 | CHAPTER XX. A romance of the republic |  |
20. CHAPTER XX.
She slept late the next day, and woke with a feeling
of utter weariness of body and prostration of spirit.
When her dressing-maid Giovanna came at her summons,
she informed her that a gentleman had twice called to see
her, but left no name or card. “Let no one be admitted
to-day but the manager of the opera,” said Rosa. “I will
dress now; and if Mamma Balbino is at leisure, I should
like to have her come and talk with me while I breakfast.”
“Madame has gone out to make some purchases,” replied
Giovanna. “She said she should return soon, and
charged me to keep everything quiet, that you might sleep.
The Signor is in his room waiting to speak to you.”
“Please tell him I have waked,” said Rosa; “and as soon
as I have dressed and breakfasted, ask him to come to me.”
Giovanna, who had been at the opera the preceding
evening, felt the importance of her mission in dressing the
celebrated Señorita Rosita Campaneo, of whose beauty and
gracefulness everybody was talking. And when the process
was completed, the cantatrice might well have been
excused if she had thought herself the handsomest of
women. The glossy dark hair rippled over her forehead
in soft waves, and the massive braids behind were intertwisted
with a narrow band of crimson velvet, that glowed
like rubies where the sunlight fell upon it. Her morning
wrapper of fine crimson merino, embroidered with gold-colored
silk, was singularly becoming to her complexion,
softened as the contact was by a white lace collar fastened
seated before the mirror, and though her own Spanish
taste had chosen the strong contrast of bright colors, she
took no notice of the effect produced. Her face was turned
toward the window, and as she gazed on the morning sky,
all unconscious of its translucent brilliancy of blue, there
was an inward-looking expression in her luminous eyes
that would have made the fortune of an artist, if he could
have reproduced her as a Sibyl. Giovanna looked at her
with surprise, that a lady could be so handsome and so
beautifully dressed, yet not seem to care for it. She
lingered a moment contemplating the superb head with an
exultant look, as if it were a picture of her own painting,
and then she went out noiselessly to bring the breakfast-tray.
The Señorita Campaneo ate with a keener appetite than
she had ever experienced as Rosabella the recluse; for the
forces of nature, exhausted by the exertions of the preceding
evening, demanded renovation. But the services of
the cook were as little appreciated as those of the dressing-maid;
the luxurious breakfast was to her simply food.
The mirror was at her side, and Giovanna watched curiously
to see whether she would admire the effect of the
crimson velvet gleaming among her dark hair. But she
never once glanced in that direction. When she had eaten
sufficiently, she sat twirling her spoon and looking into the
depths of her cup, as if it were a magic mirror revealing all
the future.
She was just about to say, “Now you may call Papa
Balbino,” when Giovanna gave a sudden start, and exclaimed,
“Signorita! a gentleman!”
And ere she had time to look round, Fitzgerald was
kneeling at her feet. He seized her hand and kissed it
do say you forgive me! I am suffering the tortures
of the damned.”
The irruption was so sudden and unexpected, that for an
instant she failed to realize it. But her presence of mind
quickly returned, and, forcibly withdrawing the hand to
which he clung, she turned to the astonished waiting-maid
and said quite calmly, “Please deliver immediately the
message I spoke of.”
Giovaona left the room and proceeded directly to the
adjoining apartment, where Signor Balbino was engaged
in earnest conversation with another gentleman.
Fitzgerald remained kneeling, still pleading vehemently
for forgiveness.
“Mr. Fitzgerald,” said she, “this audacity is incredible.
I could not have imagined it possible you would presume
ever again to come into my presence, after having sold me
to that infamous man.”
“He took advantage of me, Rosa. I was intoxicated
with wine, and knew not what I did. I could not have
done it if I had been in my senses. I have always loved
you as I never loved any other woman; and I never loved
you so wildly as now.”
“Leave me!” she exclaimed imperiously. “Your being
here does me injury. If you have any manhood in you,
leave me!”
