declaring that he was quite content to look on, and that, moreover, the Count cared little about playing chess with him. But Silla insisted ; he feared that there was going to be a scene and had no wish to be present at it. ' I will come back later on,' he remarked, ' and go on with the game.' He had hardly gone when Fanny, in high dudgeon, appeared in the doorway and asked tartly, — ' What do you require ? ' ' That you should come here.' Fanny opened the door a little wider, but did not move. ' Come here ! ' cried the Count Fanny moved a step forward. ' In future you will not take upon yourself either to open or to close the windows in my house, and you will not waste your time in the garden, where you have no business. A GAME OP CHESS 123 The wretched doctor, in an agony of suspense, was sitting with the tip of his nose between the king and the queen, and gazing sternly at the hostile king's pawn. 'It was her ladyship,' began Fanny, in an irritating tone, and twisting the door-handle round and round in her hand. ' Tell her ladyship to come here,' interposed the Count. Fanny went out, slamming the door and muttering to herself. ' Silly wench ! ' said the Count, as he withdrew his queen from the hostile bishop's second square, where he had moved her, without noticing that she was threatened by a knight. He made another move and then added, — ' Don't you think so, doctor ? ' 'Perhaps she is just the least bit flighty,' replied the doctor in trepidation, moving his queen's pawn forward two squares, and threatening the pawn of the opposing king. 'Bear in mind, my dear doctor,' said the Count, • not to lose your head over the queen's handmaidens, especially when playing in my house ; it will not be to your advantage.' The doctor made his knight give an eccentric jump. ' What are you doing ? ' asked the Count. The doctor struck his forehead with his hand, withdrew the piece, and explained that the great heat had made him stupid, that he had left home at eleven and had paid four or five visits in the full glare of the sun. ' Oh ! ' eixclaimed the Count, starting up and looking at the time, ' I was forgetting. It is I who am absent- minded. I have an appointment with some friends.' The poor doctor could hardly believe his good fortune, and that the painful episode was at an end. 124 MALOMBRA •We will leave the game to another day,' said he, '1 will come again.' At this moment Fanny once more appeared on the scene. ' Her ladyship would wish to know for what purpose your lordship desires her presence.' ' Tell her ladyship that I beg her to come down and finish, in my place, a game of chess with the doctor.' 'I beg of you,' exclaimed the latter, 'that nobody will put themselves out on my account.' ' Go and tell your mistress,' said the Count When he was left alone the doctor's eyes began to sparkle. ' Not to lose my head over the queen's hand- maidens, indeed ! ' he remarked to himself, rubbing his hands ; ' for your pretty face I will risk it' He had recently obtained from Fanny a promise to meet him that night at the little chapel, a solitary spot beside the lake, some little distance from the castle. Fanny said she would be there with the boat after midnight. The doctor kept walking restlessly round the room in search of a looking-glass, in which fo see his beaming countenance and congratulate himself on his felicity. There were no mirrors in the room ; there were only the panes of the open windows, in which he succeeded in discerning a faint image of his smiling features. He looked down into the courtyard, in which he had been caught talking to Fanny by the Count, and muttered to himself, — • Hang the window ! ' The Count crossed the courtyard and boldly faced the ascent of the steep stone steps, in the blaze of the mid- day sun, through the deep, motionless shadows of the cypresses, and the rustling of the gleaming vine leaves stirred by the southern wind. The doctor glanced at the A GAME OF CHESS 125 retreating figure, and then, with his mind at rest, slipped away in search of Fanny. Meanwhile, the white queen's pawn and the black king's pawn, standing motionless on adjoining squares, were asking one another whether there was peace, or an armistice, or a council of war. But as to this, they and their comrades were alike in ignorance. It was remarked, both by the black warriors and by the white, that the campaign was unskilfully conducted, and without energy, and that military operations appeared to give away to diplomatic action of vague and variable character, in which, from various motives, various powers took a hand. As a matter of fact, what was going on resembled the action of the wind upon the lake on one of those wild days when the surface of the water is barely ruffled, while above the mountain summits the gale is blowing great guns, and the storm clouds are gathering dark and menacing. • Here I am,' said Silla, as he entered the room. Then he suddenly stopped. Where had everybody gone to ? He went up to the chess-board. The game was un- finished ; in fact, since he had left it, only two moves had been made. He looked about the room, and, seeing the doctor's hat and stick on a chair, concluded that at anyrate he would soon be back, and so stood by the window to wait. He thought of what the Count had said about the politician's theory of equaUty, and about the privileges of birth. Silla felt as though a dark cloud had risen up before him. He had not, indeed, made a special study of these questions, but, ever since he left the University, he had been nourished on ideas opposed to those of the Count ; he had breathed the bracing air that moves through the modern democracy, and it 126 MALOMBRA seemed to him well-nigh incredible that a republican like the Count should hold the opinions he did. He now understood the meaning of certain phrases and expressions used from time to time by the Count, to which he had not been able to attach their true sig- nificance ; and Silla began to blame himself for having accepted, with too light a heart, the literary collabora- tion which the Count had offered him. When the latter had explained to him the plan and scope of the proposed work, which he intended to entitle Principles of Political Positivism, Silla had indeed re- served his freedom of judgment in regard to the ques- tion of republican and monarchical institutions, but he had not been prepared for this new source of estrangement. The Count had at once accepted Silla's conditions, declaring that under no circumstances would he ask him to sacrifice his personal opinions, and he added that, by handling the subject on general prin- ciples, they might perhaps find themselves more at one than at first sight seemed probable; and that, in any case, every contentious question would be sub- mitted to discussion. They had then set to work, beginning with a rapid review of the progress of science from the time of the Greeks onwards. But Silla now felt that the difference of opinion was more acute. What course should he adopt? Enter on a discussion in which he might come off second best by reason of inferior training? This was repugnant to him. On the other hand, what hardness, what audacity characterised the Count's ideas, what contempt for the opinions of the public and for the general drift of human progress. It would be in- expressibly humiliating to retire without a contest, to lose himself in the crowd and leave this aristocrat io A GAME OF CHESS 127 lis haughty position of one against all the world. He )ught to be confronted face to face. It was not the ime for Silla to identify himself with democratic passions md prejudices; but to stand forth and uphold the lobility and the grandeur of the principles of equality, vith the aid of that religious spiritualism which should regulate the application of the principle in accordance mfHa. an elevated ideal of brotherly love. The errors, :he injustice, the blindness, the insupportable pretensions Df modern democracy must be frankly admitted ; but the pride of birth, the pride of privilege must be attacked and beaten down. Silla waxed warm as the last thought passed through his mind, his heart beat ijuicker, and haughty, passionate words fell from his lips ; but they were not addressed to the Count. No, little by little, involuntarily, Silla imagined him- self face to face with Donna Marina, saw her pass by with her air of haughty indifference, rendered more striking by the very delicacy and grace of her presence, and with that cold glance which only lighted up when it met that of the Count. It was to her that Silla, in his own mind, addressed his eloquence. In three weeks she had honoured him with perhaps as many words ; and, without saying so, she had made him understand perfectly well that she considered him worthy neither of courtesy nor of ordinary civility. Such, at least, was the impression which she had conveyed to Silla, and after the first few days at the castle, Silla had taken measures accordingly. Her hauteur he met with hauteur, and yet not without suffering in the contest, not without a certain bitterness of passion which, in her presence, seemed to gnaw his heart. And now it appeared to him that he was crossing her path, that he stopped her, that he asked whether she really believed. . . . 128 MALOMBRA ' Well, doctor ? ' said a voice behind him. Silla turned round hastily. Yes, it was Donna Marina herself, seated before the chess-board. ' ' I take the black,' said she, looking the pieces care- fully over. She had come then, sailing into the room lightly as a fairy; or else Silla had got lost in the intensity of his own thoughts ! He did not stir. ' Doctor ! ' said Marina, in a tone of surprise. Then she raised her head and saw Silla. For a moment she knit her brows, and returned to her examination of the chess-board, then, in her usual frigid tone, she inquired, — ' Where is the doctor ? ' ' I do not know, Marchesina.' 'Close the Venetian blinds a little,' Marina added almost s»tto voce, without looking at him. Silla pretended not to have heard her, left the window, and passed behind her on his way out of the room. She did not raise her head, but when Silla was near the door she said, in the same even tone, — ' May I ask you kindly to close the blinds.' Silla turned back in silence without hurrying, drew the outer blinds nearer to the window, and again made for the door. ' Can you play chess ? ' said Donna Marina. Silla stood still in astonishment. This time she had raised her head, but the room was dark now, and he could not see what expression she wore. The voice betokened indolent coldness. Silla bowed. Perhaps Donna Marina expected that he would offer to finish the game with her, but no such offer came. A GAME OF CHESS 129 With a gesture of her right hand she indicated that the :hair opposite to her was empty, but her head remained motionless. That wave of the hand evidently said, not ' I request,' but ' I permit' Silla felt humiliated. Perhaps it was the subtle per- fume which now filled the room, the same perfume (yhich he had noticed on the day of his arrival in the picture gallery, that soothed his pride, and, in Marina's name, whispered so many pleasant things to him. He pished to refuse the challenge and he could not lo so. ' You are afraid ? ' asked Donna Marina. Silla took the empty chair. ' Of winning, my lady,' he replied. She raised her eyes to his. Then Silla began to feel :he languorous charm of her face ; he looked full into :hose large, clear eyes which seemed to question him IS closely as her lips did. ' Why of winning ? ' ' Because I do not know how to take the second place (phen I do not deserve it' She slightly raised her eyebrows, as another would lave shrugged the shoulders, looked at the chess-board vith forefinger on chin, and said, — ' My move.' She stretched out her hand, but held it for a moment lovering over the pieces. The bright ray of light which entered between the half-closed blinds fell on her wavy lair, on her pale cheek, on the delicate little ear, on the any white hand hanging in mid-air, with its soft rose ;ints beneath the clear skin ; it lit up the calm face of a aeautiful woman intent upon the game. Silla was not io tranquil ; involuntarily, as he gazed upon her, he felt :hat he could kiss that face, and bite it 130 MALOMBRA Donna Marina took the white queen's pawn and threw it back into the box. ' You are sure you play as well as I do ? ' said she. ' I do not know how you play,' replied Silla, moving a bishop. Marina uttered a short, metallic laugh as she looked at the hostile bishop. ' But I know how you play. You play a cautious game. You are afraid of losing, not of winning.' At this moment the doctor opened the door, and seeing that the game was in progress stood still. Marina appeared not to see him. He went out, shutting the door very quietly. 'What move are you going to make?' continued Marina in a sharper tone. ' Why don't you bring out the queen ? Why don't you attack in earnest ? ' ' I am not going to attack. I am playing a defensive game, and I can assure you that my defence is fairly strong. Why do you wish me to attack ? ' ' Because in that case I should finish the game more quickly.' ' That depends.' ' Try,' said Marina. Silla bent over the board, scanning it closely. Donna Marina made a movement of impatience, and rose to her feet. ' Such deep study is useless,' she remarked. ' I assure you that you will not win. You will not win,' she re- peated, throwing the pieces into disorder and overturning them with her hand. ' I have only played this one game with you, and I don't think I shall ever play another.' ' All the better for you,' she added. ' Not at all. Neither better nor worse.' ' True,' she rejoined sarcastically, • you are not here in A GAMS OF CBESS 131 rder to play chess with me. You are here to prosecute rofound studies with Count Csesar, are you not ? What o you study ? ' Silla was pleased at the irritation she displayed ; it was victory for him. •They are studies which would not interest your idyship.' Marina seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then lie went back to her seat. What doubts, what ideas of conciliation were passing irough her mind ? She took in both hands a Uttle gold ross, which hung from her neck over the d'ecolleti dress, nd toyed with it, while her chin sunk on to her breast nd the movement of her hands uncovered a little of the loulded arms. ' Very deep, those studies of yours, I suppose ? ' she emarked. 'Oh, no.' • You think, then, that they are too high for me V ' I did not say so.' • Let us see ; are they mathematics ? ' 'No.' ' Metaphysics ? ' 'No.' ' The black art, perhaps ? The Count has a good deal »f the sorcerer about him, don't you think, Signor — Jjgnor — Your name is—? ' ' Silla.' ' Do not you think so, Signor Silla ? ' 'No.' ' You are very reserved.' There was silence for a moment. Then the voice of he Count was heard, with those of other persons all xjming down the stairs together. 132 MALOMBRA Silla Stood up. ' Wait a moment,' she said brusquely. ' I don't want to have any Sphinxes about me. What is it that you are writing with my uncle ? ' ' A troublesome book.' ' That is understood ; but what is it about ? ' •The science of politics.' ' Your are a politician ? ' ' Something better ; I am an artist.' • A professional musician, do you mean ? ' ' Your ladyship has a ready wit.' ■ And you are very proud.' ' Possibly.' • And by what right ? ' As she uttered these words Marina smiled, a curi- ous smile, the venom of which was imobserved by Silla. • By the right of reprisals,' he replied. • Oh ! ' exclaimed Marina. A look of scorn flashed from her eyes. At that moment the same thought occurred to each of them, the thought of a bond linking their future destinies together, but linking them by a chain of antagonism and of enmity. ' It is true then,' said Marina, soitovoce, ' that there is another game which you are playing ? ' ' I ? ' replied Silla, in amazement. ' I do not under- stand to what you refer.' ' Oh, you understand. But you play the game quietly, cautiously ; you have not yet moved the queen. It is a poor thing, that pride of yours. And you talk about reprisals ! Do you not know what kind of woman I am ? Some time ago they wrote of me that 1 am arrogant, that I should like to take up my abode in some bright star, and that in this vulgar, scandal-loving planet of A GAME OF CHESS I33 ours there is no spot fit for me to place my feet. I shall reply that I have found the spot, and — ' ' Ah ! here is my niece,' said the Count, entering the room with his guests. Silk did not stir. He was looking at Marina, his eyes wide open with astonishment. His unknown cor- respondent — Cecilia ! ' Let me introduce my friend, Signor Corrado Silla,' the Count continued, ' whose thoughts are still with his chessmen, it would seem.' CHAPTER VII SCANDAL The same evening the Venetian lady by Palma il Vecchio was playfully entreated to issue forth from her frame and take a seat at the dinner-table. The beautiful dame replied with her wonted smile. The table might glitter with plate, cut glass, and flowers, but these sufficed not to allure one grown up among Oriental magnificence. Moreover, the admirers prostrate at her feet were but a vulgar set after all. The Commendatore Finoti, a deputy, with his eyes all fire and the rest of him burnt-out cinders. Then there was Commendatore Vezza, a literary man, an aspirant for a post on the Council of education, and a candidate for the Senate. He was a small man of rotund figure, brimming over with wit and learning, a favourite with the ladies, though he failed to please the lady in the picture. She was not literary; and she only laughed at his sheep's eyes, stumpy figure, and general resemblance to a soldier made of guttapercha. Present also was the Professor Cavaliere Ferrieri, an engineer, with expressive features, intelli- gent eyes, a sceptical smile, and brains of excellent quality. Yet even he failed to charm the beautiful Venetian. She belonged too much to the sixteenth century, and he too much to the nineteenth. Born '34 SCANDAL 135 with a spark of poetic and artistic genius, he had de- graded it to a mechanical machine. There was also the Advocate Bianchi, a fashionable young man, with a shy manner like that of a blushing bride newly married. He also made the lady above him smile. This con- cluded the list of strangers, for we cannot include among them the sorry figure of the old doctor, who had slipped into the dining-room without being invited. The cause of all these people being assembled to- gether at the castle was the solitary little stream which flows from the lake towards the west, in and out among the poplar trees. Some Milan capitalists had commis- sioned Professor Ferrieri to report whether there was sufficient water-power for a large paper mill. The professor was to draw up a scheme and to approach the local authorities, with a view to the construction of a road and a free grant of communal land. His reputation stood high as an engineer ; and three or four lines with his signature attached would attract shareholders in hun- dreds. With him was his nephew, an attorney, his legal adviser in the negotiations. The politician and the man of letters had joined the party to pay a long-deferred visit to the castle, promised since 1859. The dinner was excellent, and was enlivened with a flow of wit. The jests of the deputy alternated with the academic insipidities of the man of letters, and the incisive epigrams of the engineer. The deep voice of the Count frequently drowned the voices of his guests, the clinking of plates and glasses, the disagreeable clashing of empty dishes, and all the sounds of a dinner-party. Meanwhile, the young attorney held his tongue and ate little, drank water and feasted his eyes on Marina. 136 MALOMBRA Steinegge and the doctor spoke together in low tones, and occasionally, but rarely, exchanged a word with Silla. The latter, absorbed in other thoughts, sometimes made no response, sometimes replied at random. Marina, too, spoke little. Her neighbours, the two commendatori, made elabor- ate eflforts to lead her into conversation, but only suc- ceeded in extracting an occasional monosyllable. Yet the expression of her face, which she did not once turn towards Silla, did not betoken anxiety or trouble of any kind. Vezza, whose weakness was a desire for uni- versal knowledge, asked her, as a last resort, whether she hq,d seen the latest fashion in embroidery, which everyone at Milan was now learning. She replied with a low ex- clamation of contemptuous surprise, which confused the learned man, and compelled him to seek refuge in the general conversation. This turned on the new paper mill. The engineer was boasting of the new machines which they were going to introduce for the manufacture of papier m&chL Steinegge expressed surprise that this was a novelty in Italy; it was, he said, well known in Saxony. Vezza remarked that in Italy their shareholders were made of papier m&cM, and their share certificates of rags ; and he then proceeded to comment ill-naturedly on the new Germanism of industry, which, in his opinion, was as objectionable as the Germanism of letters. The discussion grew warm; Finotti supported Vezza; the engineer opposed him. Steinegge, as red as a peony, fumed in silence, and poured out libations of Sasella and Barolo on the altar of his injured patriotism. ' That is the best Italian poetry, is it not ? ' the engineer remarked with a smile. Steinegge clasped his hands, gave a sigh, and raised SCANDAL 137 his eyes towards heaven in silence, like a middle-aged seraph in an ecstasy. ' Hear ! hear ! Steinegge, bravo ! ' cried the deputy. 'By the way, Csesar, the Mayor and Corporation of R will soon be here, will they not, in order to dis- cuss matters with Ferrieri, with you as chairman ? You ought to dip them all in this Barolo. However tough their worships may be, our friend here would swallow them one after the other.' • Ah ! you don't know them,' replied the Count. 'They will drink in my wine and the professor's argu- ments, they will gulp down everything and decide upon nothing. The more attention one shows to people of that kind, the more distrustful they become. They are not altogether wrong in that, after all.' 'Perhaps you are right. But the professor brings no gift in his hand, and his features are anything but classical. What do you think, Marchesina ? ' Marina replied drily that she took no interest in the classics. 'And our friend there has spent forty years in for- getting the little he knew. Don't pay any attention to him. For the rest, the plan is simple enough. Two hundred and fifty workpeople and a dozen superin- tendents. We have enough water-power for many fac- tories. A railway will be the next thing. In short, the Corporation of R must present me with the road and land, and the freedom of the borough.' ' Castles in the air ! Ah, a trout, salmo pharius. Your paper mills will soon put an end to these.' With this remark, Vezza entered upon a lively con- versation with the Count, the engineer and Steinegge, about trout of every kind and pisciculture in general. The politician had meanwhile buttonholed the doctor 138 MALOMBRA on the subject of Corrado Silla; greedily fastening on the malicious rumour concerning the young man's origin. When he could place his finger on a human weakness of this kind, in an unexpected quarter, he was truly happy. •Well,' Vezza was remarking, 'for trout you may bait with a fly or with a worm.' ' Or a German poet,' suggested the engineer. ' No, who cares for them ? He might perhaps attract a corporation of the lake country.' The commendatore stopped abruptly, for just then the footman announced the Mayor and Corporation of R . This was the signal for a general move, shifting of chairs, formal introductions, and an eloquent toast by Vezza to the future prosperity of the borough of R , 'so worthily and wisely represented.' The municipal councillors looked at him in stupefaction, and with the vague anxiety of those who hear their praises sung and do not know why. Then all rose from the table, and the Count, the engineer, the young advocate and the mayor and corporation drew on one side to discuss matters. Finotti offered his arm to Donna Marina, whispering a few words in French, with a smile provoked probably by the musty municipal councillors. They brought with them an odour of fustian. Passing from the close room to the fresh air of the loggia, one was met by the sweet perfume of the flowers in the court below. The mountains, and the lake which reflected them, were aglow with a golden light. The western sky was bright and clear. In the east, the gleaming sum- mits of the Alpe dei Fiori touched the dark and stormy sky. SCANDAL 139 'Beautiful, indeed,' said Finotti as he leant over the balustrade. ' Beautiful, but too lonely a scene. How do you find the time pass in this hermitage, Marches- ina?' ' It does not pass, not altogether,' replied Marina. 