CHAPTER I.
About a century ago, there lived in the ancient city of Pisa a famousItalian milliner, who, by way of vindicating to all customers herfamiliarity with Paris fashions, adopted a French title, and calledherself the Demoiselle Grifoni. She was a wizen little woman with amischievous face, a quick tongue, a nimble foot, a talent for business,and an uncertain disposition. Rumor hinted that she was immensely rich,and scandal suggested that she would do anything for money.
The one undeniable good quality which raised Demoiselle Grifoni aboveall her rivals in the trade was her inexhaustible fortitude. She wasnever known to yield an inch under any pressure of adverse circumstances.Thus the memorable occasion of her life on which she was threatened withruin was also the occasion on which she most triumphantly asserted theenergy and decision of her character. At the height of the demoiselle'sprosperity her skilled forewoman and cutter-out basely married andstarted in business as her rival. Such a calamity as this would haveruined an ordinary milliner; but the invincible Grifoni rose superiorto it almost without an effort, and proved incontestably that it wasimpossible for hostile Fortune to catch her at the end of her resources.While the minor milliners were prophesying that she would shut up shop,she was quietly carrying on a private correspondence with an agent inParis. Nobody knew what these letters were about until a few weeks hadelapsed, and then circulars were received by all the ladies in Pisa,announcing that the best French forewoman who could be got for moneywas engaged to superintend the great Grifoni establishment. Thismaster-stroke decided the victory. All the demoiselle's customersdeclined giving orders elsewhere until the forewoman from Paris hadexhibited to the natives of Pisa the latest fashions from the metropolisof the world of dress.
The Frenchwoman arrived punctual to the appointed day--glib and curt,smiling and flippant, tight of face and supple of figure. Her name wasMademoiselle Virginie, and her family had inhumanly deserted her. Shewas set to work the moment she was inside the doors of the Grifoniestablishment. A room was devoted to her own private use; magnificentmaterials in velvet, silk, and satin, with due accompaniment of muslins,laces, and ribbons were placed at her disposal; she was told to spare noexpense, and to produce, in the shortest possible time, the finest andnearest specimen dresses for exhibition in the show-room. MademoiselleVirginie undertook to do everything required of her, produced herportfolios of patterns and her book of colored designs, and asked forone assistant who could speak French enough to interpret her orders tothe Italian girls in the work-room.
"I have the very person you want," cried Demoiselle Grifoni. "Awork-woman we call Brigida here--the idlest slut in Pisa, but as sharpas a needle--has been in France, and speaks the language like a native.I'll send her to you directly."
Mademoiselle Virginie was not left long alone with her patterns andsilks. A tall woman, with bold black eyes, a reckless manner, and astep as firm as a man's, stalked into the room with the gait of atragedy-queen crossing the stage. The instant her eyes fell on theFrench forewoman, she stopped, threw up her hands in astonishment, andexclaimed, "Finette!"
"Teresa!" cried the Frenchwoman, casting her scissors on the table, andadvancing a few steps.
"Hush! call me Brigida."
"Hush! call me Virginie."
These two exclamations were uttered at the same moment, and then thetwo women scrutinized each other in silence. The swarthy cheeks ofthe Italian turned to a dull yellow, and the voice of the Frenchwomantrembled a little when she spoke again.
"How, in the name of Heaven, have you dropped down in the world as lowas this?" she asked. "I thought you were provided for when--"
"Silence!" interrupted Brigida. "You see I was not provided for. I havehad my misfortunes; and you are the last woman alive who ought to referto them."
"Do you think I have not had my misfortunes, too, since we met?"(Brigida's face brightened maliciously at those words.) "You have hadyour revenge," continued Mademoiselle Virginie, coldly, turning away tothe table and taking up the scissors again.
Brigida followed her, threw one arm roughly round her neck, and kissedher on the cheek. "Let us be friends again," she said. The Frenchwomanlaughed. "Tell me how I have had my revenge," pursued the other,tightening her grasp. Mademoiselle Virginie signed to Brigida to stoop,and whispered rapidly in her ear. The Italian listened eagerly, withfierce, suspicious eyes fixed on the door. When the whispering ceased,she loosened her hold, and, with a sigh of relief, pushed back her heavyblack hair from her temples. "Now we are friends," she said, and satdown indolently in a chair placed by the worktable.
"Friends," repeated Mademoiselle Virginie, with another laugh. "And nowfor business," she continued, getting a row of pins ready for use byputting them between her teeth. "I am here, I believe, for the purposeof ruining the late forewoman, who has set up in opposition to us? Good!I _will_ ruin her. Spread out the yellow brocaded silk, my dear, andpin that pattern on at your end, while I pin at mine. And what are yourplans, Brigida? (Mind you don't forget that Finette is dead, and thatVirginie has risen from her ashes.) You can't possibly intend to stophere all your life? (Leave an inch outside the paper, all round.) Youmust have projects? What are they?"