He strove to clutch the folds of her robe, and in frenzied
tones cried out: “O Rosabella, don't drive me from
you! I can't live without—”
A voice like a pistol-shot broke in upon his sentence:
“Villain! Deceiver! What are you doing here? Out
of the house this instant!”
Fitzgerald sprung to his feet, pale with range, and encountered
the flashing eyes of the Signor. “What right
have you to order me out of the house?” said he.
“I am her adopted father,” replied the Italian; “and no
man shall insult her while I am alive.”
“So you are installed as her protector!” retorted Fitzgerald,
sneeringly. “You are not the first gallant I have
known to screen himself behind his years.”
“By Jupiter!” vociferated the enraged Italian; and he
made a spring to clutch him by the throat.
Fitzgerald drew out a pistol. With a look of utter
distress, Rosa threw herself between them, saying, in imploring
accents, “Will you go?”
At the same moment, a hand rested gently on the
Signor's shoulder, and a manly voice said soothingly, “Be
calm, my friend.” Then, turning to Mr. Fitzgerald, the
gentleman continued: “Slight as our acquaintance is, sir, it
authorizes me to remind you that scenes like this are unfit
for a lady's apartment.”
Fitzgerald slowly replaced his pistol, as he answered
coldly: “I remember your countenance, sir, but I don't recollect
where I have seen it, nor do I understand what right
you have to intrude here.”
“I met you in New Orleans, something more than four
years ago,” replied the stranger; “and I was then introduced
to you by this lady's father, as Mr. Alfred King of
Boston.”
“O, I remember,” replied Fitzgerald, with a slight curl
of his lip. “I thought you something of a Puritan then;
but it seems you are her protector also.”
Mr. King colored to the temples; but he replied calmly:
“I know not whether Miss Royal recognizes me; for
at her father's house.”
“I do recognize you,” replied Rosabella; “and as the
son of my father's dearest friend, I welcome you.”
She held out her hand as she spoke, and he clasped it
for an instant. But though the touch thrilled him, he betrayed
no emotion. Relinquishing it with a respectful
bow, he turned to Mr. Fitzgerald, and said: “You have
seen fit to call me a Puritan, and may not therefore accept
me as a teacher of politeness; but if you wish to sustain
the character of a eavalier, you surely will not remain in a
lady's house after she has requested you to quit it.”
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Mr. Fitzgerald took
his hat, and said, “Where ladies command, I am of course
bound to obey.”
As he passed out of the door, he turned toward Rosabella,
and, with a low bow, said, “Au revoir!”
The Signor was trembling with anger, but succeeded in
smothering his half-uttered anathemas. Mr. King compressed
his lips tightly for a moment, as if silence were a
painful effort. Then, turning to Rosa, he said: “Pardon
my sudden intrusion, Miss Royal. Your father introduced
me to the Signor, and I last night saw him at the opera.
That will account for my being in his room to-day.” He
glanced at the Italian with a smile, as he added: “I heard
very angry voices, and I thought, if there was to be a duel,
perhaps the Signor would need a second. You must be
greatly fatigued with exertion and excitement. Therefore,
I will merely congratulate you on your brilliant success last
evening, and wish you good morning.”
“I am fatigued,” she replied; “but if I bid you good
morning now, it is with the hope of seeing you again soon.
father loved is too pleasant to be willingly relinquished.”
“Thank you,” he said. But the simple words were uttered
with a look and tone so deep and earnest, that she
felt the color rising to her cheeks.
“Am I then still capable of being moved by such tones?”
she asked herself, as she listened to his departing footsteps,
and, for the first time that morning, turned toward the mirror
and glanced at her own flushed countenance.
“What a time you've been having, dear!” exclaimed
Madame, who came bustling in a moment after. “Only to
think of Mr. Fitzgerald's coming here! His impudence
goes a little beyond anything I ever heard of. Wasn't it
lucky that Boston friend should drop down from the skies,
as it were, just at the right minute; for the Signor's such
a flash-in-the-pan, there's no telling what might have happened.
Tell me all about it, dear.”