'But I suppose there is some civilised being in the neighbourhood with whom you can exchange ideas ? ' ' Yes, there is one. He paints.' She pointed towards the doctor, who was standing open-mouthed listening to a vivacious dialogue between Vezza and Steinegge. Silla stood on one side, looking at the fountain in the courtyard. ' But Csesar has always guests with him,' insisted Finotti. 'Even now, I fancy,' he added with a tone full of suggestiveness, and looking towards the young lady, who bit her lip and was silent. ' How does he come to be a friend of Caesar's ? ' in- quired the commendatore, sottovoce. ' I don't know.' ' And yet I envy him.' 'Why?' ' He lives near you.' ' That may not be so agreeable to those who do not please me,' said Marina, with the tone and air of one in- tending to cut short the conversation. 'Vezza!' called out Finotti in a loud voice. 'How can you stand there discussing trout and crawfish when there is a lady present? 'I observe that my most worthy friend, the doctor, is not a little shocked.' The worthy doctor became convulsed with protesta- tions. ' Marchesina,' remarked Vezza, drawing nearer, 'please observe how a friend is rewarded for his self-sacrifice in yielding the best place to another.' 140 MALOMBRA ' Ah ! Was it yours ? ' rejoined Marina, with one of hei curious smiles, and, without awaiting a reply, she turned to Steinegge and said, — ' Three chairs.' There were five people in the loggia, and not a single chair. ' When a young lady gives the order,' replied Steinegge, after a moment's silence, 'a cavalry officer will bring thirty.' Finotti was looking at Silla. His face was pale, and he was watching Marina with so contemptuous a light in his eyes that he attracted the attention of the dilettante student of practical psychology. ' Everybody standing ? ' remarked the Count, entering the loggia at that moment with the engineer, the attorney and the municipality. ' My dear Steinegge, have the goodness to tell them to bring some chairs. The pro- fessor wishes to construct a dam to regulate the overflow of the lake, and to see what else may be necessary. These gentlemen prefer to stay behind.' 'We shall be in the way otherwise,' said one of them. ' Well, well,' said the Count, ' you must pay your re- spects to my niece. When you are ready, professor.' The professor hastily shook hands with the five worthy councillors, and went away with the Count' ' We will make the bears dance,' whispered Finotti to Donna Marina. But the bears were less bearish than was supposed. Three of them, two of the assessors and the mayor, knew better than to say a single word. The other two, the as- sessor, who really did the work, could give points in knavery to the commendatore himself. In activity of tongue they were little behind him, allowing for the fact SCANDAL 141 that they were peasants ; fat and well-to-do, indeed, but still peasants of the farmyard and the plough. ' We are poor country bumpkins,' remarked one of them. They had a very fine sense of humbug. The conversation naturally turned on the paper mill. Finotti gave an enthusiastic sketch of the wonderful in- dustries which would spring up, of the fabulous f)rofits that would accrue to the neighbourhood. His two Us- teners vigorously nodded assent, rubbing their knees gently with their hands ' How sharp the world has become,' said the elder of them. ' Yet we remain round,' replied his colleague ; ' at least, as long as they don't plane us down.' ' A wealthy commune, I believe,' said Finotti. ' So, so. You see our public pastures in front of you. When they have given place to the new road leading to the paper-mill, we shall know what it is to be well-to-do. For the present, things are only middling.' •I don't know whether it is the wine which the Count was good enough to give us, but it seems to me that in the time that's coming we shall all rise in the world. It was a fine wine ; whether one can trust it I don't know. What do you say, Signor Steinegge?' I have seen you occasionally at hump-backed Cecchina's.' ' Ah, ah ! ' murmured Steinegge, who did not altogether understand. ' Gracious ! ' exclaimed Vezza, observing the heavy black clouds banked up in the east. ' We are going to have a storm.' ' I think not,' rephed one of the assessors. ' Not just now ; to-night, perhaps.' ' What do you call those rocks shining in the sun ? ' •We call them the Alpe dei Fiori. As a youngster, I 14* MALOMBRA have been up those hills hay-making. A better name for them would be Alpe del Diavolo.' ' It is true the Devil's Cave is up there,' said the other assessor. ' Oh ! there's a devil's cave ? ' remarked Silla. ' And why so called ? ' 'I don't know, I'm sure. Better ask the women. They tell a hundred stories about it.' 'For instance?' 'For instance, they say that through that cave one goes straight away to Hell, as straight as an arrow, and that all the Evil One's special favourites take that road. They even mention the names of three or four.' ' Indeed,' chimed in Finotti. ' Let us hear them.' • Oh, really, I've forgotten.' ' People from these parts ? ' ' Some, yes ; some, no, I forget.' At this point, in an evil moment, the worthy mayor abandoned his prudent reserve. 'But, Pietro, you surely remember one. The mad lady.' 'Ass,' murmured his irreverent colleague to himself, and then relapsed into silence. ' Well done most worshipful mayor ! Of course, you ought to know by what road your subjects leave this world. Tell us all about it. It is not an official secret, let us hope.' The mayor, recognising too late that he had put his foot in it, wriggled uneasily in his chair. 'Old fables,' he replied, 'old country tales. It all happened six hundred years ago, or thereabouts.' ' Oh ! six hundred ! Something under sixty would be nearer the mark,' said one of the town councillors, who had not yet spoken. SCANDAL 143 ' Well, well, sixty or six hundred ; in any case, it is an old story, and can hardly interest the present company.' But the unfortunate mayor, finding himself in a tight place and unable to escape, at last unburdened himself, and told the whole story without further reserve. ' Well, this mad lady was the first wife of the previous Count ; a Genoese lady who, it would appear, committed some small indiscretion, and her husband brought her here, to the castle, and kept her imprisoned there; he himself remained here till her death. The country folk say that the devil flew away with her through that cave.' While the mayor was speaking, Marina rose from her seat and turned her back upon him. Hiss colleagues made signs of stormy disapproval. Vezza remarked casually, — ' Is that Caesar's boat ? that one over there.' 'Noble times, those!' exclaimed Silla, in his deep voice. All present, except Marina, looked at him with amazement. 'Times of moral strength,' he continued, paying no heed to the glances cast at him. 'Nowadays we have violent scenes and give rein to the impulse of passion — of unbridled and selfish passion. If a woman falls, we kill her or drive her forth. To revenge oneself, to make oneself free. That is our aim. In former times it was otherwise. Then you might find a gentleman capable of burying himself in a wilderness with the woman who had injured him, sharing the expia- tion though he had not shared the sin, and breaking with all worldly ties out of respect for a bond, painful indeed, but sacred.' Marina, without turning round, nervously stripped the leaves from a twig she held in her hand. 'It may have been a hideous form of revenge,' re- 144 MALOMBRA marked Finotti, ' a slow form of legal homicide. How can you tell ? ' ' I do not know the details ; I am confident that the father of Count Caesar would be incapable of what you describe. Moreover, the penalty excites our interest and our pity ; but the oflfence ? Who was this woman ? Who can tell us that ? ' Donna Marina turned upon him. ' And you ? ' she cried in a voice broken with passion. ' Who are you ? Who can even tell us your real name ? We have to guess ! ' She flung open the door leading to the west wing of the castle, and disappeared. Medusa herself could hardly have turned a group of men to stone more effectually. Silla felt that he must say something, but the frords failed him. It seemed to him as though he had received a heavy blow on the head from a bludgeon, and was reel- ing under it. At length, with an effort, he collected him- self. 'Gentlemen,' said he, 'I feel that an insult has been hurled at me ; but the nature of it I do not under- stand.' His tone, his bearing, his eyes expressed what his words did not : ' If you understand, tell me.' The commendatori and the doctor protested in silence, by gestures, that they knew nothing. The others stood open-mouthed. Steine^e drew Silla's arm through his and led him away, saying, ' Now you know her, now you know her.' The municipal councillors of R , and the doctor, lost no time in retiring. ' A pretty finale,' remarked Vezza, when the first shock of surprise had passed away. SCANDAL 145 ' Did you understand ? ' ' I should think so,' replied Finotti. ' It's as clear as water.' ' Muddy water.' ' Nonsense ! Do you want me to tell you ? That young man there, who suddenly appeared at the castle like a man fallen from the clouds, is a peccadillo of the Count's. His presence here has been a severe trial to the young lady. That one can understand. Fancy seeing one's uncle being led away from one beneath one's eyes ! The only thing to put things right would be the usual matrimonial scheme, and this I would wager was Caesar's idea, but whether it be at Paris, or at Milan, or in the country of the moon, a " but " always turns up in the form of an irn- possible ideal. He may be fair, he may be dark, he may be anything you please; but he's there. And so the scheme is rejected ; war to the knife ! You under- stand ? ' ' You know nothing whatever about it, my dear fellow. Can one venture on a cigar here, do you think ? ' And Vezza amused himself by lighting a cigar, over which he wasted half a dozen matches. ' Yes, Mina Pernitti Silla, a beautiful woman, a most beautiful woman, was, it is true, a friend of Caesar's, but a friend— ! ' The commendatore sent up a puff of smoke, followinp; its course with his eyes while his right hand traced hieroglyphics in the air. ' She was the daughter,' he continued, ' of a judge of the Court of Appeal of Tyrol. You know, I suppose, that Caesar was expelled from Lombardy in 1831 ? I fancy he wanted to liberate Italy in order to be in a better position to marry the blonde Tyrolese. She was then about two-and twenty. Her father would have killed her 14$ MALOMBRA rather than give her to a Liberal. Poor girl, she remained firm, and kept her resolve not to marry, until she was twenty-six. Her father was fierce as a mastiff, and I believe ill-treated her. One fine day she gave way and accepted a vile cur of an Austrian, who made money in trade and then squandered it all on himself. He went away with the Germans in 1859, and must have died at Leybach. Mina and Caesar never met again, but they corresponded frequently, not about love, not the least allusion to it. ' He is a Jansenist who does not go to Mass. ' She used to write to him about her boy, and to ask his advice. She died in 1858, and I learned all this later from a friend of hers. I put it to you whether all this is sufficiently clear. What, I ask you, has the Marchesina di Malombra to fear, and what reasons had she—' ' Yes, yes, it is true enough, no doubt. What it means is that she does not understand the affair in this light. Besides, what is the use of thinking to find reasons inside such a pretty little head ? Great heavens ! don't you see what eyes she has ? All reason and all folly are centred there. Why, to be loved for one hour by a woman so beautiful and so insolent would make one mad with joy.' ' I don't admire her,' said the man of letters ; ' she is too thin.' The honourable deputy refuted this criticism with such scientific arguments that we are compelled to omit them from a work of art. CHAPTER VIII OUT IN THE STORM 'Shall I light the lamp?' said Steinegge, in a low voice. It was late at night. For a long time Steinegge and SiUa had been sitting in the latter's room facing one another without speaking. It was as though they were watching in a chamber of death. Steinegge rose, silently lighted a candle, and sat down again. Silla was sitting with his arms crossed, his head resting on his breast, his eyes fixed on the ground. Steinegge was ill at ease ; he looked at Silla, looked at the candle, looked at the ceiling, threw one leg over the other and then hastily removed it to its former position. • It will soon be time to go downstairs,' he remarked. • I fancy the Count has been back some time.' Silla made no reply. Steinegge waited for a minute, then rose, took up the candle and went slowly towards the door. His companion did not stir. Steinegge looked at him, uttered an ' ah ! ' of acquies- cence, put down the light and planted himself in front of him. ' I am a stupid fellow, and the words don't come when I want them, but I am your friend. I swear to 147 148 MALOMSRA you that if I could take your place and relieve you of the poniard thrust that has struck your heart, I would gladly do so to see you happy again.' Silla rose and grasped both his hands. Steinegge, growing red with embarrassment, said, ' Oh, no — Signor Silla — I thank you — ' and slowly released his hands. Misfortune, misery, the bitterness of life had humbled him to the extent of rendering him shy of any familiarity on the part of those to whom he attri- buted a higher social position than his own. 'One requires a little philosophy,' he said. 'One ought to despise this woman. Do you think that she has not insulted me ten, ay, twenty times ? Don't you remember how she spoke to me this evening as though I were a servant ? I despised her for it. She has no heart, not the least bit of one. You Italians say that she is an honest woman, because she does not throw away her self-respect, but I declare that this creature, this creature (Steinegge hissed out the words with fury) is a low woman. She insults me because I am poor, she insults you from the lust of gold.' •From lust of gold?' 'Yes. She imagines that the Count wishes to dis- inherit her in your favour.' Silla covered his face with his hands. ' You mean,' he said, ' she really wished to say---' ' Quite so.' ' But I don't understand,' cried Silla. •Ah ! Everyone here said the same thing.' ' Everyone here ? ' After a long silence Silla walked slowly up to Steinegge, laid his hands on his shoulders, and said, in a sad, calm voice, — 'And do you beheve that if there were a blot upon OUT IN THE STORM 149 the most sacred of my memories that I should have stayed here to testify to it ? ' 'I never believed that story. The Count would never have asked you here. I know the Count very well.' ' Steinegge,' rejoined Silla, ' if we part now never to meet again, as may happen, think of me as a man, not persecuted indeed, as you are, but mocked at, continu- ally, bitterly mocked at by one who has left this world, and who takes pleasure in seeing me suffering and struggling ; as boys do with a butterfly which they have thrown into the water with its wings crushed. I was born with a warm heart, and neither the power nor the art to make myself beloved, with a spirit thirsting for renown, and neither the power nor the skill to acquire it. I was born rich, and as a young man, just when I began to appreciate the advantages of my position, I was plunged into poverty. Only recently I have been promised quiet and work and friendship, the very things that my heart desires, for ambition I have renounced ; and now I am robbed of all three at one blow. My mother was a saint whom I adored, and I am the cause of her memory being insulted ; I, who never thought such a calumny could exist, because I am hopelessly inexperienced and know nothing of the world. To express the matter in two words, I am unfit to Uve, and every day convinces me more strongly of the fact. Un- fortunately, I have an iron constitution ! I tell you these things, my dear Steinegge, because I am fond of you, and I want you to think of me when I am gone. It is the first time that I have spoken of them to any- body. Tell me, doesn't the whole thing seem a mockery ? And yet,' and here Silla's eyes sparkled and his voice quivered, ' it is not so. I have within me the ISO MALOMBRA force to bear up against any disappointment and any affliction ; and this force is natural to me, not acquired. I shall make use of it, in fighting the battle of life, in fighting with myself, in fighting against the terrible de- spondency that from time to time assails me ; and I am convinced that God will make use of me for some — ' There was a knock at the door. The Count seiit his compliments to Silla and hoped he would join the company downstairs. Silla, in turn, begged Steinegge to go in his stead, and to make his excuses on the ground of urgent correspondence requir- ing immediate attention Steinegge went out, lost in thought. What in the world did Signor Silla intend to do ? The same question was actively discussed at great length in the lower regions of the castle. Mademoiselle Fanny had, in the first place, informed her fellow domestics of the ' fine lesson ' which her ladyship had given ' the little snob in the black coat,' who had com- mitted the grave offence, in Fanny's eyes, of failing to notice that these were beautiful. The cook had heard a good deal from the municipal councillors, with some of whom he had drunk a pint, after the scene on the terrace, at hump-backed Cecchina's. He now related how Silla had turned pale as a ghost and had become ali of a tremble. 'Who knows, Paolo,' remarked Fanny, 'who knows what will happen if those two find themselves alone together. Why, her ladyship does not know what fear is!' Hereupon someone stated that Signor Silla had retired for the evening to bis room, and that ' the German,' who had been with him for a time, had come out much , agsJated. Another significant fact was that Silla had OUT IN THE STORM 151 sent for his razors, which the gardener was to have taken to Como to be set. ' I shouldn't be surprised,' said Fanny, ' if the idiot were to put an end to himself without giving a halfpenny in tips.' 'Hush! Let us be going!' replied Giovanna. 'If the master were to know about the things we are saying ! Especially your last remark ! ' ' It's no affair of mine,' rejoined Fanny. ' I wouldn't condescend to even sew on a button for him. I have seen his beggarly outfit. Why, the old doctor is a. smarter man than he ! ' As she mentioned the doctor, Fanny gave a little laugh. ^ 'Poor old doctor,' said she, and then another little laugh, then another, then another ; and she refused to say what set her laughing. In the drawing-room also the thoughts of the assembled guests were occupied with Silla and his future. Nobody mentioned the subject, because Donna Marina was present, and the Count knew nothing of what had taken place. The latter indeed was puzzled as to how there could be urgent letters to write twelve hours before post time, but he held his tongue. Marina was in high spirits. Her voice was soft and musical, but in the silvery laugh which fre- quently rang out could be heard a note of triumph, like the little bell of a hobgoblin lurking in a forest glade. From time to time she and Fanny laughed together from no apparent cause. They laughed heartily when the doctor went away. In fact Marina did not seem to care a jot for Silla's absence. The hours passed and the moon gradually rose behind the big clouds lying banked up in the east, which gradu- ally broke up and formed a silvery fringe around the queen of night, and then again reformed. In the brief 152 MALOMSRA interval she flashed upon the windows of Silla's chamber, and scanned it through and through. He was writing. The sound of his pen passing rapidly across the paper was interrupted by passionate mono- logues, and by rarer intervals of silence. Page followed upon page. His pen must have C0V6red a dozen' of them before it stopped. Silla reread what he had written, and then began to reflect. ' No,' he said, and tore up the manuscript. He took another sheet of paper. This time his pen no longer . flowed easily. His thoughts were not in harmony with the expression of them. Half-p^st eleven struck. Silla [led the window and called to Steinegge. He had Id him walking about. ^iCome down at once,' he said Steinegge hurried to the window, and in the first gen- erous impulse seemed about to jump down into the balcony below. Then he disappeared, and in less than no time was in Silla's room with his frock-coat huddled on anyhow, and without his trousers. At that moment it struck neither him nor Silla that his appearance was ridiculous. Silla went up to him. ' I am going away,' he said. ' Going away ? When ? ' ' Now.' 'Now?' 'Do you think I could pass another night beneath this roof?' Steinegge made no reply. ' I am going on foot to where I shall await the early train to Milan. Will you be so good as to hand this letter to the Count ? And here is a small sum of money which I will ask you to distribute, at your discretion, OUT IN THE STORM 153 among the servants. I have luckily not had my books sent here; but I am leaving a box behind me. Will you be so good as to send it after me ? ' Steinegge nodded his head; but he was unable to speak. He had a choking sensation at the throat. ' Thank you. When you have sent it off, kindly let me know by a letter addressed Post Restante, Milan, and put the key insi^. I leave the key because there are still some odds aAd ends of mine not packed up.' 'But do you really„ mean that you are going like this?' •I really mean that I^am going like this. What do you think I have told the Count ? I have told him that my views and his are so antagonistic that I cannot col- laborate with him ; and that, in order to avoid painful explanations and the risk of yielding to persuasion, I am going away in this fashion, begging him to forgive me and to accept my lasting gratitude. A letter courteous in form and mean in character, a letter which will irritate him and set him against me. As for her, I don't con- descend to attack her. I wrote to her, and then tore the letter up. She will understand that I have given her my answer by snapping asunder the ties which gave her a pretext to insult me. The others, I think, will under- stand also.' 'Through this woman,' growled Steinegge, clenching his lists. 