by Felix Salten
He spoke with great excitement, a note of anger lurking in his words; but he made no attempt to get closer. He turned to Claudia’s two young female servants as he spoke, and to the fat old mulatto who was standing beside the Moorish boy, and then glanced round the studio expectantly to see what impression his offer had produced.
“Aren’t you going to stop blustering and swaggering about like a mountebank, you lout?” exclaimed Claudia, turning to him with an impatient laugh. She was now standing behind Bandini’s easel.
“Come, Claudia,” said Bandini when silence had been restored, “your way of addressing Peretti is new to me.”
“It is not my way, but his,” laughed Claudia. “It’s the way which suits him; it is only what he deserves.”
Bandini smiled.
“Yes,” Claudia went on gravely and simply, “ever since he was a child the fellow has always been addressed as my lord this and my lord that, and may it please your lordship, and heaven knows what other tomfoolery. . . . It is too ridiculous . . . an idiot like him! It’s high time he learned that he is a blockhead, a booby, an absolute buffoon and nothing else. He must be told it once and for all. The information is long overdue. . . . Oh, you leave it to me, Bandini, he is only getting what he deserves.”
“Oh, I’m not objecting,” replied Bandini with a smile.
“No! That’s all right!” cried Claudia in high glee.
“Do you suppose he does not know he is only getting what he deserves?” she asked presently in grave, eager tones. “And he takes it well from me. He likes it. The fool does not understand what I mean, and that’s why he enjoys it. A man like him imagines he is something quite different, if you please—above everything and everybody!”
Peretti gave a derisive laugh.
“Hush!” cried Claudia angrily. “You have no idea, Bandini,” she continued, “what liberties a fellow like that has the impudence and presumption to take! The things he has done already! Oh, it’s not the least bit of good calling him a blockhead, a lout, an idiot and God knows what else. He should be made to feel—yes, feel—that there is someone stronger, than he is. Good heavens! if only some man could come along—some man who would knock him down with one blow!”
Lucas was twitching with longing to fulfill the wish of the fair Claudia on the spot. He was seized with a mad courage, a blessed madness. As he sprang to his feet his drawing-board fell to the ground with a crash. He almost fell down himself. But he came to his senses almost immediately. Claudia had looked at him!
Standing between the two maids, Peretti was laughing coarsely and winking at the mulatto.
“Well, did you hear what I said, Bandini,” he cried quite unconcerned, “I’ll buy that picture. . . .”
Once again Bandini allowed a few moments to elapse, and then in calm and distant tones, replied: “The picture belongs to his Grace the Archduke.”
“Oh really!” interposed Claudia gleefully. “That woman there on the triumphal car—Victory or whoever she is—the more I look at her—surely she’s meant for me!”
“Certainly,” replied Bandini, “she is not unlike you in many ways. . . .”
“From memory!” Claudia exclaimed in astonishment. “Did you actually paint me from memory?”
“Of course!”
“How lovely to think that you remember me so well!” she continued with a sweet smile. “How delightful of you, Bandini. But—why didn’t you send for me? Wouldn’t that have been better?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“I did not need you.”
Claudia’s gentle laugh rippled through the room. “But how silly of you, Bandini. You wanted to paint me, and yet you did not need me . . . no, really, Bandini, you are silly although you are such a dear! So you did not need me . . . can you explain that to me?
“No!”
“You see, you can’t even explain it to me. And why not?”
“Because you would not understand, Claudia.”
“But explain it all the same,” she begged, suddenly dropping into caressing tones, and imploring him humbly and gently. “Please do, I shan’t leave you a moment’s peace until you have explained.”
“I wanted, Claudia, to paint you as you might be,” was Bandini’s mild rejoinder. “That is why I did not need you, that is why I did not wish to have you here in person. Do you understand?”
Claudia hesitated. “I . . . don’t know,” she replied. “I hate that picture!” she added with a sudden revulsion of feeling.
Bandini took no notice of the remark. He continued calmly, “But I should like to paint a study of you now, and your visit happens to be extremely opportune.”