“I will tell you about it, dear mamma,” replied Rosa;
“but I must beg you to excuse me just now; for I am
really very much flurried and fatigued. If you hadn't
gone out, I should have told you this morning, at breakfast,
that I saw Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald at the opera, and
that I was singing at them in good earnest, while people
thought I was acting. We will talk it all over some time;
but now I must study, for I shall have hard work to keep
the ground I have gained. You know I must perform
again to-night. O, how I dread it!”
“You are a strange child to talk so, when you have
turned everybody's head,” responded Madame.
“Why should I care for everybody's head?” rejoined
the successful cantatrice. But she thought to herself: “I
shall not feel, as I did last night, that I am going to sing
me sing to my dear father. I must try to recall the intonations
that came so naturally last evening, and see whether
I can act what I then felt. She seated herself at the piano,
and began to sing, “Oh, di qual sei tu vittima.” Then,
shaking her head slowly, she murmured: “No; it doesn't
come. I must trust to the inspiration of the moment. But
it is a comfort to know they will not all be strangers.”
Mr. King took an opportunity that same day to call on
Mr. Fitzgerald. He was very haughtily received; but,
without appearing to notice it, he opened his errand by
saying, “I have come to speak with you concerning Miss
Royal.”
“All I have to say to you, sir,” replied Mr. Fitzgerald,
“is, that neither you nor any other man can induce me to
give up my pursuit of her. I will follow her wherever she
goes.”
“What possible advantage can you gain by such a
course?” inquired his visitor. “Why uselessly expose
yourself to disagreeable notoriety, which must, of course,
place Mrs. Fitzgerald in a mortifying position?”
“How do you know my perseverance would be useless?”
asked Fitzgerald. “Did she send you to tell me so?”
“She does not know of my coming,” replied Mr. King.
“I have told you that my acquaintance with Miss Royal
is very slight. But you will recollect that I met her in
the freshness of her young life, when she was surrounded
by all the ease and elegance that a father's wealth and tenderness
could bestow; and it was unavoidable that her
subsequent misfortunes should excite my sympathy. She
has never told me anything of her own history, but from
allude to them; but after suffering all she has suffered,
now that she has bravely made a stauding-place for herself,
and has such an arduous career before her, I appeal to your
sense of honor, whether it is generous, whether it is manly,
to do anything that will increase the difficulties of her
position.”
“It is presumptuous in you, sir, to come here to teach me
what is manly,” rejoined Fitzgerald.
“I merely presented the case for the verdict of your own
conscience,” answered his visitor; “but I will again take
the liberty to suggest for your consideration, that if you
persecute this unfortunate young lady with professions you
know are unwelcome, it must necessarily react in a very
unpleasant way upon your own reputation, and consequently
upon the happiness of your family.”
“You mistook your profession, sir. You should have
been a preacher,” said Fitzgerald, with a sarcastic smile.
“I presume you propose to console the lady for her misfortunes;
but let me tell you, sir, that whoever attempts to
come between me and her will do it at his peril.”
“I respect Miss Royal too much to hear her name used
in any such discussion,” replied Mr. King. “Good morning,
sir.”
“The mean Yankee!” exclaimed the Southerner, as he
looked after him. “If he were a gentleman he would
have challenged me, and I should have met him like a
gentleman; but one does n't know what to do with such
cursed Yankee preaching.”
He was in a very perturbed state of mind. Rosabella
had, in fact, made a much deeper impression on him than
any other woman had ever made. And now that he saw
on the flickering flame of his expiring passion. Her disdain
piqued his vanity, while it produced the excitement
of difficulties to be overcome. He was exasperated beyond
measure, that the beautiful woman who had depended solely
upon him should now be surrounded by protectors. And
if he could regain no other power, he was strongly tempted
to exert the power of annoyance. In some moods, he
formed wild projects of waylaying her, and carrying her
off by force. But the Yankee preaching, much as he despised
it, was not without its influence. He felt that it
would be most politic to keep on good terms with his rich
wife, who was, besides, rather agreeable to him. He concluded,
on the whole, that he would assume superiority to
the popular enthusiasm about the new prima donna; that
he would coolly criticise her singing and her acting, while
he admitted that she had many good points. It was a hard
task he undertook; for on the stage Rosabella attracted
him with irresistible power, to which was added the magnetism
of the admiring audience. After the first evening,
she avoided looking at the box where he sat; but he had
an uneasy satisfaction in the consciousness that it was impossible
she could forget he was present and watching
her.