'But you do not^ know the worst,' murmured Silla. You don't know what a vile thing I am. I will tell you. The mere thought of pressing that woman's cheek with my lips sends a cold shiver through me, makes my brain reel. Is that love ? I know not, I think not ; but it would go hard with me if I had not that within me which suffices to crush out my ignominious resentment IS4 MALOMBRA at being hated by her. Yes, that is how things stand You look amazed and I am not surprised. Still, I am man enough to stir my cowardly self into action and to make it obey me. I am going away. Shake hands; nay more, embrace me.' Steinegge could only utter three stifled 'Ohs.' He embraced Silla with a severe frown, and the expansive J affection of a father. He then produced a shabby old' cigar-case, and offered it with both hands to his friend. The later looked at it in astonishment. ' Give me yours,' said Steinegge. Silla produced a case even older and shabbier than the first one. They exchanged them in silence. Before he left, Silla thought p&ssionately of his mother ; it seemed to him that the angel above her bed was praying for him, and invoking Heaven's guidance in the dark path that lay before him. A window on the ground floor gave him access to the courtyard. He would not permit Steinegge to go with him, but pressed his hand, and having crossed the treacherous gravel on tip-toe, slowly ascended the stone steps between the cypresses, halting in the deep slanting shadows which broke with their heavy outlines the shin- ing surface of the moon-lit stones. Then he turned round to look at the severe outline of the ancient castle, which he was leaving, in all human pro- bability, for ever. He listened to the sad murmur of the fountain in the courtyard, to the solemn voice of the deep bubbling spring above him. Both voices called to him, the former more feverishly, the latter more eloquently. From where he stood he could not see her window, but he looked down on the angle of the roof beneath which the unknown chamber lay, and his imagination summoned up its minutest details with the rapidity and the intense OUT IN THE STORM 155 energy of passion. He breathed the warm, scented air, saw the moonbeams dart through the eastern lattice and flood the floor with light, then touch a shining mass of rich garments in disarray, shimmer above a gold hairpin fallen to the ground, above the brown pointed toes of a little curved shoe, glide on to the white couch, kiss a deli- cate hand and expire in feeble flashes of light along the fine moulded arm. At this point the picture became clouded over, a nervous paroxysm shook his frame, and, as though to escape from it, he hastily resumed his way. It is not to be marvelled that he missed it. In good sooth it was no easy matter among so many paths, all disappearing amongst the regular rows of vines, to select the one which led to the iron gate. Silla reflected that he was not absolutely certain to find the key, which was usually placed, though not always, in a hole in the boundary wall, and he remembered that he ought to be near to another exit which was sometimes used by the peasants who worked in the vineyards. He came upon it. The boundary wall had fallen into ruins at this point, and from the neighbouring field a mulberry tree spread out its branches across the breach. Silla was quickly on the other side, and but a few paces from a landing- place used by the peasant cultivators scattered along the lake. A gently sloping pathway leads from this point down to a dip in the valley; where it meets the high road, touching in its course the edge of the lake, then hiding away among hedges and low boundary walls, then cutting across some grassy hills, dotted here and there with olive trees. As he walked along, Silla in vain endeavoured to fix his thoughts on the future, on the life of sacrifice and stern endeavour which awaited him. He cursed the wanton voices of the night and the voluptuous moon now 156 MALOMBRA high in the clear vault of heaven. He rested his burning brow against the stem of an olive tree, without knowing what he was about. The rough cold touch restored him to his senses and self-control, as cold steel might have done. The lightning began to play, and Silla quickly resumed his journey. In front of him the lowering storm-clouds were moving up from the east, were spreading along the mountains and upwards through the sky, their full crests waving hither and thither like a wild sea that would mount up to the moon itself. The silent flashes of light- ning shot out unceasingly towards her pale fugitive light. Suddenly Silla stands still and listens. He hears the subdued murmur of the lake lapping against the stones, the melancholy hoot of the owl in the copse on the opposite shore, the chirping of the grass- hoppers and the soft whisper of the breeze as it stirs the dense foliage of the vines and the silver-grey leaves of the olives. Nothing else ? Yes, the sound of two oars cutting the water with long, cautious strokes. Whether near at hand or far off it is not easy to say ; on the lake, at that hour, it needs an ex- pert to judge the distances of sounds. The sound of oars ceases. It is followed by the harsh noise of a keel grating upon the flints along the shore. Even the grasshoppers are listening. Then all is silence. The grasshoppers renew their chirping, joining it to the cry of the distant owl and the murmur of the lake lapping against the stones. Silla pushed forwards. The path quickly led down to the sandy shore of a little bay, at the other end of which large black masses of stone stood out above the water. Above them, among the wild fig trees and briars, rose a little 0^77' m THE STORM 157 chapel, and at the foot of the chapel stood out the fine black lines of a boat. There must then be a passage be- tween the rocks. There was no other boat but the Dart upon the lake, and Silla knew this. But who had come in the Dart ? He thought of Rico and stood still in order to avoid discovery. He saw a shadowy form rise up among the shrubs behind the chapel, run down the hill and dis- appear. A moment later one heard a silvery little laugh. It was impossible not to recognise it. Donna Marina ! Silla instinctively rushed forwards, heard a cry of terror, saw the vanishing form re-appear at the chapel and then seek refuge among the shrubs, the while Donna Marina was vainly calUng, ' Doctor, doctor.' Silla recognised the doctor but did not wait to consider, even for an instant, how be came to be there. He heard the grating of the keel as it pushed off from the shore, and ran up to the chapel just as the boat was quietly passing out of the channel between the rocks, and Marina, putting down the oar with which she had been polling it, was engaged in readjusting her gloves. ' Stop ! ' cried Silla from the highest point of one of the rocks. Marina uttered a cry and seized both oars. It was impossible to allow her to leave in this manner. At the foot of the rock there were only a few inches of water. Silla jumped down and caught hold of the boat's chain. Marina made two desperate strokes, but the Dart soon swung round in obedience to the iron hand which held her. ' You must listen to me now,' said the young man. ' You will tell me first,' replied Marina, ' whether the noble part which you have played to-night is one of your ordinary pastimes, or whether you are acting under my uncle's orders.' iS8 MALOMBRA ' You must have lived among queer people, Marchesina. Are these the traits of noble birth? In that case I assure you that my own origin is the more noble ; and I have some reason to hope that my name will be honour- ably remembered when yours is forgotten.' Jumping on to a jutting rock, his hat off, Silla com- manded the boat and the agitated woman in it. Marina fought for liberty, and beat the water furiously with one oar. ' Let us proceed to the second act,' she cried. ' In the meanwhile, you are a coward to keep me here by force.' Silla let go the chain. ' You can go,' he cried, ' you can go if you have the heart to do so. Only please under- stand that I am playing no comedy, only an obscure melodrama, the second act of which does not interest you.' ' And the first one does ? ' rejoined Marina, dropping the oars and crossing her arms. ' The second act,' Silla continued, without noticing the interruption, ' does not take place here. Rest assured on that point. From this evening onwards, you will see neither the drama nor the hero of it. If, in the ingenu- ousness of your heart you have suspected me to be more than a mere friend to your uncle, you can set your mind at rest. Perhaps I am not even a friend now ; for but a few minutes since I have, like a malefactor, secretly left his hospitable roof under which, in some low corner, this vile calumny had its being. If, however, you feared,' and here Silla's voice trembled, ' if you feared some sinister design in connection with Donna Marina and Corrado Silla you have been grievously misinformed. If the Count had mentioned the subject to me I should have quickly disillusioned him. For the woman I should OUT IN THE STORM 159 adore would be one capable of despising wealth and rank. And now, Marchesina, I wish you — ' ' One word,' cried Marina, urging the boat nearer with two strokes of the oar, for a sudden breeze was gradually driving her into the open. ' Your fantastic melodrama won't go down. You are good enough to cast yourself for an heroic part. So far so good ; but then come the critics, Signor Silla. Now, where did you discover, for example, that I am a suspicious heiress ? Very ridiculous, you know. Did you never notice how much attention I pay my uncle? And how dare you speak of designs upon my person ? Do you imagine I should trouble my head about anything that you and my uncle might fool- ishly think or say ? ' Meanwhile, the Dart was again making for the open before the freshening breeze. Marina gave another stroke and turned round towards Silla. The boat made way for a moment against the wind, against the waves now running strong beneath the keel, and then suddenly turned over, driven on to its left side. The light of the moon was rapidly failing. Swift fleecy clouds like flecks of foam had come up to it, had overpassed it ; now the big storm clouds caught it up and the moon was lost in the great bank, and seemed like a struggling beacon on the point of going out. ' Then,' cried Silla, 'why—' The rest of the words were lost in the sudden hubbub of the waves. A violent squall threw the Dart on to the rock on which he stood. ' Get on shore,' he cried as he bent down and caught hold of the gunwale of the boat to prevent her being dashed against the rock. ' Quick.' ' No, shove off ! I am going home.' Although they were so near as to be able to touch one i6o MALOMBSA another, it was with difficulty that they could make each other hear. The waves, increased suddenly in size to an extraordinary extent, thundered upon the beach with a deafening crash ; the helm, the chain, the oars of the boatj as it rocked wildly hither and thither, creaked and groaned. Silla got a foothold in the bow, pushed off from the rock with one desperate shove and fell into the bottom of the boat. 'Take the helm,' he shouted, seizing the two oars. ' Out into the open against the wind.' Marina obeyed the orders, sitting opposite to him tightly grasping the tiller-ropes. The sky was now as black as pitch, and nothing could be seen. One could hear the waves dashing upon the rocks and on to the stony beach. Here was where the danger lay. The JDart, urged forward too vigorously, rose at the bow above the waves and then splashed down into them with a dull, heavy thud ; it passed through the tallest waves like a knife, and then the foaming crests passed ov& it, running along the ijoat from stem to stern. The first time this happened, Marina, at the sound of the rushing water, hastily raised her feet and rested them on Silla's. At the same moment a blinding flash of lightning shot across the sky, lighting up vividly the greyish white lake and the big mountains, on which each stone and plant stood out in the searching glare. There flashed before Silla the apparition of Marina, with her hair float- ing in the gale and her eyes fixed on his. It was already dark again as he felt his heart beating with the recollection of that sight And the little feet were pressing his; pressing harder as the boat rose in the air, then slipping away and again pressing against his. The two oars broke to pieces in his hands. He got out the other two from the bottom of the boat and rowed furiously, because OUT IN THE STORM l6i the night, the voices of Nature at its wildest, that burning touch, that unexpected glance, all cried out to him that he was a miserable creature. The flashes of lightning showed her to him every moment, there before him, her bosom heaving, her face bending forwards towards his. It was impossible to go on. With a violent effort he struggled to his feet and passed to another seat nearer the bow. ' Why ? ' said she. Even in her voice there was a tremor, an electric thrill in harmony with the storm. Silla made no reply, and Marina must have understood, for she did not repeat the question. By the lightning flashes they could see a dense white cloud in the west and a furious storm of rain. But it did not come nearer ; the fury of the wind and waves rapidly diminished. ' You can turn her head,' said Silla in a faint voice, and nodding his head. ' The castle is over there.' Marina did not alter the course at once, she seemed to hesitate. ' Your maid is waiting for you ? ' 'Yes!' ' In that case we will go back to the chapel. In ten minutes the lake will be quite calm. I will get off there.' • No,' she replied, ' Fanny is not waiting for me. She is asleep.' She turned the Barfs head towards the castle. Neither of the two spoke another word. When they reached the castle it was not so dark, and the wind had died away, but the waves were still thundering against the walls, so as to drown all sound of the boat's passage through the water. Silla began to feel more calm They passed by the L i62 MALOMBRA loggia, and the sight of it restored him to his haughty indifference. ' You told me this morning,' he said, ' that I did not know you. On the contrary, I know you very well.' Marina seemed to think that he was alluding to the scene which took place there, and made no reply. ' Take care how you make for the landing-place,' she said, after a moment's silence. ' I am letting go of the ropes.' Silla rowed in with great care. Only, as they slowly neared the entrance, she replied in a low voice, ' How can you pretend to know me ? ' But now they had to take care not to run into the other boat, and to bring the Dart well alongside the landing-steps. It was very dark. The jDij^^ ran aground in the sand and stuck fast. Silla got out, and with his hand felt along the slimy wall of the rock out of which the landing-place was cut, and managed to find the flight of steps which leads to the courtyard and thence to the right wing of the castle. Here are the steps,' he said to Marina, holding out his hand to help her, and she, as she took it, repeated, — ' How can you pretend to know me ? ' With this she leapt on shore, but, catching her foot in the chain, fell into Silla's arms. He felt the soft touch of her cheek on his, he pressed to his heart in one wild, passionate embrace the slight figure in the soft, clinging robes, whispered one word in her ear, and, allowing her to glide to the ground, dashed up the steps and away across the courtyard. Marina remained motionless, with her arms stretched out before her. It was no dream, it was no illusion, there was no room for doubt; Silla had whispered 'Cecilia.' CHAPTER IX THE LETTER BAG From Donna Marina di Malombra to Signora Giulia de Bella. ' zd September 1864. ' I FANCY I have discovered the name of the author oi A Dream. I want to know for certain, and also to find out his address. I give you my word that it is not with a view to go and call on him ! Let loose, I beg of you, all your courtiers and henchmen in pursuit. With a little tact, one ought to be able to find out everything at V & Co.'s, the Printers. Marina.' From Signora Giulia de Eella to Donna Marina di Malombra. ' Varese, 4^A September. ' So he has made an impression ! All my courtiers have gone into the country, and yesterday somebody told me that V & Co. closed their doors a month ago. I should be inclined to advise you to turn over a new leaf But if I hear anything I promise to let you know. • Giulia.' 163 PART II THE RED AND BLACK FAN CHAPTER I NEWS FROM NASSAU On the 6th of September the castle was in a state of expectation. The sparse blades of grass which timidly peeped up here and there through the red gravel in the court had all disappeared. A grand array of large pots drawn up in lines displayed a noble show of flowers and foliage plants; they reminded one of state dig- nitaries and dames awaiting a royal procession. The common crowd, the jessamines and other creepers covering the walls, looked down with a thousand eyes upon the scene. For the present, Steinegge, elegantly attired, walked alone, with much dignity, amid the respectful and ex- pectant crowd, occasionally stopping to see whether anyone had appeared on the staircase, and then ex- changing a word or two through the barred windows of the kitchen in the basement with Paolo, who could be seen passing backwards and forwards from one small stove to another, behind the bars, like a big, white bear. Steinegge looked at the clock. It was half-past one. The Coimt had said that he would return from the station with the Salvadors about that time. Steinegge, 167 168 MALOMSRA with a respectful expression on his face, began to ascend the steps. They had arrived. For there was the Count's broad- brimmed hat, which almost covered his servant as well as himself. But the Countess Fosca? and Count Nepo? Nobody had arrived bj the train from Milan. Count Caesar, in a violent rage with his cousin Fosca, his cousin Nepo, with all the cousins in the world, took occasion to scold the cook, ordered the guests' rooms to be dismantled, and flew into a temper with Steinegge for coming to meet him and with Marina for stopping away. During these diatribes, the Dart was far away on the lake, shining in the sun and hurrying its course not a bit. It pleased the Count to let off" steam in this fashion. Half an hour later he cheered up the dis- mayed Steinegge with a few kindly words, and counter- manded the orders given ab irato to Giovanna. With Marina things took a different course. Five days had passed since the unexpected departure of Silla, and the Count and his niece had not spoken a word to each other. He had been on the point of starting for Milan ; then, changing his mind, possibly on account of the Salvadors' visit, he had written to Silla instead. The arrival of his guests had given him a great deal to do. He had even accomplished the miracle of going to the station to meet them. Giovanna began to think that the Venetian lady and gentleman must be people of more importance than the King, and the other ser- vants told the gardener that he need not water the flowers, for the clouds were certain to fall in before night. Marina, during the first four days after Silk's de- parture, did not put in an appearance, not even at NE WS FROM NASSA V 169 meals. Fanny informed the Count that her kdyship was suffering from severe nervous headaches; to the others she confided that her mistress was in a terrible state of mind, that one could do nothing with her, and that there were moments when even she could stand it no longer. On the day in question, Marina went out in the Dart, and appeared at dinner as the Count and Steinegge were discoursing about Gneist's work on 'Self-Government,' of which Steinegge was preparing a prkds. The Count went on talking without turning his head, ignoring the fact that his vis-ct-^is had risen to his feet and made a profound bow in the direction of the door. It was only as they left the table when dinner was over that he remarked to Marina, with unwonted calmness, — ' You will do me the favour of coming to my study in an hour's time.' Marina looked at him for a moment as though sur- prised, then answered with an ironical inflection on the words, — • I will do you the favour.' She waited nearly an hour and a half, then she sent Fanny to see whether the Count was in the library. The answer was that he had been expecting her there for the last half-hour. She entered the library, walking slowly, with the air of one whose mind is wool-gathering, strolled half round the room towards the door leading to the garden, and finally sank into an arm-chair facing the enemy. ' I must warn you, in the first place,' began the Count, •that those who do me the honour of Hving under my roof have to treat me with civility. My house is not a prison ; forget yourself once too often, and you will have to pay the penalty, for I have the weakness of demand 178 MALOMBRA ing, sooner or later, what is owing to me. If you do not know the coin in which my debtors have to pay me, I shall be happy to give you a lesson.' Marina's eyes flashed and her lips moved. ' Do not answer me,' thuridered the Count. She sprang to her feet. She wished to oppose him, to speak, and she was unable to do so. Perhaps too great a flow of ^ords choked her utterance; perhaps, in the moment of breaking out, she feared to disclose the secret which, in a confused way, she felt must be kept sacred, against a pre-determined day and hour fixed by her will and fate. 'Do not answer me,' the Count repeated. 'You hate me and ray house, but it would hardly suit your con- venience to be asked to leave it at twenty-four hours' notice. Do not answer me.' Marina resumed her seat in silence. 'You can hardly imagine that I am ignorant of the gross insult inflicted by you upon my friend Silla, who has left the house in consequence, and you cannot sup- pose that, knowing of it, I do not resent it. I do not know whether human speech is capable of expressing the feelings with which your action inspires me. Let it pass, I will not inquire into the secret motives of your conduct. But one thing is clear, we cannot go on living together indefinitely. There is an idiotic phrase, " the ties of blood." I do not imagine that your blood and mine has two globules in common. Be that as it may, it is not necessary to tie oneself hand and foot with these ties. Far better to. cut them asunder. You did not condescend to be at home to-day when my cousins, the Salvadors, were expected. But I may inform you that my cousin is a nobleman of ijame and wealth, and that he contemplates getting married. NEWS FROM NASSAU 171 •Ah !' said Marina, and she smiled as she looked at the little white hand which was playing with the arm of the chair. 'Don't make melodramatic exclamations. Don't get into your head that anybody wishes to force him upon you. I do not know whether my cousin will admire the colour of your eyes, or whether the sound of his voice will touch your heart. Situated as you are, it may be of use to you to be aware of his intentions. You can take advantage of them or not, as you may deem best.' ' Thanks. And if I don't take a fancy to his lordship, when am I to leave ? ' Marina had spoken very softly, looking at the rings on her open hand one after the other; then she clenched her hand and raised it towards her face as though she wished to count the blue veins; then, finally; let it fall and raised two innocent eyes towards the Count.' 'But,' said he, 'when am I to leave? It appears to me that it is you who, by your conduct, display a desire to go away. It would, perhapsj be more honest and straightforward if you were to say, When can I go ? ' ' No, for I can go when I please. I am of age, and my means are sufficient to maintain me and an old lady- companion, who will leave me to myself. When am I to leave ? I have no desire to go away.' The Count looked at her in amazement. Those large limpid eyes disclosed nothing, absolutely nothing. They awaited a reply. • You do not wish to go away ? Then you wish that I should, eh? That would suit your views? But, in Heaven's name, speak out. If you do not wish to go away, what on earth do you wish ? Why do you com- 172 MALOMBSA port yourself towards me as though I were your gaoler ? What harm have I done you ? ' 'You? Nothing.' ' Who then ? Steinegge ? What has Steinegge done ? ' ' He has frightened me.' ' How do you mean frightened you ? ' ' He is so ugly.' The Count sat bolt upright in his chair, grasping the two arms violently, and turning towards his niece a knitted brow and flashing eyes. 'Oh,' said he, 'if you think to jest with me you make a mistake ; if your mind is bent on folly you choose the moment ill. When I am good enough to inquire what you have to find fault with in my house, it is not for you to answer me like a French folie-bergire, but to discuss the matter with decorum and in seriousness.' 