“Really?” cried Claudia, recovering her good cheer. “Do you want to paint me? How lovely! Do you really want to paint me? Now at once?”
“I want to paint your bust,” replied Bandini. “So will you be so good as to undress?”
“Peppina! Carletta!” cried Claudia excitedly, and began hurriedly trying to unfasten her tight-fitting bodice.
The maids came forward and Peretti with them. “Oh,” he said with a laugh, “if you want to paint Claudia’s bust you must ask my permission and allow me to be present!”
“Am I your slave, Alessandro,” exclaimed Claudia, drawing herself up.
“But I must be present!” stammered Peretti, taken aback by her haughtiness.
“You will just go into the garden while I’m sitting,” replied Claudia, “and you will take Caligula and Hassan with you,” she added, pointing to the mulatto and the Moor. “Please be quick!” she whispered to Peppina and Carletta, who were unfastening her dress, and she took no further notice of Peretti.
Peretti was seething with indignation. “But surely I must be present!” he protested, turning his sledgehammer chin to Bandini as if he would fain crush the artist to powder.
The Maestro returned his look. “There are only workers in this studio,” he replied gently, “and no spectators.”
“But I—” roared Peretti, interrupting him.
“You will go into the garden,” said Bandini, as if he had not heard his last remark, “and you will take those two fellows with you.”
While his voice sounded soft and indifferent, his brown eyes flashed forth a command which brooked no resistance.
Peretti turned sharply round. “Come along, Caligula,” he hissed to the old mulatto. “Go ahead, Hassan!” And giving the little Moor a kick, he looked round for the door. “To hell with the lot of them!” he muttered under his breath. “As far as I am concerned,” he added a little louder, “they can all go to hell!” As he passed Captain Ercole who was leaning back in his arm-chair looking at him, he roared: “I don’t care a straw!” and banged the glass door with a crash behind him.
Claudia, stripped to the waist, had taken her stand on the little platform. There had been no need to tell her what to do; she had immediately assumed the attitude of the figure in the picture. Peppina and Carletta were sitting on the steps of the platform, singing a song to the strains of a lute and chattering together as Bandini painted.
Lucas held his drawing-board motionless on his knees. He was blind to everything except Claudia’s shining golden head, and her slightly raised figure. The minutes flew by. He did not notice Bandini step back from his easel, or little Giuseppe dash forward to pick up the brushes the artist had flung aside and set to work to wash them. All he knew was that Claudia was stretching out her arms, and relaxing her body, her breast heaving as she breathed.
“Who is that stranger over there? I do not know him,” she said. Lucas did not understand that she was referring to him, and was conscious only of the melody of her sweet, proud voice. But a moment later he heard himself being called by name, and started up terrified.
“Lucas!” cried Bandini.
He stood up, but seemed to be rooted to the spot.
Again he heard, “Lucas!” and Bandini made a friendly sign to him. He staggered forward, pale as death, his eyes still fixed on Claudia. “This is Lucas Grassi,” said Bandini. “He hasn’t been with me very long, but we are very good friends.”
Lucas felt encouraged by the words which enabled him to meet more steadily the scrutiny of Claudia’s dazzling blue eyes.
“He is still a stranger here in Florence,” Bandini continued. “I hand him over to your charge, Claudia.”
She stepped down with a smile from the platform and stood so close to Lucas that he could breathe in the fragrance of her neck and shoulders.
“Why he’s a mere boy,” she murmured softly.
Her maids dressed her, while Bandini watched the scene with folded arms. Lucas did not stir.
“I hope you will all dine with me to-night,” said Claudia, as her maids fastened her bodice. “Will you come too, Lucas Grassi?”
She waited a moment for a reply, “Why, he doesn’t even answer,” she said, in scoffing tones, turning to Bandini.
“Oh, he’ll come,” Bandini replied with a smile. “He answered you all right, and you read his answer quite plainly.”