"Look at my figure," said Brigida, placing herself in an attitude in themiddle of the room.
"Ah," rejoined the other, "it's not what it was. There's too much of it.You want diet, walking, and a French stay-maker," muttered MademoiselleVirginie through her chevaus-defrise of pins.
"Did the goddess Minerva walk, and employ a French stay-maker? Ithought she rode upon clouds, and lived at a period before waists wereinvented."
"What do you mean?"
"This--that my present project is to try if I can't make my fortune bysitting as a model for Minerva in the studio of the best sculptor inPisa."
"And who is he! (Unwind me a yard or two of that black lace.)"
"The master-sculptor, Luca Lomi--an old family, once noble, but down inthe world now. The master is obliged to make statues to get a living forhis daughter and himself."
"More of the lace--double it over the bosom of the dress. And how issitting to this needy sculptor to make your fortune?"
"Wait a minute. There are other sculptors besides him in the studio.There is, first, his brother, the priest--Father Rocco, who passes allhis spare time with the master. He is a good sculptor in his way--hascast statues and made a font for his church--a holy man, who devotes allhis work in the studio to the cause of piety."
"Ah, bah! we should think him a droll priest in France. (More pins.) Youdon't expect _him_ to put money in your pocket, surely?"
"Wait, I say again. There is a third sculptor in the studio--actuallya nobleman! His name is Fabio d'Ascoli. He is rich, young, handsome,an only child, and little better than a fool. Fancy his working atsculpture, as if he had his bread to get by it--and thinking that anamusement! Imagine a man belonging to one of the best families in Pisamad enough to want to make a reputation as an artist! Wait! wait!the best is to come. His father and mother are dead--he has no nearrelations in the world to exercise authority over him--he is a bachelor,and his fortune is all at his own disposal; going a-begging, my friend;absolutely going a-begging for want of a clever woman to hold out herhand and take it from him."
"Yes, yes--now I understand. The goddess Minerva is a clever woman, andshe will hold out her hand and take his fortune from him with the utmostdocility."
"The first thing is to get him to offer it. I must tell you that I amnot going to sit to him, but to his master, Luca Lomi, who is doing thestatue of Minerva. The face is modeled from his daughter; and now hewants somebody to sit for the bust and arms. Maddalena Lomi and I areas nearly as possible the same height, I hear--the difference between usbeing that I have a good figure and she has a bad one. I have offeredto sit, through a friend who is employed in the studio. If the masteraccepts, I am sure of an introduction to our rich young gentleman; andthen leave it to my good looks, my various accomplishments, and my readytongue, to do the rest."
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nbsp; "Stop! I won't have the lace doubled, on second thoughts. I'll have itsingle, and running all round the dress in curves--so. Well, and who isthis friend of yours employed in the studio? A fourth sculptor?"
"No, no; the strangest, simplest little creature--"
Just then a faint tap was audible at the door of the room.
Brigida laid her finger on her lips, and called impatiently to theperson outside to come in.
The door opened gently, and a young girl, poorly but very neatlydressed, entered the room. She was rather thin and under the averageheight; but her head and figure were in perfect proportion. Her hair wasof that gorgeous auburn color, her eyes of that deep violet-blue, whichthe portraits of Giorgione and Titian have made famous as the type ofVenetian beauty. Her features possessed the definiteness and regularity,the "good modeling" (to use an artist's term), which is the rarest ofall womanly charms, in Italy as elsewhere. The one serious defect ofher face was its paleness. Her cheeks, wanting nothing in form, wantedeverything in color. That look of health, which is the essentialcrowning-point of beauty, was the one attraction which her face did notpossess.
She came into the room with a sad and weary expression in hereyes, which changed, however, the moment she observed themagnificently-dressed French forewoman, into a look of astonishment,and almost of awe. Her manner became shy and embarrassed; and after aninstant of hesitation, she turned back silently to the door.
"Stop, stop, Nanina," said Brigida, in Italian. "Don't be afraid of thatlady. She is our new forewoman; and she has it in her power to do allsorts of kind things for you. Look up, and tell us what you want. Youwere sixteen last birthday, Nanina, and you behave like a baby of twoyears old!"
"I only came to know if there was any work for me to-day," said thegirl, in a very sweet voice, that trembled a little as she tried to facethe fashionable French forewoman again.
"No work, child, that is easy enough for you to do," said Brigida. "Areyou going to the studio to-day?"
Some of the color that Nanina's cheeks wanted began to steal over themas she answered "Yes."
"Don't forget my message, darling. And if Master Luca Lomi asks where Ilive, answer that you are ready to deliver a letter to me; but that youare forbidden to enter into any particulars at first about who I am, orwhere I live."
"Why am I forbidden?" inquired Nanina, innocently.
"Don't ask questions, baby! Do as you are told. Bring me back a nicenote or message to-morrow from the studio, and I will intercede withthis lady to get you some work. You are a foolish child to want it, whenyou might make more money here and at Florence, by sitting to paintersand sculptors; though what they can see to paint or model in you I nevercould understand."