'What is the use, if you are resolved that I am to go?' ' Who ever said that ? I said that we are not suited to live together, and I indicated a possible method of changing your abode and your companion. Above all, I made you understand that in future you must treat me and my guests with civility, if you did not wish to force me to take decisive measures.' Marina had not yet replied when Giovanna entered, greatly agitated. ' My lord, the lady and gentleman have come.' ' Great heavens ! ' cried the Count, and jumping up he hastily left the room. Marina proceeded to transfer herself to the empty arm-chair, and she lolled about in it with her arms crossed, her head thrown back, one leg thrown over the other, and the shining tip of a little black shoe darted into the air like a defiance NE WS FROM NASSA V 173 Downstairs could be heard many voices, or rather one voice, that flowed on for ever, resonant, penetrating, and accompanied by other voices, some of them strange to Marina, and by short laughs expressing respectful assent. ' Oh, what a journey ! ' said the voice. ' Oh, what a country ! Oh, what people ! Have you my purse, Momolo ? I will tell you all about it, my dear creatures. Ah, who are you, my pretty girl ? Her ladyship's maid. Excellent ! Bravo ! And where is our beloved Csesar ? Still taking the air at this hour of the day ? Tell me, pet, what is your name ? Fanny. Well, Fanny, is that white stick of a man over there a monk or a cook ? For the sake of heaven let him make us some soup. You are tired, Nepo, my son ? Goodness gracious ! why, there is Caesar. How old he is, how ugly ! ' Muttering the last words as she covered her face with her hands, Countess Fosca Salvador greeted Count Caesar, who came hurriedly to meet her, with a face that endeavoured, but failed, to express hilarity. Worse still was it when the Countess endeavoured to kiss him, and nearly suffo- cated him in her voluble embrace. The old gentleman nearly lost his head. He continued to answer, 'Yes, yes, yes,' in his deepest bass notes, shook Nepo by the hand, and was on the point of doing the same to the Countess's old man-servant, in spite of the latter's low bows and his repeated, ' Excellency, Excellency.' ' Well,' cried the Countess, ' wait and see old Momolo kiss me. Unless you wish to; but you are an old bear.' Count Caesar was on tenter-hooks. He would will- ingly have sent the whole company to the right about. The Countess's remarks infuriated him. Momolo, and the two maid servants who stood in silence behind her 174 MALOMBRA Excellency, he regarded with marked disfavour. If he could only have looked into the court and seenj among the flower-beds, the great heap of boxes, bags and trunks. ' It is an invasion, my dear Count, an invasion,' re- marked Nepo, as he walked round the hall, almost feel- ing his way, being short-sighted, and putting his nose into every corner to find room for his stick, overcoat and hat. ' I really told my mother that it was an abuse of — ' 'True, he did say so, and I replied, "Never mind, let us abuse it. What will come of it ? Is not my cousin a true Caesar ? " If I had known that it was such a Sabbath day's journey, I must confess I should not have come. My dear boy^ you remember what you said to me this morning, don't you ? ' •Well, well,' said the Count, who could stand no more chatter. ' We can hear all about that later on. In the meantime, let me show you upstairs.' ' I will come, dear cousin, if I can face the climb. I recommend to you my dear Momolo and Catte. They are old, poor dears, with one foot in the grave. But I should like to have them with me. Apropos, Catte, where is that girl? Haven't you noticed, cousin Bear, the pretty stranger I've brought you ? ' The young girl dressed in black who stood behind old Catte was not, then, a second maid. No, she was wait- ing for the first storm of meeting to quiet down. Now she stepped forward and addressed the Count in good Italian, though with a strong foreign accent ' May I ask you, sir, to inform me whether Captain Andreas Steinegge lives here ? ' Her voice was melodious, soft and clear. •^Certainly, my dear young lady,' replied the Count in astonishment. ' My good friend Steinegge lives here ; JVB WS FROM NASSA V 175 though he is not in the habit of calling himself Captain.' 'He was a captain in the Lichtenstein Hussars, an Austrian regiment.' ' I do not doubt it for a moment, and, indeed, I seem to remember that Signor Steinegge once mentioned the fact to me. And you desire to see him ? ' The young girl's clear voice seemed to fail her, and subsided into a whisper. ' Eh ? ' said the Count again, in a kindly tone. 'Yes, sir.' 'He is out just now, but will be back very shortly. Will you kindly walk upstairs and await his return ? ' ' Thank you. Will he come in by this door ? ' • Yes.' 'Then, with your kind permission, I will await him here.' The Count bowed, ordered a lamp to be placed in the hall, and went upstairs with his guests. The Countess Fosca informed him that the young lady downstairs had arrived by the same train as themselves and, like them, had asked for a fly to take her to the castle. Seeing the poor girl all alone (and at the station there was not even a donkey-cart on hire), the Countess had offered to take her in her carriage if she could manage to get one in such a place, which she did at last, after immense diffi- culty. 'Who she is and what she wants,' added the Countess, ' I did not gather. Indeed, she said very little, and, shall I tell you a secret? My son maintains that she spoke in Italian, while I thought all along she was talking German. Quite tired out, too ! I could see that. What an e3q)erience ; what a journey.' The Count said nothing. ' What a hard-hearted brute,' murmured her Excellency to herself. 'And Marina? 176 MALOMBRA Where is that wild girl Marina ? Perhaps at supper ? I confess myself that — ' At this moment Marina appeared. She embraced the Countess, shook hands with Nepo with careless grace, and then submitted, with a little patient smile, to the flood of compliments which the Countess poured over her, holding both her hands and shaking them warmly, and frequently addressing her as ' my dear girl ! my dear, dear girl ! ' Meanwhile, his Excellency Nepo was talking with the Count. His Excellency was a young man about thirty, with a fair complexion, a large, aquiUne nose, awkwardly flanked by two slight black whiskers, and large prominent black eyes, the whole being set off by curling black hair and a fringe of black beard which looked like a false one on his clear red and white skin. His hands were small and white. He always smiled when speaking. His quick, graceful step, with the arms always hanging straight down, and the high-pitched, rapid utterance, gave him an air of effeminacy which struck one at once on meeting him. At Venice he was known as ' the carpet knight' Yet he was by no means lacking in talent, or culture, or ambition. He had left Venice in i860, and had come to Turin to take up politics as a career. He studied Political Economy and Constitutional Law, attended the receptions of the few ministers vho entertained, and frequented the chambers and the political salons of Piazza Castello. He had some idea of entering the diplomatic service, but had not yet gone up for examination. It was considered certain that, on the liberation of Venice, a district in which he held large estates would return him as its representative in the Chamber. And now, while the unfortunate Marina had to listen to the endless flow of the Countess's chatter, he, on his part, was inflicting upon Count Caesar a history NEWS FROM NASSAU 177 of his life, of the course of his studies and the direction of his hopes. The Count, who was a poor hand at dis- simulation, was hstening to the narrative, lolling in his chair, his chin resting on his breast, his hands in his pockets, and his legs sprawling out before him ; every now and then he raised his head and gave the speaker a look, half astonished and half bored. At length a footman made the welcome announce- ment that supper was ready ; Countess Fosca seized her cousin's arm. Nepo hastened to offer his to Marina, who accepted it with a slight nod, still, however, looking towards the Countess and continuing her conversation with her. Her arm rested on Nepo's with sylph-like lightness ; it hardly seemed to touch his ; as soon as they entered the dining-room she withdrew it. Meanwhile, the young girl dressed in black was sitting in the hall, waiting. She appeared not to hear the voices and the footsteps overhead, and to take no notice of the servants who passed backwards and forwards, calling to one another, laughing among themselves, sometimes casting inquisitive, suspicious glances at her. She had placed her portmanteau alongside her, and kept looking at the door. A step was heard outside on the gravel; Steinegge appeared in the doorway. The girl rose to her feet. Steinegge looked at her in surprise for an instant and then passed on. The young lady made a step forwards, and said, in a low voice, — ' Jch bitte: The poor old German, thus taken by surprise, felt his pulse quicken at those two simple words in the familiar accent of Nassau. All he could think of in reply was, ' O, mein Frdukin 1 ' and with that he held out both his hands. I7S MALOMBRA 'Are you,' the girl went on in German, her voice quivering, ' are you Captain Andreas Gotthold Steinegge, of Nassau ? ' 'Yes, yes.' ' I believe your family used to live there ? ' ' Yes, they did.' ' I bring news.' ' News ? News of my little girl ? Oh, my dear young lady ! ' He clasped his hands as though before a saint. His eyes sparkled, his lips moved convulsively, his whole person expressed one uncontrollable desire. Countess Fosca had spoken truly when she said that the young lady was tired out. She now turned deadly pale, and as Steinegge anxiously placed his arm about her waist, murmured faintly, — 'It is nothing; some fresh air.' He carried, rather than accompanied, her out, seated her on a chair, and then, a prey to a thousand fears and dreading to hear from her lips every kind of bad news, possibly the worst of all, he took both her hands in his and spoke in soft, soothing tones to his young, unknown countrywoman, a stranger in a strange land. His memory brought to him tender expressions used in years gone by, sacred terms of paternal love unused for years, and now invested with a semi^religious character by the respectful form in which they were couched. Was it that, taking courage, she did not hear the formal terms, and heard only, ' Mein Kind, my child ? ' Had she ceased to remember the first words they had inter- changed, or did his affectionate manner make her believe that her secret was known ? She threw her arms round Steinegge's neck and burst into tears. Incredible as it may seem, Steinegge at first failed to NE WS FROM NASSA V 179 understand. He had always kept a lively recollection of his little girl as he had left her at eight years old, a slight, little figure with large eyes and long, fair hair. The girl's action and her burst of tears said to him, ' It is she,' but he understood and failed to understand at the same time; he was unable, in so short a time, to grasp so complete a transformation. ' Oh, father ! ' she said, half tenderly, half reproach- fully. Then for the first time his heart and his intelligence began to act together. With broken, incoherent phrases he knelt at his child's feet, took one of her hands in his and pressed it to his Ups. With the infinite happiness which overwhelmed him, he felt also a humble sense of gratitude beyond bounds. ' Edith, darling, darling Edith, my own little girl,' he said in choking tones. ' Are you really Edith ? Can it really be you ? ' Out of charity to poor Steinegge we will not repeat all the absurd things he said during those first happy moments. Sudden joy perturbs thought, as some strong sweet liquors perturb clear water. Edith remained silent. She replied to her father by pressing his big hand passionately with her nervous ones. A stream of light shone out through an open door. 'Father,' said Edith, suddenly, 'you must introduce me.' Steinegge got up unwillingly. He would have taken no notice of that impertinent light; he would have remained there all night alone with his child, and he did not see that there was any need to introduce her at once. He did not know, and his loyal nature was in i8o MALOMBRA capable of imagining, the false, perfidious statements whispered in his daughter's ear about him. Edith had refused to credit them, yet they had left some painful doubts in her mind ; she feared at least that in this strange house they might possibly think ill of her father. In truth, she knew the world better than he who had seen so much of it. They entered the room, the daughter leaning on her father's arm. The inquisitive Fanny stood at the door with a candle in her hand. ' Good evening,' said Edith. Fanny, who had no high regard for the old German, ventured on a foolish smile when Edith addressed her. But the smile quickly died away, and she replied with a graceful curtsey and said nothing. ' How on earth,' thought she to herself, ' can the old " Deutscher " know a young lady like that ? ' She had noticed the refined beauty of the girl's face and the elegance of her figure; had noticed her walk, and the manner of bowing, her soft low voice, the severe simplicity of her dress, and, knowing a lady when she saw one, had formed a favourable opinion of Edith. ' Get out of the way,' said Steinegge. Fanny looked at him in amazement. Where had he acquired such self-confidence? Usually he hardly ven- tured to even ask a servant to do anything. Now he seemed to have grown taller, and he walked upright like a soldier with a queen upon his arm. Fanny made way. Steinegge introduced his daughter without the ob- sequious humility usual with one who introduces a relation to his social superiors. Count Nepo and Donna Marina were extremely cold. Count Caesar was cordial. He rose quickly, grasped the young girl's hand with NE WS FROM NAUSA V X%\ unaffected warmth, and in his deep voice talked kindly to her of his esteem and friendship for her father. Countess Fosca asked for explanations first from one and then from another, and seemed quite unable to grasp the situation. When she did, ' What a curious thing ! ' said she, ' what a curious thing ! ' And she never left off making exclamations of surprise, offering congratula- tions and asking questions of every kind. ' Why do you sit so far away, my sweet child ? ' she said to Edith. ' One can't sup off joy, you know, and after supper you will be even fonder of papa than you are now. Come over here, pet, come over here.' Edith gently excused herself. The Count, guessing that father and child desired to be alone,, remarked that probably the traveller required rest above all things, and that some supper could be sent up to her later on if she required it. Giovanni conducted Edith to her room hard by her father's. The latter kept walking up and down the pass- age : and went in and out of his room, talking apparently to the walls, the floor, and to the ceiling ; now and then stopping to listen to the footsteps and the voices of the two women in the next room with a troubled and anxious expression on his face, as though he feared the sounds would cease and everything prove to be only a dream. At last Giovanna left the room and went downstairs. A few minutes later the door opened again and a voice said quietly, — 'Father!' Steinegge entered the room and kissed his daughter. They could not speak, and regarded one another in silence. She smiled through her tears j he bit his lip, there was an agonised look in his eyes, and his face I82 MALOMBRA twitched convulsively. Edith understood; she laid hei head upon his breast and murmured, — ' She is happy now, father.' Poor Steinegge trembled like a leaf, and made extra- ordinary efforts to restrain his emotion. Edith drew from her bosom a little locket, opened it and handed it to her father. The latter would not look at it, and at once returned it to her, saying, ' I know, I know.' For some minutes he remained silent, and then, with a firm step, walked up to the lamp and put it out. 'Now, tell me all about yourself,' he said. 'Excuse me putting out the light. I wish to listen to the sound of your voice, and to forget that so many years have passed. Do you mind ? ' No, she did not mind. The picture which her memory had preserved of her father had, with the lapse of time, become more pleasing and more refined, the very op- posite, in fact, of the poor man himself. Even Edith found something strange in his appearance to which she had to get accustomed before she could confide in him freely. In the dark, however, the kindly voice, the tones of which she had so often sought to recall, brought back to her in a flood of memories all the details of her happy childhood. So Edith also was pleased with the idea of talking in the dark. She told him about the twelve years passed- with her maternal grandfather and two married uncles. The grandfather, who had died a short time since, had been good enough to her, but had absolutely forbidden her ever to mention her exiled father's name. Edith spoke of these years with tact and delicacy, ekcusing, as far as might be, the deep-rooted antipathies of the old man, NEWS FROM NASSAO 183 which none of his family had ever taken the trouble to combat. Steinegge did not interrupt her once ; he was anxious to hear the final portion of her narrative, to learn how Edith, after leaving all his letters unanswered, had, after all, decided to abandon country and friends and go in search of him. This part of her story was the most difficult and the most painful to tell. Up to the time of her grandfather's death she had not received a single letter from her father. When her grandfather died, she came across one addressed to her from Turin, from which she learned that, up to two years before, many other letters to her had come from various parts of the world, and that all had been suppressed and destroyed. Here her narrative was interrupted by an outburst on the part of Steinegge against the bigots, hypocrites and rogues who had stabbed him in the dark like assassins. He stormed, fuming up and down the dark room, and only came to a standstill after knocking over a couple of chairs. Then he heard a light footstep approach him, and felt a small hand on his lips. All his wrath died away. He kissed the little hand and took it in both his own. ' You are right,' said he, ' but it is horrible.' ' No, it is low. Much too low for us to notice.' And then she went on to tell how that letter, two years and a half old, had almost sent her out of her mind. She knew it by heart. She now repeated the supplication she had addressed to her uncles to produce some of the other letters from her father. But all had disappeared, and not one could be recovered. On their part they proceeded to sever the slender bonds which, after the death of her grandfather, had kept Edith in her mother's family. Her patrimony was small. The in- heritance had to be shared among many heirs, and the l84 MALOMBRA family had always lived in great style, and, if anything, beyond its means. Edith asked for her modest portion, and her relations gave it to her on unjust Conditions, which she, however, accepted without a word. She at once started for Italy alone, with her little fortune of six thousand thalers and a letter of introduction to an attacM of the Prussian Legation at Turin, who placed his services at the disposal of natives of Nassau also. This gentleman was of great assistance to her, and soon put her on the right road to find her father. Edith con- cluded her story by telling how she had met the Sal- vadors. This made Steinegge remark that perhaps it was his duty to go down to the drawing-room before the company retired for the night. He lighted the lamp for Edith, and asked her to wait for him, as he would be back in a few minutes. He went hastily downstairs without ob- serving that the lamp on the landing was out, and that the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock. As Steinegge passed by there was a whirring sound, and the great clock struck one. It seemed to call 'halt' Steinegge stood still and lighted a match. The match went out, and Steinegge stood there with his hand in mid air. Was it possible ? He thought it was half-past nine. He went upstairs again on tip-toe, and very gently opened the door of Edith's room. She was standing before the open window, her hands resting on the back of a chair, her head bowed.' Steinegge stood still ; his breath came with difficulty. Was it jealousy of the Invisible One beyond the stars to whom his daughter was addressing her devotions ? He did not know himself, he could not analyse his feelings. A cold shadow seemed to have passed between him and Edith. In his own mind he had never been able to dis- NE WS FROM NASSA V i8s tinguish God from the Priests, of whom he ever spoke with contempt, although incapable of the least discourtesy to the most ignorant and bigoted cleric in Christendom. It had often pained him to reflect that his daughter had been educated by priests; and now the mere fact of finding her at prayer made him think that she would love him less, and discouraged him in regard to the future. Edith noticed his entrance and put aside the chair, saying,— ' Come in, father.' ' I disturb you ? ' She was surprised at the sad, subraisgive tone of the question, and replied in astonishment in the negative, raising her eyebrows as though to say, ' Why do you ask me that ? ' She wished him to stand beside her at the window. It was a peaceful night. There was no moon. Moun- tains and lake were indistinguishable one from the other. A faint wiiite line could be seen far below ; it was the avenue which went pass the hot-house and along the lake. The rest was a confused mist encircled by a grey sky. From the mist rose the soft, placid murmur of the lake, now and then broken by the splash of a fish, over which the waters again closed and resumed their slum- berous lullaby; Edith and her father went on talking together for a long time, in low tones, out of unconscious respect to the majestic silence of the night. She asked him a thousand things about the past, of all kinds and sorts, questions which she had prepared before seeing him, and which now came out altogether, anyhow. She asked him whether he had been homesick, and whether he remembered the paper in her bedroom. i86 MALOMBRA Poor Steinegge began to feel a warm glow of love and pride. One by one he told all his troubles to the weep- ing girl, and his past sufferings seemed as nothing in the light of her consohng sympathy. A peal of bells rang out, echoed through the valley, and was lost in the wooded depths of the mountains. The next day there was to be a consecration at . ' Why do they ring, father ? ' 'I don't know, darling,' replied Steinegge. ^ Dit Pfaffen wissen es, the priests know.' He had hardly uttered the words when he felt he had done ill, and he said no more. Edith, too, said nothing. The silence lasted for some minutes. Finally Steinegge remarked, ' You are tired, Edith, are you not ? ' ' A little, father.' The silvery voice was soft and gentle, as always. Stein- egge felt happier. Her voice was always soft and gentle, b\it a delicate, hardly distinguishable tone of sadness ran through it now. When Steinegge had taken farewell of her with a kiss, Edith returned to the window and seemed to engage in a lengthy colloquy with some being beyond the clouds. Meanwhile, her father was unable to find repose. Five or six times did he return to knock at her door, to inquire whether she had water, whether she had matches, at what hour she desired to be called, whether they were to bring her coffee, if she wished for this, if she wished for that ; he felt inclined to lie down there outside her door like a faithful watch-dog ; at length, as the dawn was about to break, he went away and threw himself down fully dressed upon his bed. CHAPTER II STEINEGGE A FEW hours later the bells of R were pealing out far and wide, the glad sound ringing through the cottages of the hamlet, spreading out across the meadows and along the hills and up the mountain-sides, till it reached the poorest and most distant hut. Up the winding road which led to the church, one observed a line of dark head-dresses slowly approaching, then disappearing in the large, black doorway, like ants into an ant heap. These were followed by crowds of people in quick suc- cession, all wearing gay head-dresses of red and yellow ; a pretentious - looking parasol here and there lagging behind the rest, then a number of black shovel hats which collected about the porch. Steinegge and Edith were among those who passed in and out through the groups of people ; he accompanied her as far as the church, and went out again the next moment. He followed the path which winds up the mountain behind the church, until he reached some rocks surrounded by laurel bushes ; there he left the path and sat down. At this moment Countess Fosca arrives at the church door quite out of breath, although she has come to R by boat, while behind her walk Giovanna and 187 1 88 MALOMBRA Catte and, at a respectful distance, Momolo, who looks dazed, as though he has been wool-gathering. Her Excellency is scandahsed at the conduct of her cousin, the Count, who has stayed away from Mass, and of Marina, who has selected this particular moment to take Nepo for a walk. Her Excellency purposes to offer up fervent prayers for herself and for her son, who is not to blame for missing Mass, having regard to certain circumstances which the Almighty will take into consideration.