The day after the second appearance of the Señorita
Campaneo, Mrs. Delano was surprised by another call from
the Fitzgeralds.
“Don't think we intend to persecute you,” said the little
lady. “We merely came on business. We have just
heard that you were to leave Rome very soon; but Mr.
Green seemed to think it could n't be so soon as was said.”
“Unexpected circumstances make it necessary for me to
expect to sail day after to-morrow.”
“What a pity your daughter should go without hearing
the new prima donna!” exclaimed Mrs. Fitzgerald. “She
is really a remarkable creature. Everybody says she is as
beautiful as a houri. And as for her voice, I never heard
anything like it, except the first night I spent on Mr. Fitzgerald's
plantation. There was somebody wandering about
in the garden and groves who sang just like her. Mr. Fitzgerald
didn't seem to be much struck with the voice, but I
could never forget it.”
“It was during our honeymoon,” replied her husband;
“and how could I be interested in any other voice, when I
had yours to listen to?”
His lady tapped him playfully with her parasol, saying:
“O, you flatterer! But I wish I could get a chance to
speak to this Señorita. I would ask her if she had ever
been in America.”
“I presume not,” rejoined Mr. Fitzgerald. “They say
an Italian musician heard her in Andalusia, and was so
much charmed with her voice that he adopted her and
educated her for the stage; and he named her Campaneo,
because there is such a bell-like echo in her voice sometimes.
Do you think, Mrs. Delano, that it would do your
daughter any serious injury to go with us this evening?
We have a spare ticket; and we would take excellent
care of her. If she found herself fatigued, I would attend
upon her home any time she chose to leave.”
“It would be too exciting for her nerves,” was Mrs.
Delano's laconic answer.
“The fact is,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, “Mr. Green has
told us so much about her, that we are extremely anxious
Rome, and he wishes she could join our party. I wish we
could persuade you to leave her with us. I can assure you
Mr. Fitzgerald is a most agreeable and gallant protector to
ladies. And then it is such a pity, when she is so musical,
that she should go without hearing this new prima donna.”
“Thank you,” rejoined Mrs. Delano; “but we have
become so much attached to each other's society, that I
don't think either of us could be happy separated. Since
she cannot hear this musical wonder, I shall not increase
her regrets by repeating your enthusiastic account of what
she has missed.”
“If you had been present at her début, you would n't
wonder at my enthusiasm,” replied the little lady. “Mr.
Fitzgerald is getting over the fever a little now, and undertakes
to criticise. He says she overacted her part;
that she `tore a passion to tatters,' and all that. But I
never saw him so excited as he was then. I think she
noticed it; for she fixed her glorious dark eyes directly
upon our box while she was singing several of her most
effective passages.”
“My dear,” interrupted her husband, “you are so opera-mad,
that you are forgetting the object of your call.”
“True,” replied she. “We wanted to inquire whether
you were certainly going so soon, and whether any one had
engaged these rooms. We took a great fancy to them.
What a desirable situation! So sunny! Such a fine view
of Monte Pincio and the Pope's gardens!”
“They were not engaged last evening,” answered Mrs.
Delano.
“Then you will secure them immediately, won't you,
dear?” said the lady, appealing to her spouse.
With wishes that the voyage might prove safe and
pleasant, they departed. Mrs. Delano lingered a moment
at the window, looking out upon St. Peter's and the Etruscan
Hills beyond, thinking the while how strangely the
skeins of human destiny sometimes become entangled with
each other. Yet she was unconscious of half the entanglement.
| CHAPTER XX. A romance of the republic | |