She shrugged her shoulders and turned away. Then going up to Bandini, she stopped, threw her arms round his neck and whispered shyly, “I suppose I mayn’t hope that you will come yourself?”
“To-night I have to be at the Palace,” he replied courteously, meeting her gaze with calm composure.
She bowed her head, but immediately raised her face to his. “Good-bye,” she said, very softly, and waited.
Bending down to her, Bandini kissed her on the mouth, and she quickly left the studio.
The cherub immediately busied himself about the place. Ercole da Moreno had gone out with Claudia, and Rossellino had also vanished. Lucas, back in his place again, was holding his drawing-board on his knee and gazing into space.
Bandini, who was pacing slowly up and down, suddenly came to a standstill in front of him. “Where is brother Serafio?” he enquired, pointing to the monk’s empty chair.
Lucas had to think a moment before he could remember. “He left when . . . when Monna Claudia came in,” he replied.
“As usual,” Bandini observed with a nod, “of course I had forgotten.”
“That he had to go?” cried Lucas. He did not understand.
Bandini gazed into the distance. “Yes, he has to go when she comes. . . . She is his sister.”
“His sister?” cried Lucas, staring at the Maestro.
Bandini turned away, and began pacing up and down again. Lucas was thinking of the monk, and suddenly felt unaccountably drawn to him.
“Listen, Lucas,” said Bandini, coming up to him, and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, my son . . . what is the matter with you?”
Lucas jumped to his feet and returned Bandini’s gaze without flinching. He did not understand what he meant, and waited in silent expectation.
“You are a most zealous pupil, Lucas,” continued Bandini kindly, though there was a touch of severity underlying his words. “You learn quickly and easily; your eyes are good and your hands are skillful. . . . I suppose I ought to be pleased with you. . . .”
Lucas closed his eyes and smiled, as though he were being stroked.
“What’s more, you seem to be a good fellow,” Bandini went on, “and yet you stop away so often and one sees nothing of you. You disappear! You are here one day and work hard, and one imagines that you are pleased to be allowed to come, and then the next day you are absent again.”
Lucas hid his face in his hands.
“What is the matter with you?” Bandini repeated. “What do you do with yourself? What am I to think?”
Lucas groaned. His shoulders heaved, as if shaken by a sob, which he held in and stifled. Bandini waited a moment.
“Can’t you tell me?” he asked tentatively after a while.
Lucas shook his head.
Bandini gazed at him for some moments. “Very well,” he said, “very well, it is a secret. You do not strike me as being a fellow who would be up to silly larks . . . and still less would you be capable of anything mean,” he added in lower tones.
Quickly taking his hands from his face, Lucas looked into Bandini’s eyes. “I can’t tell you,” he muttered, “not today anyhow. . . .” He was pale as death.
Bandini gazed into his agonized face and into the depths of his imploring eyes. “All right,” he said, nodding kindly, “don’t worry, my son. I sha’n’t ask any more questions.”
And he withdrew.
• • •
On the great square in front of the monastery of San Marco Lucas chanced to pass the osteria where he often spent his evenings with the other students. His footsteps had led him that way from sheer force of habit. The conversation with Bandini had perturbed him so much that he had left the studio quite unable to think clearly and had abandoned himself to despair without a struggle.
Ercole da Moreno and Pietro Rossellino were sitting together on a bench in front of the osteria. On a flap let down between them stood some bottles of wine and some glasses.
“Now then, don’t pass us by with your head in the clouds!” cried the Captain.
At the sound of the gruff cheery voice, Lucas looked up and stopped just in front of Ercole. With a sense of relief he awoke from his reverie and for the first time it came home to him what torture his solitude had been.
“Have a drink!” said Ercole kindly, proffering a glass of wine. Lucas looked at him. His ruddy face, full of courage and good cheer, on which the hand of time had left its mark, though it was still fresh and vigorous, the severity of his features, particularly of his white mustache and his bushy white eyebrows, and his mild and gentle smile—this face, so eloquent of friendship and simple trust and confidence, soothed and comforted Lucas. Taking the glass he drained the contents at one gulp.