^ Catching sight of Edith, the Countess proceeds to a place beside her, scattering the peasant women right and left, as they make room for the stout old lady and go and kneel down on the hard floor outside the pew. The bell rings, the ec- clesiastics enter in their white robes, the priest half lost in his long cassock ; the organist places his hands on the key-board and his feet on the pedals ; the men then file into church. Five minutes later Marina enters by a side door, followed by Nepo. Passing along the files of men, she makes a sign to her cavalier to find a place among them, and passes on into one of the chapels. Nepo, dressed in the height of the fashion, chances on a place between two malodorous peasants ; he makes himself as small as possible, and turns his milksop face in the direction of the aisle, looking all down the church in the attempt to find Marina. He catches sight of Catte kneeling down beside Giovanna, and of Momolo stand- ing upright near the doorway ; catches a glimpse of blue sky and of green leaves waving in the wind, as though laughing at him, and then his eyes meet his mother's, but he fails to catch sight of the cruel fair-one who has taken the freak of making him agree to stay away from Mass, only to bring him there after all, and plant him down in the midst of these musty-smelling plebeians. STEINEGGE 189 She was not giving him a thought. The priest had intoned Credo in unum Deum, and the people, with the organ accompaniment, responded, Patrem Omnipofentem. In the mind of Marina a bright Ught was flashing over the events of the past month; the discovery of the manuscript, the mysterious promises to Ceciha ; the look of love in the eyes of Silla ; the close embrace of his strong arms ; the probability that he was her unknown correspondent, brought by fate into her presence, and the passion, yes, the dull, silent, slow, overmastering passion which, after so much longing, after so many vanishing dreams, after so much weariness of empty- headed flatterers had come to her at last. She felt a sudden burst of faith and gratitude towards an unknown god, one certainly unlike him whom the worshippers near her were adoring ; not so cold a God, not so far away ; one beneficent and terrible like the sun, the source of all the warmth and splendour of life. It was as though God had taken her by the hand and was bearing her up with his Almighty love. She hid her face in her hands, and listened to the loud beating of her heart, while a keen, almost painful sensation traversed her frame as she thought of the unfailing fulfilment of Divine promises, of the predestined passion which would exalt her body and soul above the turbid stream of our dull nature. On this point she entertained no doubt at all. She reviewed all the difficulties to be surmounted in order to reach the goal; SUla's disappearance without leaving a clue to his whereabouts, his contempt for her, perhaps his forgetfulness of her ; the solitude of her life at the castle, where chance could- not come to her assistance ; the enmity of her uncle ; and this absurd Nepo. She took a keen pleasure in conjuring up all the obstacles ; I90 MALOMBRA all of them of no avail as against God. Patrem Omni- potentem. To Him, to Him she abandoned herself. With her lithe figure bending over the bench before her, she looked like a Teniation pinitente. Countess Fosca glanced at her out of the corners of her eyes, the while she fanned herself vigorously and her lips moved quickly in a silent series of interminable prayers. She was pleased to observe this devotional attitude of Marina's, and pic- tured to herself the humble obeisance with which the old clerk of Santa Maria Formosa would greet her daughter-in-law. Nepo, in the meantime, was enduring agonies ; he repeatedly buried his nose in his perfumed handkerchief, casting stealthy glances at his two big neighbours, and when the latter threw themselves on their knees in company with the other worshippers, he dared not remain standing, but slipped very, very gradually into a kneeling posture, in an agony of anxiety for his dove-coloured trousers. What a difference be- tween this scene and that last Mass at San Filippo, that fair circle of beautiful maidens and fashionable dames ; that atmosphere of purified Christianity. He sought consolation in thinking about his cousin. 'An aristo- crat by nature,' he remarked to himself. ' I must be her ideal, her Messiah. She does not wish to show it too clearly, that is only natural.' The bell sounded for the elevation of the Host. Nepo, kneeling, with his head devoutly bent downwards, was thinking: 'Twelve hundred acres in Lomelina, eight hundred in the Novarese, a place at Turin, a palace at Florence.' Edith, for her part, did not bend her head. She was very pale, and she looked straight before her with a steady and tranquil gaze. Only the trembling of her STEINEGGB 191 hands betrayed the fervour of the heart-felt prayer which, passing above all those bent heads, was winging its way direct to God himself: 'O God, O God, Thou Who knowest how grievously they treated him, wilt Thou not be merciful towards him ? ' Her face did not wear an expression of ascetic resignation, but of a firm, intelligent will under the chastening influence of sorrow. Meanwhile, our honest friend Steinegge was hearing Mass in excelsis, seated among the laurel bushes, his hands clasped across his knees. He had gone out of church because the marble floor seemed to burn his feet. It was many a long year since he had placed foot inside one of God's prison houses, as he called them. He did not like to leave his daughter outside the church door, but he barely crossed the threshold, and as soon as he saw Edith making her way to the women's side, he began to feel that he had over-estimated his strength. It was not so much his old fierce hatred, as an honour- able scruple, which led him to beat a retreat. The good old wolf went outside the fold. Crouching up there like a wolf in the blues, he paid no heed to the delicious panorama of mountain, stream and meadow which lay stretched out before him; nor did he hear the soft whispering of the leaves close by. He kept looking down at the roof of the church and listening to the confused melody of voice and organ which from time to time issued thence. One thought was in his mind, and he kept repeating it throughout the whole service. ' In her eyes I am a reprobate.' The thought was bitter enough. He had had so much to fight against, had endured so much suffering, had guarded his honour under the fierce onslaught^ of hunger, against all the violent desires of a famine-stricken 192 MALOMBRA frame, against all the laches of weakness ; and to have preserved it thus, almost more for her sake than for himself; to love her as he loved her; and for her to think of him as a reprobate. Must he then humiliate himself before these priests who had caused him to be a reproach to his parents and to his wife, and were thus responsible for her privations and her death? 'That will be the end of it. I shall humiliate myself in order that Edith may think well of me.' Then he had an idea. ' Suppose I were to address a word to this God of theirs, assuming that there is one.' He rose to his feet and began to speak in German raising his voice. 'O God, hearken to me for a httle while. We are not friends ? Granted. I have spoken much ill of the priests, to You or of You I have never spoken a word. If, nevertheless. You desire to treat me as an enemy, I pray You to settle the account. They say that You are a just God, and I, O God, believe this. Look in Your book at the record of Andreas Steinegge, formerly Frederick Von Nassau, and see whether I have not paid enough already. You are very great ; I am very small ; You are ever young ; I am old and weary. What do You still desire to take from me ? My daughter Edith's love? It is all that I j^-jssess, O God. See whether You cannot leave me it. If You cannot do so, make away with me and end me.' At the sound of his own voice, Steinegge became more and more moved. He knelt down on one knee. ' I have but little knowledge of You, O God, but my Edith loves You, and I am able to worship You, if You so will. You see that I am kneeling ; but let us under- stand one another, and let us leave the priests on one side. Perhaps I can present some other offering to You. I have my health and my iron constitution. Take these. Let me pine away and die, but come not between STEINEGGS 193 my daughter and me. I cannot kneel down before the priests and tell lies. I am an honest man and a soldier. ' O God,' and here Steinegge knelt with both knees on the ground and lowered his voice, ' I fear that I was a great sinner in my youth. I loved cards and women. Of the twelve duels which I have fought, in three I was in the wrong; I gave the provocation and my adversary was wounded. I regard these as three sins ; they have always filled me with remorse. O God of my daughter Edith, I ask Your forgiveness.' He said no more, and returned to his seat agitated but contented. He felt as though he had made a great step forwards. In his communing with God his scanty faith had so greatly increased that he now awaited some reply from Him. At least he experienced the satisfaction of the poor man who is under the necessity of speaking to a powerful one, by whom he fears to be treated with scorn, and whom, to avoid being repulsed by his servants, he confronts on the highway, addresses with the brevity which the situation demands, is listened to in silence, and believes that this silence covers a growing con- sideration for him. He lighted a cigar to correct the choking sensation in his throat. Captain Steinegge must not break down. He smoked wildly, furiously. When he felt a little calmer, and as he was looking down with his cigar between the first and second fingers of his right hand, it seemed to him as though the blades of grass peeped out between the stones to utter something at once solemn and incomprehensible, and that the whispering of the trees hard by replied to them. Al- though a German, he had never understood Nature's language, he had never been sentimental ! His cigar went out. What did all this mean ? He shook himself together, got up, and went down the hill towards the diurch. „ CHAPTER III THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN One morning Countess Fosca and Count Caesar found themselves tHe-^tife at breakfast. All the rest of the party had gone to inspect the site of the new paper mill, accompanied by Ferrieri the engineer, Finotti and Vezza, Ferrieri having returned on business, and the other two in order to explore a great cave near the castle, little known to the public, to which they had arranged to go on the following day. Countess Fosca seemed more lively than ever. Her wig was awry, and the glances which she cast at the Count were more serious than accorded with her facetious prattle. She talked on a hundred different subjects, jumping from one thing to another. The Count replied in monosyllables, in brief remarks thrown out as if to ward off the stream of talk from him. At each of these retorts the Countess changed the subject, but without better success. However, she displayed no irritation. Quite the contrary ; she seemed more amiable than ever, while the Count — between his ' just so,' ' certainly,' ' of course ' — cast two sharp glances at her, of which the first meant, ' What on earth is in the wind ? ' and the second and quicker one signified, ' I understand.' After that he did not look at her again. 194 THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN 195 The Countess relapsed momentarily into silence, leaned back in her chair, and took to fanning herself feverishly with a green fan, making the ribbons of her cap flutter about her rubicund face. ' What a pity it is, Cassar,' said she. •Eh?' 'What a pity that we are no longer young.' ' Of course.' 'We should have gone to enjoy ourselves with the others, instead of which we have to stay at home and look at one another, like two luggers rotting in a dock.' The Count was unable to repress a spasmodic move- ment of his wrinkled face. ' Eh ! ' cried the Countess, ' do you think that if I have fallen oflf somewhat in looks, that you are such a good- looking man ? What an idea ! ' And here the Countess, talking at the top of her voice, filled her glass. ' Eh ! why do you make such eyes at me ? Do you think they go through me? I'm not afraid, you must know. Is this the table-cloth of Santa Costanza? I should say that you belonged to' that age. Well, what was I saying ? You make me lose my head with your grimaces. Goodness gracious, how hot it is ! And for me to be sitting here with you ! I should have done far better to have gone to see that stupid paper mill. They are enjoying themselves at anyrate. Come, be good, give me a peach. Aren't they just enjoying themselves ! Thanks, dear boy. Tell me, yes or no, whether they are enjoying themselves.' ' I do not know.' •I do not know? But I do. Pretty, that, I do not know I ' ' Do you like that peach ? ' ig6 MALOMBRA * No, it is good for nothing. And what has the peach to do with it ? Let us leave peaches on one side, my dear cousin. What a man, to wander away after the peaches ! What were we saying ? ' ' I ? Nothing.' ' Nothing is good for the eyes, and bad for the mouth. Speak up ; I have been talking for the past hour. -I feel sorry for you. At this rate you will burst presently. Tell us all about it. Why don't you want those young people to amuse themselves ? ' 'Listen,' said the Count, smiling. 'For my part, I have been greatly amused during the last hour, and it is I who feel sorry for you. You wish to pass very slowly through a broad, deep river, and you go up and down the bank seeking for a bridge which does not exist. Your only way is to jump, my dear cousin. Jump, then, you will come to no harm.' The Countess became scarlet, and hastily pushed away her plate, on which stood a glass fwU of Barolo. The wine was spilt over the tablecloth; the Count started and glanced angrily across the table, and her Excellency exclaimed, — ' It is nothing, dear cousin ; a mere bagatelle ! ' The Count began to fume. It required all the courtly traditions of his house to restrain him from an outburst against his giddy-headed cousin. The stains irritated him as though his family motto had been ' purity.' He rang the bell furiously, and cried to the servant, ' Clear away all those things at once.' It was like a canon shot, which, with smoke and noise, carried away that choking sensation of wrath, and left him free and at peace. 'Do you feel better, dear Csesar?' inquired the Countess, after the table had been cleared. THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN 197 The Count made no reply. '1 feel better, too,' added her Excellency, hastily. 'Let us then talk this matter over. Listen, Caesar. You, with your great insight into character, understand) me thoroughly. I am a poor, ignorant, foolish creature, but good-hearted. I am all heart. When an affair concerns my own flesh and blood, my own boy, I get quite confused ; the few ideas I have run together in a heapi — I see nothing more, know nothing. I am only a poor woman, and that is how things go with me. Help me, Caesar, advise me. I want you to look into things, to speak, to do everything. You are of the same blood as my poor Alvise. It is Alvise who tells me to place myself in your hands on behalf of our son, on behalf of my Nepo.' As she uttered the name, the Countess was moved to tears, and dried her eyes with an immense pocket-hand- kerchief. ' Pardon me, Caesar,' she said. ' I am a mother, I am old, I am foolish.' The tearful voice of his cousin was not melodious, and did not arouse the interest of the Count, who had drawn back his chair at an angle to the table, and, throwing one leg over the other, swung it backwards and forwards, looking all the time at the Venetian lady by Palma. The lachrymose mood of his cousin's was a new one, and pleased him even less than the others. After a few minutes' silence, during which the Countess held her handkerchief over her nose and her left eye, the Count turned his head towards her, and continuing to swing his leg, while with the middle finger of his right hand he thrummed I know not what note on the table, he remarked,^— •WeU?' igS MALOMBRA ' Well, great heavens ! I see here certain things which alarm me, if you understand. Even in all delicacy, I cannot refrain from speaking. Young people are young people, one knows, but we older folks ought to supply the judgment in which they are lacking.' ' You say you are alarmed ; but, just tell me, was not all this what you yourself intended ? ' 'What I intended, indeed? Of course, it was not what I intended. My intention was to let you know my son, to lead you to take a liking to him, and to give him sound advice on this very question of his marriage. He has refused two or three matches which I had in view for him, most eligible girls, too, and I don't know the reason. I have endeavoured to find out ; I have made inquiries as to whether there was any intrigue, any foolish entanglement. There is nothing of the kind. He is not an anchorite, I am thankful to say, and has, I do not doubt, led, well, a young man's life, but he is prudent, he is cautious. There is no shadow of an entanglement. Well ! The matter causes me sleepless nights. I cannot broach the subject. He believes that all one is looking for is money. Great heavens ! I am a mother, and I have to think of everything. All that he thinks of is the heart, the wit, the talent, the beauty, the playing, the singing and many other things, light as air, and of no account compared with what is in my mind. Excellent things in themselves, but they don't suffice. I thought that, perhaps for the present, he was opposed to the idea of marriage. It was not so ; I learnt for certain what his views were, though still in the air, so to speak. Then I came here, in order, I repeat, that you might give him sage counsel. Marina ? That is where I was wrong. It never occurred to me that he would fall in love with Marina. Listen, Csesar, I am outspoken. Let us speak THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN 199 frankly, although she be your niece. The girl has changed greatly of late. Nepo and I knew hei at Milan. With all her wealth, with all her grandeur, my son cared for her not the least. She struck him as a haughty aristocrat. For my son holds your views on the subject of birth — the views that obtain now since Italy became united Italy. My son is not one of those snobs who turn their backs on you if you have not four quarterings. Well, at that time, we did not greatly care for your niece. It never once occurred to me that he would change his tune. There I was wrong, for I must confess to you that she is a darling, a bonbon; and then her misfortunes ! I forgot about her misfortunes ; I forgot what a heart my son has. Nepo takes after his mother there. A large heart, dear cousin, is a dead weight which drags one down. Whoever has a large heart—' ' Well, well ? ' interrupted the Count, who felt that it was about time to close the argument. ' Well, am I not right to say all this to you, his uncle, his second father. I have told you what confidence I place in you, and now I don't know whether the affair ought to be allowed to proceed. I see one side of the picture, I see the other ; I see this, I see that ; I like it, and I don't like it. Oh, heavens, it is a heart-rending dilemma ! ' The Countess once more raised her handkerchief to her eyes. Just then a door opened, and Catte appeared, bringing her Excellency's snuff-box. The Countess turned upon her in a rage, and cried out in a strident voice, — ' Take care ! How many times have I told you not to come bothering when people are talking ! ' Catte laid down the snuff-box on a chair, and retired in haste. 20O MALOMBRA The Count was lost in admiration at the versatile emotions of his cousin, who, gently bending her head, again carried her handkerchief to her eyes. • And now,' he resumed, ' may I say one word ? ' 'Oh, good gracious, am I not waiting for it like the manna from heaven ! * 'AH the things you have noticed have passed me unobserved ; perhaps I am blind. But let that be as it may, it is not necessary for two people to lose their sleep, their appetite and their heads^ in order to be able to live fairly well together. Still, I confess that I do not myself see clearly in this affair.' The dull, tearful eyes of the Countess suddenly brightened. She laid the handkerchief on her knees. 'Nor do I see,' continued the Count, 'what kind of happiness can result from the union of your son and my niece.' ' Well ! ' exclaimed her Excellency, in dismay. ' My niece has plenty of intelligence, and as curious a head as the Almighty and the Evil One can put together, when they both work in competition.' ' But what nonsense, Csesar ! ' ' Not at all. Don't you know that the trade mark of both is stamped on every object in the world? That being so, my niece ought to have as husband a man of steel, strong and brilliant. Your son is certainly not a man of steel. Oh, I don't despise him on that account. The men of steel are not found by the dozen. In my opinion, your son, who, by the way, does not hold my views on the subject of birth,' would not be a suitable husband for Marina.' Countess Fosca, who was now untying her cap, shaking her head, and breathing hard, replied,^ ' What is all this ? What have you been talking about ? THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN aoi Oh ! what things to say ! It makes me hot to listen to you. I did not follow the whole of your argument ; but if it was hostile to my son, as it appeared to me to be, I have the honour to inform you, with all respect to your abilities, that you know nothing at all about it. Go to Venice and inquire about my son, and see what you will hear. Not that he is made of steel ; gold is what he is. You may be of steel, and of pewter too. You bring out remarks which fairly make me lose my head. Of steel ? Did ever one hear such things ? Steel is what they make pens of, my dear.' Here the Countess made a brief pause, accompanied by grand sweeps of her fan. 'What stuflf!' she continued. 'You know nothing about it. Oh ! you know nothing about it, my dear cousin. And that poor, dear girl, Marina, even her you don't understand, Mr Bear. Oh, no, it won't do.' Here followed four sweeps of the fan. Meanwhile, the Count was looking at her with an amazed expression, too marked to be altogether genuine. 