"I like working at home better than going abroad to sit," said Nanina,looking very much abashed as she faltered out the answer, and escapingfrom the room with a terrified farewell obeisance, which was aneccentric compound of a start, a bow, and a courtesy.
"That awkward child would be pretty," said Mademoiselle Virginie, makingrapid progress with the cutting-out of her dress, "if she knew how togive herself a complexion, and had a presentable gown on her back. Whois she?"
"The friend who is to get me into Master Luca Lomi's studio," repliedBrigida, laughing. "Rather a curious ally for me to take up with, isn'tshe?"
"Where did you meet with her?"
"Here, to be sure; she hangs about this place for any plain work she canget to do, and takes it home to the oddest little room in a street nearthe Campo Santo. I had the curiosity to follow her one day, and knockedat her door soon after she had gone in, as if I was a visitor. Sheanswered my knock in a great flurry and fright, as you may imagine. Imade myself agreeable, affected immense interest in her affairs, and sogot into her room. Such a place! A mere corner of it curtained off tomake a bedroom. One chair, one stool, one saucepan on the fire. Beforethe hearth the most grotesquely hideous unshaven poodle-dog you eversaw; and on the stool a fair little girl plaiting dinner-mats. Such wasthe household--furniture and all included. 'Where is your father?' Iasked. 'He ran away and left us years ago,' answers my awkward littlefriend who has just left the room, speaking in that simple way of hers,with all the composure in the world. 'And your mother?'--'Dead.' Shewent up to the little mat-plaiting girl as she gave that answer, andbegan playing with her long flaxen hair. 'Your sister, I suppose,' saidI. 'What is her name?'--'They call me La Biondella,' says the child,looking up from her mat (La Biondella, Virginie, means The Fair). 'Andwhy do you let that great, shaggy, ill-looking brute lie before yourfireplace?' I asked. 'Oh!' cried the little mat-plaiter, 'that is ourdear old dog, Scarammuccia. He takes care of the house when Nanina isnot at home. He dances on his hind legs, and jumps through a hoop, andtumbles down dead when I cry Bang! Scarammuccia followed us home onenight, years ago, and he has lived with us ever since. He goes out everyday by himself, we can't tell where, and generally returns licking hischops, which makes us afraid that he is a thief; but nobody finds himout, because he is the cleverest dog that ever lived!' The child ran onin this way about the great beast by the fireplace, till I was obligedto stop her; while that simpleton Nanina stood by, laughing andencouraging her. I asked them a few more questions, which produced somestrange answers. They did not seem to know of any relations of theirsin the world. The neighbors in the house had helped them, after theirfather ran away, until they were old enough to help themselves; andthey did not seem to think there was anything in the least wretched orpitiable in their way of living. The last thing I heard, when I leftthem that day, was La Biondella crying 'Bang!'--then a bark, a thumpon the floor, and a scream of laughter. If it was not for their dog, Ishould go and see them oftener. But the ill-conditioned beast has takena dislike to me, and growls and shows his teeth whenever I come nearhim."
"The girl looked sickly when she came in here. Is she always like that?"
"No. She has altered within the last month. I suspect our interestingyoung nobleman has produced an impression. The oftener the girl has satto him lately, the paler and more out of spirits she has become."
"Oh! she has sat to him, has she?"
"She is sitting to him now. He is doing a bust of some Pagan nymph orother, and prevailed on Nanina to let him copy from her head and face.According to her own account the little fool was frightened at first,and gave him all the trouble in the world before she would consent."
"And now she has consented, don't you think it likely she may turn outrather a dangerous rival? Men are such fools, and take such fancies intotheir heads--"
"Ridiculous! A thread-paper of a girl like that, who has no manner, notalk, no intelligence; who has nothing to recommend her but an awkward,babyish prettiness! Dangerous to me? No, no! If there is danger at all,I have to dread it from the sculptor's daughter. I don't mind confessingthat I am anxious to see Maddalena Lomi. But as for Nanina, she willsimply be of use to me. All I know already about the studio and theartists in it, I know through her. She will deliver my message, andprocure me my introduction; and when we have got so far, I shall giveher an old gown and a shake of the hand; and then, good-by to our littleinnocent!"
"Well, well, for your sake I hope you are the wiser of the two in thismatter. For my part, I always distrust innocence. Wait one moment, andI shall have the body and sleeves of this dress ready for theneedle-women. There, ring the bell, and order them up; for I havedirections to give, and you must interpret for me."
While Brigida went to the bell, the energetic Frenchwoman began planningout the skirt of the new dress. She laughed as she measured off yardafter yard of the silk.
"What are you laughing about?" asked Brigida, opening the door andringing a hand-bell in the passage.
"I can't help fancying, dear, in spite of her innocent face and herartless ways, that your young friend is a hypocrite."
"And I am quite certain, love, that she is only a simpleton."
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