“So you are going to Claudia today?” said Ercole.
The sound of the name was like a fresh breath of life to Lucas.
“But I don’t know where she lives,” he replied.
Pietro Rossellino shrugged his shoulders derisively.
“Any child could show you the way,” he observed.
“We are all going to her place,” added Ercole with a laugh, “so come along with us.” He hummed a melody under his breath.
The immediate prospect of seeing Claudia again suddenly filled Lucas with fresh courage and hope and he felt convinced that the day would surely come when he would be free and his real self again forever. The conviction once more took a firm grip on his mind.
“Who is Claudia?” he asked. “I do not know her.”
“Claudia is Claudia,” growled Pietro Rossellino.
The Captain stopped humming. “You saw today who she is,” he replied slowly, turning his flashing eyes to Lucas. “Besides, you’ve only to set eyes on her to know at once who she is, haven’t you?”
Pietro Rossellino gave a short laugh and threw his head back. “Claudia can do as she likes. All her sins will be atoned for over there,” he added, pointing to the monastery across the square.
“Over there?”
“Of course! Brother Serafio, who sits next to you—but don’t you know?”
“She is his sister,” replied Lucas. “What else is there to know?”
“He went into the monastery for her sake,” replied Rossellino in sullen, serious tones. “On the very day that Claudia became a courtesan!”
The Captain sprang to his feet. “You low, coarse brute, Rossellino,” he exclaimed in his rich, deep bass. “You are a boor, and a boor you will remain to the end of your days.” He stared hard at Rossellino. “Do you know what Serafio said when he went into the monastery? He said ‘I must get into the other side of the scales!’ Do you understand what that means?”
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br /> “And why should I not understand?” replied Rossellino, wiping the wine from his lips, his head on one side.
“Because you are a boor,” said the Captain calmly. “A good fellow, but a boor. What a fine chap that Serafio is! He used always to sit by me, over there in the studio and here in the osteria and heaven knows where else! Whether he was at work, drinking, or in the company of women, he always had fire, youth—he was splendid! And then, when that business with his sister happened, he said, ‘I must get into the other side of the scales.’ I asked him what he meant and he said, ‘It can’t go on like this. We can’t both have a good time, both my sister and I.’ ‘Why not, Tonio?’ I asked. ‘Why should not both of you have a good time?’ ‘Not in that way!’ he replied. ‘What one enjoys the other must pay for. It can’t be helped, I saw that at once!’ He had suddenly changed, as though his light had gone out, and he was shut up inside himself like a tower. ‘She must live a life for us both,’ he said, ‘and I will serve God for us both.’ And on the next day he was over there.” Ercole pointed to the monastery. His face was aflame, his lips smiled under his white mustache. “Fine!” he cried, turning to Lucas. “Fine, wasn’t it?” Then, gazing into the distance, he added, “But Tonio was mistaken. There is no need for anyone to atone for Claudia. Even so it was a fine idea all the same!”
“But, after all,” he continued, his face lighting up, “it is better to have no sister, and to enjoy oneself with other people’s sisters! Eh? Let’s go to Claudia!”
And they sauntered slowly along through the streets in the twilight as the full moon rose in the clear evening sky. Ercole da Moreno was singing softly to himself.
Claudia’s house stood in a narrow, quiet and deserted little street. They knocked at the door and as they stood waiting outside they could hear the din of voices, the clatter of crockery, and the sound of laughter mingling with the music. From the dim twilight of the badly lighted hall they entered the dining-room, which was a blaze of candlelight. Lucas saw the gleaming white stretch of table as it were through a veil, and the various figures round it seemed just as dim. But when his eyes fell on Claudia, he was spellbound. She was seated in a great thronelike chair, upholstered in red velvet, with gold borders. Her silk dress which left her shoulders bare was a dark blue. A large sapphire hung from the golden chain about her neck, and lay sparkling on her bare breast.