'But, in that case,' he said, 'it is true that I don't understand. If you have these ideas, why, in heaven's name, are you afraid of your son paying court to my niece ? ' ' Listen to me, Csesar. I may have all the faults and failings in the world, but I am sincere. Will you take it in ill part if I speak frankly ? Another thing is, that if my son gets to know that I have broached certain sub- jects to you, there is no more quiet or peace of mind for me, I can assure you, Csesar. Do you wish me to go on ? The words seem to stick in my throat, and I have difficulty in getting them out. It is a great humiliation for me ; the whole thing is contrary to my nature, but facts are facts and duty is duty.' 202 MALOMBRA The Countess laid down her fan on the table, replaced her handkerchief in her pocket, re-tied the strings of her cap, and finally recommenced, in slow, solemn tones, — ' This is how things stand. The Salvador family of to- day is not the Salvador family of years ago ; would that it were ! Poor Alvise was very unfortunate in his affairs, and then came 1848, and you know what happened then. It is not for me to say so ; but if it hadn't been for my property, the house of Salvador would have made ship- wreck. When Alvise married me, my estate was worth so and so. Would that he were alive now ! May his soul rest in peace. We should be ruined by this time, but we should be happy all the same. Of the anxieties, the fatigues, the privations that have fallen to my lot, dear cousin, I will not speak. In my house, the most penurious economy. My estates were in the hands of thieves — my steward at their head. " Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." With two thousand two hundred acres in Polesine, I was obliged to buy rice for my house- hold ! I need say no more. Oh, heavens, what a life it was ! Well, by dint of toil and sacrifice we steered the ship to harbour ; but, at the present moment, it depends on Nepo whether she remains there. All hangs on Nepo's marriage ! And now, tell me, Caesar ; if, in the kindness and generosity of your heart, you had not taken pity on poor Marina, how would she live ? Tell me, my dear friend, what would she live on ? ' ' Her own property — that is what she would live on.' ' Her own property ? ' Countess Fosca opened her eyes wide. 'Certainly. The winding up of my brother-in-law's estate realised eighty thousand francs.' ' Well, bread and water, to be frank.' • I am not such a grand seigneur as to be able to say THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN 203 that. I value eighty thousand francs. For me it would be enough.' 'Well, we will say bread and water and fruit. And still you would have to see whether it would be enough. Just take to yourself a wife — young, beautiful, full of life and energy — and settle down at Milan or at Turin among a string of fast characters as long as from here to Mestre, with duels and intrigues without end, for you have to have those too ; dress her, undress her, amuse her, pro- vide her with carriages, and also — I was going to say — ^in short, you venture on a family, and then I shall like to hear how far you find your eighty thousand carry you. I am speaking to you from the bottom of my heart, Caesar, because I regard you as my near relative. My first impulse was to take Nepo right away at once ; but what would you have said of me? I decided to speak to you as I would to a brother ; and I have done so.' 'I thank you heartily for the honour,' replied the Count. 'You honour me even more than you think. The advice that I would give you is to depart at once.' The Countess remained silent, stricken to the heart. During that deathlike silence one could hear twa flies fighting inside a sugar-basin. 'By all means,' said she. It seemed as though her Excellency, after so much chattering, suddenly found herself short of breath, ' Of course,' added the Count, ' it is quite possible that you will not have to go. It will depend on my niece.' ' How do you mean, on your niece ? ' ' It is pretty clear. As an honourable man, I had to give you the advice I have given, because I don't think that my niece and your son are suited to one another. You do not share this opinion, neither, apparently, does 204 MALOMBSA your son, and it may happen that my niece, who is perfectly qualified and has the right to form her own opinion,, does not share it either. In that case, you will understand that I neither could nor would make my views prevail.' ' You go on as before, Caesar ; after all I have said to you.' The Count got up and interrupted her. 'Will you kindly favour me in my library. It is a weakness of mine to transact all business there.' The Countess wished to make some reply, but her cousin, standing with the door open, signed to her to pass on. He put in his pocket the snufF-box brought in by Catte, and followed the Countess to the library. When her Excellency had made herself comfortable in an arm-chair, the Count began walking up and down the room in silence, his head bent forward and his hands in his pockets, according to his custom. Having made five or six turns, the Count stood still in front of her, looked at her for a moment, and said, — 'What do you think of three hundred and twenty thousand francs?' Her Excellency's face became purple. She muttered something unintelligible. ' Three hundred and twenty thousand francs and her eighty thousand make four hundred thousand. What do you think of four hundred thousand francs ? ' 'In heaven's name, Caesar, what do you mean? I don't understand.' 'Oh, you understand perfectly well,' said the Count, with curious emphasis. 'It is a mystery in regard to which you were lacking neither in faith nor in hope before you spoke to me. I return you my best thanks. You have done me the honour of believing that I should THE RED-^ND-BLACJC FAN 205 provide with sufficient liberality for my niece's settlement in life, although I am under no obligation to do so, and although she does not bear my name. Is that not so?' Her Excellency again untied her cap and burst forth— 'Allow me, sir, to tell you what I think of you^that your mode of speech is one for railway porters and not for ladies. I am astonished that, at your juvenile age, you have not yet mastered the usages of society. And I am astonished that, with your uncouth ways, your fitting clothes and unkempt hair, you imagine you can say and do anything that occurs to you. You may be a nobleman, my dear sir, but you are not a gentleman. Do you imagine that if I were the only person concerned that I should not say to you Keep your money for yourself? Do you think I would remain another hour in a house where I am not treated with ordinary polite- ness ? Thank your stars that I am not the person con- cerned, for I am independent of my son and of 'every- body else, and my own money is more than enough for me. And I should not know what to do with your three hundred thousand. Bah ! Nor with your four hundred thousand. Bah ! And I,- poor foolish woman, who have confided in you as though you were my brother. Thank heaven ! I repeat, that I am old and prudent, for if my son knew that self-seeking motives were attributed to him, he would be capable of sacrificing his love, his happiness and everything else.' The warmth of this harangue was perfectly genuine. Countess Fosca, after bringing her Cousin to the point she had been leading up to, now felt offended at his speaking plainly on the subject. A trifling disillusion may also have contributed to make her feel herself 2o6 MALOMBRA affronted. The Count had not said in so many words, as she had hoped, ' Marina is my heir.' The Count listened sweetly to the furious onslaught of his cousin, as though it were no affair of his, and con- tented himself with replying, — ' The wine that you spill leaves a stain ; the words, no.' The Countess appeared not to hear him. She had already risen and was moving, muttering to herself, ^to- wards the door. Her cousin, standing upright, his rugged face bent downwards, was watching her, smiling ; perhaps because her Excellency reminded him of a young goose which has been disturbed by some villager whilst feeding, or while peacefully conversing with her neighbours, or while engaged in solitary reflections, and who, after cackling loudly and beating a hasty retreat, de- parts with much dignity, though still greatly agitated, expressing at short intervals with low strident cries her anger and disdain. When the Countess was near the door the Count moved a step forwards. ' Wait,' said he. Her Excellency stopped, and turned her head a little to the left. The Count came up behind her, holding out an object, which he held in his left hand and tapped with the right. Her Excellency turned her head round a little more and glanced out of the corners of her eyes at the Count's hands, then she turned right round. The Count was offering her an open snuff-box. Her Excellency hesitated a moment, made a grimace, and said brusquely, — ' Is it Valgadena ? ' The Count, by way of reply, merely tapped the snuff- box with two fingers. The Countess stretched forth a thumb and forefinger, THE RED- AND- BLACK FAN ao7 rubbing their tips together with sensuous anticipation; then she plunged them into the soft, aromatic mixture, and remarked, with a more reconciled air, — ' That was a great indignity, you know, Csesar.' She carried the snuff to her nostrils. 'A horrible insult ! ' she added. She smelt the snufF. She smelt it once, twice, thrice, bent down over the snuff-box, knit her eyebrows and seized hold of the Count's left hand. ' Oh,' she cried, ' so you are a thief as well ? ' The Count laughed and handed her the snuff-box, saying,— 'We understand each other. All that is required is Marina's consent' Her Excellency left the room, shutting the door un- ceremoniously in his face. Passing through the loggia, she noticed the two boats on their way back to the castle. Her Excellency hurried upstairs to her bedroom, leaving her green fan there, and taking instead a black one with red flowers, with which she returned to the loggia, fanning herself and leaning over the balustrade. The two boats sparkled in the sun on the green waters of the lake a few hundred yards away. The oars were flashing as they struck and rose out of the water. A gay medley of voices and laughter was wafted to her Excel- lency's ears, now more, now less clearly, according to the breeze. The boats looked like two bright butterflies which had fallen into the water and were strugghng there, laboriously working their wings, and leaving be- hind them two long, fine, converging lines. The JDart came first, flying the Admiral's flag, and a little to the left could be seen the white hull of the jolly-boat. Marina, Nepo, Finotti and Vezza were in the Dart; the jolly-boat carried Steinegge, Ferrieri and Don Inno- 2o8 MALOMBRA cenzo, who had come across the party by chance, and had joined his two friends and the engineer, Ferrieri, the latter of whom, knowing him to be the parish priest, had not failed to pay court to the old man. The con- versation took a placid turn. Edith was defending her native tongue against the engineer, who had somewhat rudely accused it of harshness. She maintained that it was full of sweetness for poetical purposes, and that such sentimental words as Liebe, Weh, fiihlen, sehnen acquire, through a prolongation of the vowels, a deep mysterious sound. She made these remarks in broken sentences, timidly, in cold, stiff Italian. While she was talking, her father glanced from the priest to the engineer, and from him to the boatman, with sparkling eyes, which seemed to say, ' What do you think of that?' Don Innocenzo listened with the greatest attention, masticating the German words quoted by Edith, and exaggerating her accent to persuade himself that they were musical, then putting in a Km, Km of doubt. Ferrieri became more confused in the course of the argument than was to be expected of a man of his in- telligence, and replied briefly and rather at haphazard to the calls which came from the skiff. Rico was rowing and Donna Marina steering, clad in a graceful dress of soft, grey flannel, whose loose folds yet followed the lines of her beautiful figiffe so faithfully that they appeared to form her sole garment. From the girdle of buff-coloured leather fell on the right side a pretty gold chatelaine, and a little gold pin fastened her silk chestnut-coloured scarf. A little round hat of the same colour, with an eagle's feather, gave a coquettish air to her delicate features. Her gloves were buflf- coloured, and as she held the ropes of the tiller, hei THE, RBD-AND-BLACK FAN 209 elbows were pressed back, revealing the elegant shape of the bust. One foot was drawn back, the other pointed towards Rico a little dark -brown shoe, sprinkled with small white buttons. Finotti sat on her right and Vezza on her left. Nepo was sitting in a melancholy attitude at the prow. Marina had treated him badly that day, poor fellow. She had honoured him with one glance as she got into the boat, and that was to make him under- stand that he had to give up the best place to her new guests. The two commendatori had not stood on cere- mony, but sat down beside her with youthful alacrity; Finotti, with his face lighted up with a Mephistophelian fire, and Vezza, irradiated by the same placid smile which the beatific vision of a leg of turkey, with truffles, would occasionally summon up. They could hardly recognise the cold and taciturn Marina of other days. This new Marina sparkled with wit and coquetry. The politician would have given, I will not say his constituency, but certainly all his friends to have won her favour; the literary man would have given all the old conserva- tive blue-stockings of Milan; who kept him wrapt up in cotton wool as a kind of classic antique. Both spoke to her of love and beauty, as the best theme on which to approach her, and to feel more acutely the electricity of her presence ; Finnotti in sensuous langu- age thinly disguised; Vezza with the bland rhetoric of self-conscious vanity. He spoke of letters written to him by unknown readers of his works — letters which breathed a delicate bouquet of love, sufficient to intoxi- cate a man of refined sensibilities. This aroused the ridicule of Finotti, who declared that he did not envy him his old Vino Santo of venerable Milanese friendships — wine that was passi ; wine for a guest already satiated, and about to leave the table and 210 MALOMBRA say farewell to life. For his part, he preferred a young vintage full of light and fire, which passes like lightning to the head, the heart, the conscience, for only such wine knows where the conscience lives ; wine that has within it all the heat of the sun and all the passions of the earth, full of colour, sparkling with effervescence which makes both the bottles and the scruples fly. ' Tell me, Signor Vezza,' said Marina, quite suddenly, 'did you reply to those letters?' Signor Vezza, who took his soft ' commendatore ' with his morning coffee from the servant, and with his evening coffee from the ladies, and always with a keen relish, felt acutely the privation inflicted on him by Marina, but was obliged to resign himself to it, for Marina recognised no titles except those of noble birth. ' I replied to the ladies who were beautiful,' he said. ' Let us understand this marvel of subtlety,' rejoined Marina, as she carelessly watched Rico's oar rise and fall. 'There is no subtlety, Marchesina. One might say that in the anonymous letters of beautiful women there is always a shade of reserve, and in those of the plain ones always a shade of abandon ; but this would be a vulgar way of putting it. It is the instinct that is ne- cessary; the instinctive sense of beauty. When you, Marchesina, enter at the first floor a thrill ought to pass through the student on the fourth floor who is buried in the Constitutional Law of our friend Finotti. What do you say. Count ? ' But Nepo paid no heed to the conversation. Nepo was looking with great interest at the castle. He was wondering whether his mother was in the loggia, and whether she had in her hand the gieen fan, or the black- and-red one, or the white handkerchief. If the Countess THE RBD-AND-BLACK FAN an was not there at all it would mean that she had not been able to have the important conversation with the Count. If she was there the green fan signified ' no luck ' ; the red-and-black one ' good luck ' ; the white handkerchief would mean ' Marina will have everything! He started at Vezza's question and stared at him. He had not understood the remark. Marina slightly shrugged her shoulders and spoke to Finotti, Rico, who was always being worried and teased by his Excellency, turned round and looked slyly at him with eyes glittering with malice. ' Look where you are rowing to, idiot,' said his Excel- lency, in a low tone. Rico laughed to himself and bit his lip as he plunged the dripping oars into the water and rested on them, while he waited for the jolly-boat, which now and then lagged behind. They could hear Ferrieri talking in a loud voice. Vezza called to him, and receiving no reply, made some remark about him and Miss Steinegge. Marina pursed up her lips, as though to say, 'bad taste,' and Vezza whispered, smiling, — • A calculating match.' ' Go on ! ' said Marina to Rico. The long sharp keel glided on through the motionless green water. A few leaves slumbering on that glassy surface came opposite the boat, quickly passed by, and disappeared. The castle began to grow more dis- tinct, spread out, rose before them, threw open doors and windows ; the cypresses in the background began to stand out from the mountain and come towards the boat ; the mountain itself .began to move behind them. The black spot in the third arch of the loggia became a lady, a matron, the Countess Fosca with a big red-and- black butterfly on her breast. One could hear the 2ia SIALOMBRA fountain in the courtyard, one could hear the Countess's voice, — ' Are you there, my children ? ' •Yes, here we are. Such a lovely picnic, mamma; enjoyed ourselves so much ; saw all sorts of things ; no accident. Or, rather to be correct, there was one acci- dent; my cousin has been very amusing, and I have been very dull.' Shouting out the above, Nepo solemnly adjusted his pince-nez and looked at Marina. He seemed a different man. He had shaken his arms till the smalljwhite cuffs fell down over his knuckles, and he looked at his cousin with a foolish air of triumph. Marina pretended not to have heard his impertinent remark, and turned round to look for the jolly-boat. Meanwhile, the JDarf, with Nepo, Rico, the commendatori, the lady and the flag, disappeared into the cool shade of the boat-house, where Nepo's voice was already resounding between the large damp vaulted roof and the green water clear as a mirror of emerald. He shook his head to make his pince-nez drop, and leapt delicately ashore with his arms spread out and his knees bent, and then held out his hands to the others, very nearly succeeding in getting them thrown into the water by the Dart, which Vezza, in his cold way, called 'a pair of scales,' from its sensitiveness to any disturbance of weight. When Marina's turn came he held out both hands to her and pressed hers warmly ; she frowned slightly, leapt ashore and released her hands. On the steps they came across Fanny in a corner of the wall, her eyes downcast. She raised them with a faint smile to Nepo, who came last. There seemed to be something in the wind ; but Nepo, who, during the first few days had ventured now on a word or two, now on a silent caress, passed her by without THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN 213 even looking at her. Her face clouded over, and she went slowly down the steps. Count Caesar greeted his guests gaily at the head of the steps, and was especially courteous to Don Inno- cenzo. Countess Fosca embraced Marina as though they had not met for ten years, and only noticed Steinegge after his fourth obeisance. Marina left the room and the assembled company, and so did Edith. Meanwhile, the Count, Ferrieri and Don Innocenzo were discussing, in a corner, the new paper mill in connection with the health and morality of the district, which the Count thought would not be improved. Don Innocenzo, in his innocent enthusiasm for all kinds of progress, and dazzled by the description of the building and of the powerful engines ordered from Belgium, took a more rosy view of things and would not see the dark side. The others stood talking politics near a window. The Countess asked Finotti how long the Austrians would continue to hold Venice. Finotti, who had sat in the left centre, and was in favour at Court and hated the ministry of the day, assumed an air of mystery, and said that they would be able to go to Venice, but with other men in power. The Countess did not under- stand how Italian diplomacy had received such a check, and begged Finotti to put the King on the right path, and his ministers too. If they couldn't learn they must be changed and thrown into the sea. If Venice only knew what went on ! At Milan she had seen a portrait of the Prime Minister. What good could a man with a nose like that be ? Nepo intervened, very red in the face, saying that she did not understand politics, and would only make her- self ridiculous. This acted like a douche of icy water. Steinegge knitted his brows. The others held their 214 MALOMBRA tongues. The Countess, accustomed to such filial com- pliments, observed quietly that women often have more political sagacity than men. 'Always,' said Vezza; 'and the cabinet at Turin is worth nothing in comparison with yours, Countess.' Finotti and Steinegge also plied her with compli- ments. Nepo felt embarrassed. He adjusted his pince- nez, and fanning himself with his handkerchief, went out into the loggia. As he entered, Marina came in from the other side. Noticing Nepo, she seemed to hesitate for a moment, walked slowly up to the balcony which overlooked the lake, standing in the shadow of a pillar, and then turned round to look at her cousin. Nepo could not retreat. He would have wished to speak to his mother, and find out precisely all about the interview with Count Caesar before taking a step forward; but since he knew that, on the whole, things had gone well, how could he withdraw before the silent invitation of Marina's eyes, which plainly said : ' Come, we are alone.' In spite of his conceit he felt embarrassed. Hitherto he had only tried his hand with dressmakers, milliners and servant girls; with the ladies he drew the line at platonic friendship. His heart gave him no inspiration, and his mind but little. He walked up towards Marina, and leaning over the balcony beside her, shook off his pince-nez. 'Dear cousin,' said he. The pince-nez, falling on the marble, was smashed to pieces. Nepo removed the fragments from the cord, and, letting them fall on the rock below, remarked with a sigh,— THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN 215 ' It was by Fries.' Having pronounced this concise funeral oration, he resumed,— ' Dear cousin — ' Behind him came a discordant medley of voices. Countess Fosca's, the Count's and the others. 'Dear cousin,' replied Marina, looking beyond the little bay out on to the open lake where the first breath of the southern breeze was scarring with leaden lines the reflections of the white clouds and blue sky. There was silence for a moment. In the other room the hubbub of discordant voices continued. 'What delightful days I have passed with you, dear cousin ! ' 'Really?' ' Why^-why should it not always be so ? ' He had struck the note at last, and continued in an emphatic tone, as though he were repeating the perora- tion to a speech in parliament. 'Why should not these delightful days be the pre- lude to a life of bliss to which everything invites us —our family traditions, our birth, our education, our inclination ? ' Marina bit her lip. ' Yes,' resumed Nepo, warming at the sound of his own voice, and with difficulty repressing an oratorical gesture. ' Yes, for even I, who have moved in the best society of Venice and Turin, and have made warm friendships with many beautiful and charming ladies, from the first moment that I set eyes on you, have felt for you an irresistible sympathy — ' ' Thanks,' murmured Marina. 'One of those sympathies which rapidly become a passion in the case of a young man like myself, sus- 2i6 MALOMBRA ceptible to beauty, to wit, with a keen feeling for the most exquisite and delicate refinements. For you, my cousin, possess all these things ; you are a Greek statue brought to life in Italy and educated at Paris, as the English Ambassador remarked to me, with less reason, speaking of Countess C . You will one day be able to nobly represent my house in the capital, whether at Rome or at Turin; for I shall certainly finish my career with a position at the capital worthy of my name, worthy of Venice. I speak to you, my dear cousin, in language more weighty than passionate, because this is not the commencement of a romance but the continua- tion of a history.' Nepo paused for a moment to mentally congratulate himself on this phrase, in which thought and voice led so effectively and so harmoniously to the final word, history. ' It is the history,' he continued, ' of two illustrious families — one the support of the most glorious of Italian Republics — one of the most illustrious monarchy — the one in the extreme east, the other in the extreme west of Italy, who became united by marriage in distant centuries, in times of foreign tyranny and national discord, a prelude, as it were, to the future unity ; families which in more recent years, in years disastrous to their two states, have renewed the bond and are now about to reconfirm it amidst the splendid achievements accompanying the new great national compact.' Nepo was exhausted by the terrible effort of controlling his voice and checking his eloquence. Who can say how far he would have gone with the thousands of phrases that were in his mind if he had not now suddenly pulled himself up short. ' Marina,' said he 'will you become Countess Salvador? I await with full confidence your reply.' THE RED-AND-BLACK FAN ai? Marina still looked out upon the lake and kept silence. At that moment the voices in the next room subsided ; Countess Fosca appeared in the entrance to the loggia. She quickly withdrew again and went into the sitting- room, talking loudly ; but the others now burst into the loggia. ' I appeal to you, Marchesina,' cried Finotti, who was followed by Vezza, shrugging his shoulders, smiling, and repeating, ' You are wrong, you are wrong.' Not till then did Marina start up, as though wishing to change the current of her thoughts, and saying soito voce to Nepo, ' To-morrow,' she left the balcony. Nepo turned round angrily on the intruders, and behind them saw his mother, who, with a long and melancholy glance, and outstretched arms, inquired, — 'How goes it?' CHAPTER IV IN THE CAVERN They had arranged to start for the cavern at ten o'clock next morning. They had to row along the lake to its eastern extremity, and then pass up the valley that waters it with the little mountain torrent which has hollowed out the cavesj The whole party went, with the exception of the Count. Nepo was up in good time, and he went into the garden, where he had sometimes seen Marina take a walk before breakfast. To-day she did not come. Nepo, bereft of his pince-nez wandered from one side of the garden to the other, burying his long nose in the shrubs and flowers, sniffing the fresh air, starting at the distant apparition of the gardener in his shirt sleeves. Marina did not put in an appearance at breakfast, not an unusual thing with her. Fanny appeared and begged Edith, on behalf of her ladyship, to join her in her room. The two reappeared together on the stroke of ten. Marina merely favoured Nepo with a careless ' good morning,' thrown to him in the manner with which one flings away the stump of a cigar. She took Edith's arm in hers and descended to the boat-house, leaving Countess Fosca, Nepo, the three professional men, and Steinegge, to follow. As they entered the boat-house the Dart, with Edith, Marina and 2li! IN THE CA VERN si^ Rico left it. There was a chorus of protests. * Bon voyage' replied Marina, ' we are going to lead the way,' This was said in the softest of voices, with the most gracious of airs. Yet nobody pressed the matter further. Countess Fosca turned towards Nepo and looked -very grave ; he affected indifference, and shouted out some compliment to the cruel fugitives. Ferrieri and the two commendatori seemed greatly annoyed. The two boats steered for the narrow part of the lake, where it makes a bend and curves round a wooded pro- montory amid willows and banks of reeds. The Dart kept well ahead of the jolly-boat in spite of the frequent supplications from those in the latter not to go so fast. The joUy-boat resembled a gouty old gentleman making wild efforts to pursue a young monkey of a nephew who has given him the slip. Marina pretended not to hear those cries, and one glance at her face made Rico com- prehend that he was not to stop or even slacken his pace. Very soon all that those in the jolly-boat could see of the Dart was a mere white speck, its flag, waving in the distance in the bluish haze of lake and morning mists still cUnging to the mountain sides. Edith was greatly moved. The clear, bright air through which the boat was travelling, the thousands of flashing rays thrown by the sun upon the water ruffled by the morning breeze, the vivid green of the mountains hard by, the warm, confused tints of the plains, no longer recalled Germany to her as the meadows in front of Don Innocenzo's parsonage had done. She could not speak ; a sigh escap^ her. 'What does it make you feel?' asked Marina, after a long silence. ' I hardly know ; a desire to weep,' replied Edith. • It makes me desire to live, to be happy.' 320 MALOMBRA Edith remained silent \ she was surprised at the sudden fire which flashed from the face of Marina, whose breast was heaving tumultuously. ' I have a great respect for you,' added the latter, brusquely. Edith looked at her in astonishment. ' I know quite well,' the other continued, ' that you dislike me ; that makes no difference.' ' I do not dislike you,' replied Edith, in slow, grave tones. Marina shrugged her shoulders. ' Guide the boat as you can,' she cried out to Rico, letting go the tiller-ropes, and, turning round towards Edith, was about to speak. But Edith anticipated her. ' I know,' she said, ' that you have not been nice to my father, and for that reason I can feel no affection for you. I wish I could say what I want to say in German, because I can't express it well in Italian. However, you will understand what I mean ; I do not dislike you.' 'You are going to settle down at Milan?' inquired Marina. ' Yes.' * I want you to write to me.' Edith reflected for a moment, and replied, — • I can't write to you as a friend.' 'Yoii are a very frank young lady, but not more so than myself. I never said I was your friend. I said I had a great respect for you. There is no such thing as friendship between women. I don't ask for sentimental letters, all falsehood and foolishness. What use should I put them to ? I want a little information. Friendship has nothing to do with that.' ' Nor respect either.' •Yes, it has. I don't ask for services from people IN THE CAVERN 221 whom I don't respect, and I feel sure that you will render me this service, in spite of your resentment. Have you not given me the pleasure of your company this morning alone with me in my boat ? ' ' What information do you require ? ' ' You see ! I knew you would ! I will tell you later on.' After some time Marina came out with another question. ' Your mother was of noble birth ? ' • Yes.' ' Ah ! I understand.' Edith fired up, and her bright eyes flashed. ' I know no person more noble than my father,- she said. ' What do you think of my cousin ? ' inquired Marina, without paying any heed to this rejoinder, as though it failed to reach her on the lofty heights of her grandeur. • I do not know him.' ' Have you not seen him, have you not heard him speak ? ' ' Oh, yes.' 'Go on rowing,' said Marina to Rico, stamping on the bottom of the boat. Hearing Nepo's name mentioned, he had leant forward with an impulse of curiosity, and his arms hardly moved. He now blushed and laughed, then became serious and gave two vigorous strokes with the oars, which made the water fly up in foam on either side of the boat. When the ladies ceased talking, the boy began repeating to himself the names of villages and mountains. Marina had resumed her steering and took no notice of him ; Edith began asking him questions, and then his silvery voice rippled along the bank. From the mountains of 222 MALOMBRA Val - — - one could hear from time to time the baying of hounds borne faintly on the breeze. Rico explained to Edith that these were not hounds, but the ghosts of the ' Forest pack.' Whoever saw them died within the week. Edith was pleased at meeting an old Gerilian l^end, and inquired whether there were roads among the mountains. The lad replied that there were paths, one of them a very good one, by which one could return on foot from the caves to the castle. The Dart was now passing along Val Malombra, and skirting the hilly wooded promontory. The water was here of great depth beneath the jutting rocks. Rico maintained that the lake at this point spread away into fathomless caves through a dark chasm in the rocks called the Well of Acquafonda, and that if you threw stones down it you could hear them splashing into the water below. And he began to explain how those hidden caves could be explored, but Marina lost her patience and bade him hold his tongue. Soon afterwards the Dart passed from sunshine to shade, and was moored against two clumps of grey willows, on the white sand of a little mountain stream which flowed towards the lake, from pool to pool, in silent, winding rivulets. Behind the willows lay cold sombre fields, which, with the stream, disappeared on the left in the bluish mists of the winding valley. High up in the sunshine the mountain range was gleaming ; but the black chasm before them seemed like a den of winter itself. As soon as the boat had passed the rocks of the promontory one could hear the Countess call out, ' How cold it is, how horribly chilly,' and there was a con- fused movement in the boat, as arms were stretched out and slipped into coats aud cloaks, while Count Nepo wrapped a white handkerchief round his neck. IN THE CAVERN 223 Rico was to serve as guide to the cavern, sometimes called the Horror, but before they started Countess Fosca had a question to ask. Her Excellency had imagined that the Horror was the cave in front of them ; she was met with a storm of protests, and was astonished at the astonishment of the others ; the place struck her as quite ugly enough. And now, what did they expect her, unfortunate woman, to do ? To sit there dangling her legs for two or three hours over those hideous rocks ? To wait for the others in this ice-house ? Nepo began to fume, and reproached her with not having stayed at home. Steinegge protested vigorously, Vezza in a whisper, that they would never leave her ladyship alone. Neither Finotti nor the engineer made any remark. It was finally arranged that her Excellency was to go with Steinegge to an inn, which could be seen shining in the sun, about a mile away, where the high road passes the lake. Rico declared that one could get there by another path after passing through the Horror. As the boat pushed off from the bank, Commendatore Finotti asked Rico a question, and then turned round and shouted out, — ' Courage, Countess ! The Horror is not far off ! ' •Is that it?' inquired the Countess of the others, pointing towards Finotti. The party then started up the stream on foot, following Rico, who jumped Hke a frog from rock to rock. Edith and Marina were next to him, then came Ferried, a great walker and mountaineer. Behind him trotted Nepo, bent double, and bursting into perspiration at the hurried passage over the sharp rocks. He pretended to appeal to Marina's consideration for the two commendatori, who laboriously brought up the rear. • My dear cousin,' replied Marina, coming to a halt 224 MALOMBRA and turning round, ' I beg you to represent my uncle and to act as guide to his three guests.' Nepo and Ferrieri, taking the hint, slackened their pace, and gloomily turned back to meet the two com- mendatori, who came along, Finotti puffing and blowing, Vezza sulky and discouraged. When they noticed the ladies parting company with the two other men, all hope of catching them up died away, and they stopped to take breath, grumbling at Marina, and cursing the person who had first started the idea of this horrible forced march. At this point Rico suddenly appeared, having been sent back to them by Marina so that they should not lose their way. Having been told by the boy how to proceed, Marina walked on rapidly without speaking. Edith followed close behind her, silent and nervous also, though from other causes. Within and around her she seemed to hear one word only — ' Italy, Italy.' From the moment of her arrival at the castle, whenever she was alone, whenever she ceased for a moment to think of her father and their future, this one thought would flash across her mind — ' Italy.' At such times she would stretch out her hand as though in search of some tangible reality, and as she watched the setting sun, or the white winding line of some distant road, she became lost in a mist of vague desire. She now halted fre- quently, and, as the road rapidly ascended, observed the solemn line of mountains slowly extend before her, their green summits flashing in the sunlight and piercing the blue sky high above, while far away at their feet the dark waters of the lake spread out in a vast sheet towards the west. ' Ah,' said Marina, as they emerged into the sunlight, ' here we are.' She jumped with joy as she revelled in the light and heat. m THE CA VERN 225 Their path now led them between two fields of maize. A cloud of butterflies rose from the white blooms, fluttered over them for a few seconds, and settled down again. 'It is like snow,' said Marina, turning for the first time to Edith. But Edith had halted some way down the path. ' Are they coming ? ' cried Marina. ' I hear the voices of your cousin and the boy.' Marina made a little grimace. ' Come with me,' she said. A little further on the road led up to a group of stables, at an angle of the mountain, where the path turns towards the cavern. These rough shanties were in the middle of a large heap of stinking mud, in the clear shadow thrown by some lofty walnut trees, whose foliage was flooded in sunshine. Not a sign of any living creature was to be seen; all was silence. An empty basket near the closed doors, a bit of rope tied to the woodwork over the well, the deep dark valley, and the distant murmur of invisible waterfalls deepened the silence of the spot. The path pointed out by Rico led between the stables ; Marina followed another narrow pathway, leading up to a little chapel. She motioned to Edith to. sit down, and added quietly, — ' Let us wait for them to pass us.' In the little chapel was a picture of the Saviour, crowned with thorns, a hideous painting, at the foot of which was the inscription : • O passer-by ! though I appear a monster, I am Jesus Christ, thy Lord and Master.' The grass around them still glistened with dew, and the breeze, which lightly stirred the leaves of the walnut trees, was cool and fresh. 226 MALOMBRA Edith looked at the picture, the pious offering of simple folk to the King of Suffering, and her heart was filled with a sad and tender pity ; a thousand thoughts passed through her mind — the faith of the poor, unskilled artist, of the simple poet, of the rough, peasant women who, on their way to the fields, or when they returned wearied out in the evening, would raise their eyes to this poor daub with deeper veneration than they would have felt in looking at a Virgin by Luino. Edith tried to pursue this line of thought but could not do so; she felt as though a hard, cold chain was wound about her. In a confused way she discerned the disturbing influence of a human spirit close to her and antagonistic to her, stirred by other passions, haughty and reserved. Between her and the sunlight stood the tall form of Marina, tracing characters in the dust with the tip of her umbrella, looking down steadily at the ground, her lips pursed; her dark shadow fell across Edith, and seemed to freeze her blood. Meanwhile, the voices of the rest of the party came nearer and nearer. A hasty step was heard among the stables, and a minute later the bright face of Rico appeared behind the chapel. Catching sight of the two ladies, he suddenly halted and opened his lips to speak, when a flashing glance from Marina cut him short. He ran quickly up to some mulberry bushes, plucked some of the fruit and ran down the hill. The deep voices of the commendatori could be heard near the stables. Finotti was telling naughty stories with much richness of expression, after the manner of worn-out routs, who seek for the energy of youth in licentiousness of language. Ferrieri could be heard remarking with a laugh, — ' Nastiness inspires you.' Marina, herself indifferent, gave a rapid glance towards IN THE CA VBRN iij Edith ; but the latter, incapable of understanding such allusions, neither moved a muscle nor changed colour. Her companion shrugged her shoulders and waited in silence till the voices died away, then sat down beside her. 'The information I spoke of,' she said, 'touches a person with whom you will become acquainted at Milan.' Edith looked at her in surprise ; Marina made a slight gesture of impatience. Edith then remembered the interrupted conversation on the lake. 'Are you sure,' she rephed, 'that I shall know this person ? ' ' You will have to know him.' 'Have to?' ' Yes, have to. Not to please me, but because it will happen so. You will meet this person at Milan, he being a friend of your father's.' ' His name is Silla.' Marina's eyes flashed. ' How do you know ? ' she asked. ' My father has spoken to me about his friend.' ' What did he say ? ' Edith did not answer. ' Are you afraid ? ' said Marina, harshly. Edith coloured. ' I don't know that word,' she rejoined. After a brief pause Edith raised her eyes and looked at Marina. ' It is the truth,' she said. ' The truth I Don't talk of the truth. Nobody knows what is the truth. Your father will have said to you that I insulted this gentleman.' 'Yes.' •And that one night he disappeared ? ' 'Yes,' 228 MALOMBRA 'Disappeared completely? Did he not tell you his present whereabouts ? Of course he did ; you do not wish to repeat it to me, but your father certainly told you.' 'I imagine,' replied Edith, with a slight touch of offended pride, — ' I imagine that my conversations with my father are a matter of indifference to you. I know that a Signor Silkj of Milan, is a friend of my father's, perhaps his only acquaintance in that city. This made me think that you were alluding to him, and I men- tioned his name. Perhaps you will kindly tell me what it is you desire of me in the event of my meeting this gentleman.' Marina stood for a moment lost in thought, with her forefinger on her chin, as though a ' yes ' and a * no ' were contesting for mastery within her; then a flame of passion seemed to rise from the earth and enwrap the beautiful figure. She trembled from head to foot, her bosom rose and fell, her lips parted, there was a mysterious light in her eyes. Edith started, expecting some strange utterance. But the words came not. Her lips met, her person became composed, the strange light in the eyes died away. ' It is nothing,' said she, ' let us be going.' Edith did not move. ' Come,' repeated Marina, ' you are too German. All I wish to know is where Signor Silla lives and what he is doing. Let me know quickly. Will you ? ' 'Even in Germany,' rejoined Edith, 'people have some understanding and some feeling. I have no wish to know your secret, but if there is any good service which I can render — ' 'Ah, virtue ! egotism ! ' said Marina. At this moment IN THE CA VERN ssg a poor old woman, bending double beneath a great basket of hay, appeared in the path between the stables, stood still in front of Marina, and painfully raising her head towards her, with a benevolent smile, said, in a tone of surprise, — ' Good-day to your ladyships. You are taking a little walk?' She was a living image of squalid misery, sprung from the fetid soil and ruined buildings, barefooted, with thin black legs like those of a bird of prey, her chin resting on either side upon a large, smooth, reddish goitre, and a tangled mass of grey locks hanging over her forehead. Her eyes were soft and clear. ' Poor woman, poor woman ! ' said Edith. ' Not so very poor either. Not that I am a lady, by no means, but my old man still earns something, and as long as I can, for I'm seventy-three years old and more, I want to carry my basket for another year or two. Be- sides, the Lord is over us two as well as others. And so, my service to you, ladies, and good luck to you. May you have a pleasant walk.' She again bent her head beneath her load, and was about to renew, with shaking steps, her road among the flints and the heaps of broken tiles and filth. Marina pulled out her ivory-mounted purse and hastily thrust it into the woman's hand. ' Ah, holy Madonna ! ' exclaimed the old dame, 'I don't want it, dear lady. I have no need of it, indeed. Well, well,' she added, alarmed by a gesture and glance of Marina's. 'Ah, your ladyship, it is too much. Well, well, as your ladyship pleases. Ah, my lady ! ' ' Good day,' said Marina, and passed on. Picking her way through the mass of filth and putre- 230 MALOMBRA faction, she turned round ; there was a kindly look on Edith's face. 'I am not a religious girl,' said Marina. •! shall not expect this to be repaid to me by God. I don't make myself amiable to those I hate, with the noble object of acquiring a ticket to Paradise. For the rest, you can only do for me what I have already said ; write to me where Signor Silla lives, and what he is doing.' Edith said nothing. ' Are you afraid,' said Marina, ' that I wish to get him assassinated ? ' ' Oh, no ; I know quite well that you don't love him,' replied Edith, smiling. Marina felt her heart gripped by an ice-cold hand. At that moment she was passing the well. She rested her arms on the stonework and looked down into the water. The word ' love ' was ringing in her ears. ' Don't love,' Edith had said, but the negation had fallen unheeded, not so the magical word, love. It was with Marina as with some musical chord enclosing a certain note, silent until a voice passing through the room touches that same note among others, and then at once the whole chord vibrates with love, love, love. At the bottom of the well's black tube shone a little white disc broken by a dark human head. Marina, in a low tone, involuntarily called out, — ' Cecilia.' The voice struck the echoing water, and travelled back again with a sinister booming sound. Marina stood up and resumed her way in silence. They skirted the sides of the mountain, which here stretched away on the right down to the banks of the stream. The roar of the distant waterfalls, which they had heard at the stables, seemed to be carried straight IN THE CAVERN 231 towards them by the wind from the valley ; no mighty flow of water could be seen ; they could only guess its whereabouts as being in a narrow gorge in front of them, shut in by more mountains, topped by dark clouds, and in a long, shady, winding chasm which descended from the gorge into the valley between dark, hanging woods, broken by red landslips, and bordered by a broad ring ofsmall fields and green meadows shining in the sunlight. At one side of the gorge would be seen a white church perched on a jutting rock, and beneath it a thick sprink- ling of dark roofs and small huts nestling in the fields. Neat pasture lands were formed on the steep sides of the mountains to right and left, sprinkled with clumps of trees and dark with herds of cattle, whose tinkling bells formed one sweet, quivering voice. The pathway led down grassy slopes gay with flowers that waved in the fresh autumn breeze. Marina stopped and looked towards the entrance to a cave at the head of the valley. ' It must be there,' she said. •What? 'asked Edith. 'The Horror. That noise comes from there. The Horror has a great fascination for me to-day.' 'Why?' ' Because I wish to go in there with my cousin. You are silent and unmoved. Can't you imagine what one's feeUngs would be in a cavern alone with him ? Have you resisted my cousin's fascinating ways? Two eyes that go straight to the heart. And what wit ! He is saturated with it, dear boy ! And his elegant appearance. Why, he is a Watteau, is my cousin. He ought to be all red and white, a shape of golden cream, a bonbon. Don't you think so ? Now, wouldn't you envy me if I Ijecame Coyntess Salvador ? ' 23* MALOMBRA ' I can see that you'll never be that.' 'Why so? I knew somebody who married out of hate.' ' But not out of contempt, I imagine.' ' Out of both together. They are two feelings which can very well find lodging in the same high heel of the same little shoe. The person I refer to made use of them to fouler aux pieds her husband, and many other odious and contemptible creatures.' To Edith it appeared impossible that such language should be used on this lofty spot, amid the solemn purity of the mountains. She thought of her mother in her distant grave; if she could see her daughter in such company, if she could hear these speeches ! But Edith was in no danger. She was not ignorant of evil, but she lived secure in her own conscious innocence. She allowed Marina to go on talking as she pleased. ' My friend was in love with somebody else. Are you shocked ? ' Edith did not answer. ' Come, don't let us behave as though your worthy father or my uncle or some other person in trowsers were here. How old are you ? ' ' Twenty.' ■ Very well. Then you must know pretty well what things go on in the world. Not a word ; let me continue. I don't believe in certain kinds of innocence. Well, my friend had a lover, and wished, never mind why, to reach him by passing, with her little high-heeled boot, over a contemptible husband and a hateful family. Where is the harm? Men prohibit this and that. Well and good. Yet, by what right? Those whom God joins together let no man put asunder. That is about it, is it not ? Very well. That is a beautiful idea and a grand IN THE CA VERN 233 one. The priests are stupid with their versions of it. 1 ask you whether it is God who puts on surplice and stole, and mumbles half-a-dozen words to join together, at haphazard, two bodies and two souls. God joins them together before they love one another, before they see one another, before they are born. He carries them through space, the one to the other ! Therefore, those who are joined together by some man, or by family arrangement, by calculation, by mistake, by a priest who knows not what he is doing, such as these God puts asunder. What was I saying ? My friend passed on in hatred and contempt ; thus she passed on.' She stepped forward, her frame shaken with passion, and stamped with such energy upon the ground that Edith half expected to see sparks fly from it. In the distance was heard a shrill voice, — 'Signora Donna Marina.' It was the voice of Rico. He soon appeared running ; on seeing his mistress he left off running and called out, — ' They say, will your ladyship be so good and — ' Marina hastily beckoned with her umbrella for him to come on. He at once ceased calling out, broke into a run and arrived breathless, looking quite solemn with the re- sponsibility of his office of ambassador, and his anxiety not to leave out any portion of his message. ' They say, will your ladyship be so good and walk on a little faster, because it is getting late and the Countess is waiting down below.' • Where are they ? ' said Marina. ' One is not far off and is coming to meet you, and the others are at the cave.' They had not gone far before they came across his 1834 MALOMBRA Excellency Nepo, sitting on his handkerchief on a bank by the roadside. He was looking about him with a frightened air, fanning himself with a little Japanese fan. When Rico, followed by the two ladies, appeared, he rose to his feet, and forgetting for a moment what was due to the ladies, he called out to the boy, without raising his hat, — ' Why didn't you wait for me, idiot ? ' ' He seems to have had some reason not to wait,' re- marked Marina, coldly. ' You are very hard on me,' rejoined Nepo, in a low tone. This suggestive tone of intimacy did not please Marina, who inquired drily, — ' How far is it to the Horror ? ' ' We shall be there in a few minutes,' muttered Rico, between his teeth. ' Gracious goodness, it's an eternity,' wailed Nepo. ' Not a very brilliant idea to make us take this frightful climb. Vezza and Finotti are half dead. I am a great walker, and I remember that when I was a student I walked up from Torreggia to the convent at Rua, no bagatelle, I can tell you ; but here, I don't know why, but it's a different kind of walking. One gets more tired over a shorter course. How am I to express it ? With us the mountains are more accommodating.' He took advantage of a moment when Edith had stepped on one side to pluck a flower, and said to Marina, not without a touch of grievance in his tone and look, — • And your answer ? ' Marina looked at him. 'Very soon,' she said. • When ? ' IN THE CA VERN 135 ' Come to the Horror with me.' Nepo did not seem very well satisfied, but he could not ask for an explanation because Marina had her arm in Edith's, and he required all his breath to keep pace with them. The commendatori and Ferrieri were seated near the door of the inn at C , upon a bench drawn up against the wall, and were talking to an old bald-headed man in shirt sleeves, with a brick-coloured complexion, who was squatting on the doorstep of the hostelry, with a long pole between his bare legs. He was the worthy Charon of the Horror. The Horror is only a few hundred yards from the village. The river rises a few miles higher up, the waters gather in bulk among the wild caves between the sloping sides of two mountains, then the river runs smoothly in the open for a brief distance, and then, near the village, falls from cascade to cascade till it reaches the end of the valley, and feebly expires in the lake at the point where the present company left their boats. Leaving C , one soon came across a slight wooden bridge, the shadow of which falls across the river, here and there flecked with foam, across green pools and white pebbles. Leaving the bridge on the right, one keeps to the left along the bed of the river. Here the gentle stream runs laughing and babbling among the bright verdure of the virgin woods, though with a few shivering recollections of past fears. A few low rocks jut out from the banks, covered with dark mosses, blades of grass, and stately ciclami. Following the line of the river, one observes the two banks rise on the right and left against the sky, in two leafy masses of lofty woods gleaming in the sun ; oaks, beeches, ash trees, sorb-trees, in tier upon tier, bending forward as though 236 MALOMBRA to see the laughing waters pass, and waving their branches as though in applause. Soon after this the river makes a bend. No more sunshine, no more ver- dure, no more laughing waters; huge jaws of stone stand gaping wide open before you, causing you to halt when you hear the. deep roar that issues from them, and feel the cold breath of that dark and mon- strous gullet. The roar comes from the very entrails of the earth ; the water passes through that rocky mouth in a dark, voluminous, but silent stream. A small leaky boat is here, chained to a ring fastened to the rock. It can carry two persons in addition to the boatman. One goes up the stream in this little boat, which apparently has no desire for the task. It twists its head now to the right, now to the left, and would slip away down the stream but for Charon's pole. The uproar increases, the light begins to fail. The boat passes between two lines of black rocks, enormous stalactites, here in swell- .ing outline like some weird forest growth ; there hollow, dripping, like inverted heads ; but all in rows, at equal intervals, carved from base to summit with spiral Unes. High above, the sky seems to shrink smaller and smaller between the rocks, till it finally disappers. The little boat enters a dark chasm which resounds with howls ; it quivers from stern to stem, dashes against the rock on the right, dashes against it on the, left, mad with terror, under the echoing arches of rock, whose entrails are gnawed away by the swiftly - flowing stream, and which rise, twisting and contorted, upwards. From the narrow rent in the leafy mantle of these rocks a greenish gleam, a spectral light which tinges the jutting points of rock, grows fainter as it passes from stone to stone, and dies away before reaching the dark green water beneath ; it is like a ray of moonlight half hidden in clouds at day- IN THE CA VERN 237 break. Through this gallery one enters the 'throne room,' a round, gloomy chamber with a mass of rock in the centre, like a rough pulpit or reading-desk for low Mass, standing upright between two enormous clouds of foaming water which encircle its sides, and stream on into a wide passage, all roar and flying mist, like two express trains passing side by side through a tunnel. It is from that rocky mass that the cavern takes its name of the throne room. One thinks of some prince of dark- ness seated upon that throne, lost in meditation, his glance fixed on the deep waters full of woe and wail- ing, full of tortured souls. Through a fissure behind the throne a bright jet of light irradiates the cave. Charon shoved off the little boat from the rock to which it was chained, and with a powerful thrust sent it into midstream. Meanwhile, Rico was skipping like a wagtail over the rocks above water level, while some half- dozen urchins who had perched on a big stone behind the party, observed them gravely like a lot of little birds watch- ing the movements of a big owl. Vezza, who knew little about scenic beauties, and Finotti, who knew nothing at all, noisily expressed their admiration of this awe-inspir- ing place. Ferrieri did not join the chorus of en- thusiasm, and chatted quietly to Edith. He said that such scenes as these made him feel cold as ice ever since, when he was quite a boy, a poet had been crushed to death in the heart of this cavern, an unpleasant in- mate in such a place. He added that he now, for the first time, had doubts whether that wretched being were in truth dead; he seemed to hear something moving about ; he began to feel unusually hot — ' Forwards, ladies and gentlemen,' cried Marina. Charon had just brought the small boat alongside; and he signed to the two ladies to get in. 238 MALOMBRA ' My cousin and I,' said Marina, ' will come last' ' Then you and I will go first, Miss Edith.' Thus saying, Ferrieri wrapped about the shoulders of his fair companion the blue shawl which she carried on her arm. Edith hardly noticed this ; she seemed fas- cinated by the sombre beauty of the rocky pillars stretch- ing away in front of her. They both got in and the boat moved away. The boat, passing through those gloomy arcades, made a pretty picture, with the bright blue shawl and the picturesque figure of the old boat man standing upright at the prow, with his long pole. They soon disappeared, first Charon, then the blue shawl, then the brown lines of the little boat. After about ten minutes they reappeared, the iron tipped pole, Charon, the blue shawl. 'Well? Well?' called out Vezza and Finotti. There was no reply. As they stepped out, Edith and Ferrieri uttered a few cold words of admiration. Edith looked grave and sad ; the engineer was blushing to the roots of his hair ; the old boatman waited stolidly for his second boat-load. Edith remained near Marina, and Ferrieri walked away with downcast eyes. Finotti and Vezza went off in the boat together, unwillingly. Nepo was ill at ease. He said nothing, but was con- tinually on the move, looking here, looking there, and shaking his head to shake oS the ^iMe-mz which he no longer wore. Two or three times he even stepped into the water and passed over the rocks into the middle of the torrent to watch for the returning boats. When he was some way off, Marina said, soito voce, to Edith, point- ing towards Ferrieri, — ' He is like the others, eh ? in spite of his gentlemanly ways ! I knew as soon as you got out of the boat. Men are all alike I ' IN run CAVERN S39 ' It is a shame, it is a shame ! ' said the young girl, shuddering. ' Was he very rude ? ' Edith blushed. 'Whoever is lacking in respect to- wards me, even for a moment, and with the slightest act, is very rude,' she replied. ' Signor Ferrieri,' said Marina, raising her voice. Fer- rieri turned round. He tried to appear at his ease, and failed. 'Would you be so kind as to go down and join Countess Fosca. She must be very dull all alone. This young lady and I will come later on with the boy, pro- bably by a different road.' In Marina's ringing voice there was the instinctive re- sentment of a woman who finds a man, even if she does not care for him, at the feet of another woman. Ferrieri bowed and went away. 'What I have done is unusual,' said Marina to Edith. 'An old chaperon would hardly do such a thing. I did it on your account, to prevent your finding yourself again tUe-i,-tite with that bald-headed Lovelace who causes you such disgust; besides, I don't always trouble myself about what other people do.' 'Thank you,' said Edith. The boat returned with the two commendatori ' Count,' said Marina. Nepo was on the point of replying 'Countess,' but only opened his lips, and then followed Marina into the boat. ' And Ferrieri ? ' asked Vezza. ' He has gone down the hill before us,' replied Marina. But she was soon quite close to the bank, and her words could hardly be heard above the sullen roar of the stream. 240 MALOMBRA She drew her shawl about her, turning her head to avoid the cold wind which sprinkled her with minute drops of the water dripping from the rocks. With dull eyes she gazed into the gloom, out of which issued the heavy, swift, silent, glassy river. The boat approached the gloomy entrance to the •throne room.' The face of the old man, standing at the prow as they passed among the black shining rocks, took a darker hue ; the blows of the iron-tipped pole were drowned by the deafening roar of the hidden water- falls. It was almost too dark to see. Nepo lent over towards Marina and took her hand. ' Ah ! ' she said, as though offended ; but- she did not withdraw her hand. Nepo pressed it within his own and felt happy j he knew not what to say ; everything seemed already said ; he kept on pressing that cold, inert hand, as though he wished to squeeze out of it an idea, a word, a phrase. Then he had an idea. He kept Marina's hand in his left, and with his right arm encircled her waist. Marina gave a shudder and threw herself forwards. ' Steady there, in Heaven's name ! ' roared the boatman. But one could now neither see nor hear. The unbroken roar of the water caused a painful contraction of chest and forehead. Nepo released his embrace. He did not understand that sudden movement of Marina's. He talked to her ; he felt as though he were talking with his head under water ; but in his amazement he went on talking. Then he felt Marina's waist again fall back against his arm. He quivered with delight, and eagerly spread out the fingers which lay across her bosom, like the claw of some impure animal gathering courage from the dark- ness ; he spread out his fingers in the desire to embrace the whole of her voluptuous person, to pass below her IN THE CA VERN 841 draperies and grasp the warm, living form beneath. Marina had thrown herself back in the blind desire to crush that arm, which stung her like a whip, and she turned upon Nepo to insult him, but he could neither hear nor see. The water, the wind, the very stones, shrieked a hundred times louder, ever louder and louder still. They crushed in their wrath, in their gigantic anguish, the petty anger, the contemptible troubles of humanity. They crushed the words and flung them away in confusion, like dust before the wind. Brutal, all-powerful nature wished to be heard alone. Nepo felt the warm bosom of Marina fall and rise, heaving beneath his touch ; he seemed to distinguish amid the uproar a faint human voice ; he imagined words of love, as he breathed in the intoxicating perfume of her dressi and his lips sought hers in the darkness. Just then a vigorous shove with the pole made the boat swing round the last comer of the dark passage and emerge into a greenish light, which seemed to rise out of the clear water. Nepo had not time to see Marina's face. The old boatman had turned round towards them. Nepo quickly let go of Marina, and pretended to be gazing up at the roof. The old boatman had moored the boat against a rock, by pressing the tip of his pole against the opposite wall, and soon waved his free arm with vigorous gestures, as he pointed out the cavities and weird ex- crescences of the rocks. ' Splendid ! ' cried Nepo. Clmron touched his ear and shook his forefinger in negation ; then he spread out his hand and waved it up and down, nodding at the same time with his head, as though to promise something yet more beautiful, and again took to his pole. Marina, pale, with lips pressed together, her shawl 242 MALOMBRA wrapped tightly about her, seemed like some sinful soul, which in disdain had sought refuge in the shadows of these infernal regions, her nervous tension yielding place to stupefaction. The ' throne-room ' opened out in front of the boat like a vision of greenish gold, with its huge unpolished cupola; the black rock in the centre, the thundering stream foaming and boiling along the stalactite-covered walls. But the boat, instead of going there, turned aside to the right and glided into a quiet bay of smooth water, where it grounded on the sand. A gigantic breakwater of stone descended from the roof and formed this little channel, which it sheltered on one side from the roar of the torrent. By speaking loud one could here make oneself heard. The boatman asked Marina whether she liked the Horror, adding, with an air of kindly sympathy, that all the gentle- folk liked it. For his own part, the only thing he admired in it were the trout. He added that there were a great many just there, and wanted Nepo and Marina to turn round and look down into the water, promising that they would see some flash along the bottom. Nepo, turning round, just brushed against Marina's glove. ' Don't touch me,' said she, harshly, without looking at him. He attributed this remark to the fact that they were now in a bright ray of light, and the only notice he took of it was to say roughly to the boatman, — 'What do we want with your trout, idiot? Shove off!' His ill-bred insolence to his inferiors had once got him a cuff on the head from a waiter in a cafi at Turin, and might have got him something worse from Charon ; but the latter only caught the last two words, and again guiding IN THE CA VERN 243 the boat into midstream, poled it into the big cave, and fastening it against the 'throne,' where the water was calmer, he resumed his rile of silent cicerone. With a wave of his hand he showed them that they could climb up into the rock, and thence, through a cleft up in the rocky roof, escape from the Horror. Marina threw away her shawl, jumped on to the seat of the boat, and rejecting all assistance from the astonished boatman, she found a foothold on the jutting edges of the rock, and in two bounds was on the top. From there she imperi- ously signed to Nepo to follow her. Nepo, standing up in the boat, began to feel the rock with his hands, wavered, then glanced sideways at the boatman. The latter lifted Nepo up bodily and placed him against the rock, and when, by clutching at it with hands and feet, he had got a firm hold, shoved him up from behind with the palms of his hands till he reached the top. The water, which entered in a flashing, thundering stream through the cleft in the rock, divided at the back of the throne into two foaming branches, which then girt it about. From the throne one passed across to the open air by a long, narrow plank laid upon jutting rocks. This path was used by the trout fishers. Marina, followed by Nepo, stepped along the plank, after telling the boatman to wait for them. At the exit from the Horror they came upon a scene so rugged that it would have seemed one of desolation, had one not just left the cavern below. The torrent rushed down in an open stream over huge stone steps, flashing in the sunshine like a net of silver thread, in large, irregular rings, and then thundered on through two high, jutting crags, which seemed about to close, one on the top of the other, half quite bare, half clothed in ragged tatters of woodland verdure. 244 MALOMBRA Marina climbed up to some stunted yew trees, which, with their black foliage, brushed against a huge rock beside the mouth of the Horror, where the terrible roar partly died away. Nepo followed her with great difficulty, clutching hold of tufts of grass with his hands. He halted a few paces from Marina to take breath. ' Stop there,' she said. ' You have more courage in the dark.' ' Oh, well,' said Nepo, ' I am not going to stop now.' ' Stop where you are ! ' Nepo stood still with clouded brow, ill at ease. At first he had imagined that she wished to procure an interview away from the prying eyes of the boatman. Now he did not understand it He was irritated with Marina ; but in the last few minutes he had had a new feeling, or rather a new sensation. From the little velvet hand, from the warm, heaving 4osom that he had clasped, an unwonted commotion had passed through his frame, unwonted in him, who boasted that he was a man among women and an angel among ladies. Both were silent for a minute. ' And so you wish it ? ' said Marina. ' Ah ! ' replied Nepo, stretching out his arm. A new pause. ' Why do you wish it ? ' ' What a thing to ask, great Heavens ! ' ' Isn't it ? ' said she, smiling ; ' you are right.' She looked at him with that penetrating glance of hers which appeared and disappeared at will. Then raising her voice, she said, — ' But I don't love you.' ' Oh, my own darling ! ' said Nepo, not catching the tJsr THE CAV&RN 445 'don't,' as he clambered up to where she stood. She stepped back in surprise. ' I don't love you,' she repeated. Nepo turned pale and grew silent ; then he broke forth in a low, excited voice, — ' You don't love me ? What do you mean ? — you don't love me ? And five minutes ago, in that boat, in the dark.' ' Really ! Did you think so ? ' ' Oh, good Heavens ! If that boat could only speak ! ' ' It would speak ill of you. You have made a mistake j I don't care for you.' Nepo looked at her with arched eyebrows and parted lips. ' And yet I accept you,' she said. Nepo uttered a smothered ' ah 1 ' his face brightened, and he held out his hands towards her. ' Well, are you satisfied ? ' said she. Nepo wished to reply by kissing her, but she was in a mood to hit him in the chest with her parasol. ' Go back at once,' she said ; ' the boatman might go away. I am not coming with you ; I am going round the Horror, outside. No, I am not coming. You come with me? I don't want your company. Go along! Aren't you happy now? Tell Signorina Steinegge and the boy to wait for me at the bridge. Don't wait for us at dinner, even. But when you get home, tell your mother, tell my uncle. Soon,- before I return. Be off.' He did not like the idea. He begged and prayed for a kiss, but didn't get one \ even her little velvet hand, even the hem of her garment he asked to press to his lips, and was refused. He seized her parasol and kissed that ; it was at least hers. The water and the leaves of the forest laughed 246 MALOMBRA at him, and he went away, contented and discontented at the same time ; agitated by that confused poetry of sensations which is something above ordinary desire, and which, at least once in a lifetime, plants in each soul its own vital energy, its own sad, transient bloom. When Marina reached the bridge she found Edith and Rico waiting for her. They silently retraced the road which they had gone over that morning until they reached an old stone upon which was inscribed, with an arrow pointing accordingly, ' To the mountains.' Here they followed a little path leading towards a little hill in a dip in the mountains between the cluster of bare rocks above C , and some wooded mountain ridges. They had got near the hill, when Marina, who was leading, suddenly stood still, and said brusquely, — • I have been honest, you know.' Edith did not understand, and made no reply. She did not enter into the feverish emotions which quivered in the voice and shone in the eyes of Marina. All her own mind was absorbed in the contemplation of the valley, which offered an ever-changing spectacle; glimpses of the sky which opened out amid the undulat- ing-lines of green tree tops, which in turn mingled with blue mountain summits; the tremulous note of the sheep-bells among the pastures, the clear, solemn sound of water flowing along distant valleys and smiling meadows, then crossing a road and disappearing in the distance. She began to walk more slowly, looking at the sky so still and