CHAPTER V.
The Italian singing-master was a peculiar man, and well worthy of afew words in description. He was tall and thin, but well built; andhis face had probably once been very handsome, in that Italian style,which, by the exaggeration of age, grows so soon into ugliness. Thenose was now large and conspicuous, the eyes bright, black, andtwinkling, the mouth good in shape, but with an animal expressionabout it, the ear very voluminous.
He was somewhat more than fifty years of age, and his hair wasspeckled with gray; but age was not apparent in wrinkles and furrows,and in gait he was firm and upright.
At first Sir Philip Hastings did not like him at all. He did not liketo have him there. It was against the grain he admitted him into thehouse. He did it, partly because he thought it right to yield in somedegree to the wishes of his wife; partly from a grudging deference tothe customs of society.
But the Signor was a shrewd and world-taught man, accustomed toovercome prejudices, and to make his way against disadvantages; and hesoon established himself well in the opinion of both father andmother. It was done by a peculiar process, which is well worth theconsideration of all those who seek _les moyens de parvenir_.
In his general and ordinary intercourse with his fellow-men, he had ahappy middle tone,--a grave reticent manner, which never compromisedhim to anything. A shrewd smile, without an elucidatory remark, servedto harmonize him with the gay and vivacious; a serious tranquillity,unaccompanied by any public professions, was enough to make the soberand the decent rank him amongst themselves. Perhaps that class ofmen--whether pure at heart or not--have always overestimated decencyof exterior.
All this was in public however. In private, in a _t?te-?-t?te_, SignorGuardini was a very different man. Nay more, in each and every_t?te-?-t?te_ he was a different man from what he appeared in the other.Yet, with a marvelous art, he contrived to make both sides of hisapparent character harmonize with his public and open appearance. Orrather perhaps I should say that his public demeanor was a middle tintwhich served to harmonize the opposite extremes of coloring displayedby his character. Nothing could exemplify this more strongly than thedifferent impressions he produced on Sir Philip and Lady Hastings. Thelady was soon won to his side. She was predisposed to favor him; and afew light gay sallies, a great deal of conventional talk about thefashionable life of London, and a cheerful bantering tone ofpersiflage, completely charmed her. Sir Philip was more difficult towin. Nevertheless, in a few short sentences, hardly longer than thosewhich Sterne's mendicant whispered in the ear of the passengers, hesucceeded in disarming many prejudices. With him, the Signor was astoic; he had some tincture of letters, though a singer, and had readsufficient of the history of his own land, to have caught all thesalient points of the glorious past.
Perhaps he might even feel a certain interest in the antecedents ofhis decrepit land--not to influence his conduct, or to plant ambitiousor nourish pure and high hopes for its regeneration--but to waken asort of touchwood enthusiasm, which glowed brightly when fanned by thestronger powers of others. Yet before Sir Philip had had time tocommunicate to him one spark of his own ardor, he had as I have saidmade great progress in his esteem. In five minutes' conversation hehad established for himself the character of one of a higher andnobler character whose lot had fallen in evil days.
"In other years," thought the English gentleman, "this might have beena great man--the defender unto death of his country's rights--theadvocate of all that is ennobling, stern, and grand."
What was the secret of all this? Simply that he, a man almost withoutcharacter, had keen and well-nigh intuitive perceptions of thecharacters of others; and that without difficulty his pliable natureand easy principles would accommodate themselves to all.
He made great progress then in the regard of Sir Philip, althoughtheir conversations seldom lasted above five minutes. He made greaterprogress still with the mother. But with the daughter he madenone--worse than none.
What was the cause, it may be asked. What did he do or say--how did hedemean himself so as to produce in her bosom a feeling of horror anddisgust toward him that nothing could remove?
I cannot tell. He was a man of strong passions and no principles: thathis after--perhaps his previous--life would evince. There is atouchstone for pure gold in the heart of an innocent and high-mindedwoman that detects all baser metals: they are discovered in a moment:they cannot stand the test.
Now, whether his heart-cankering corruption, his want of faith,honesty, and truth, made themselves felt, and were pointed out by theindex of that fine barometer, without any overt act at all--or whetherhe gave actual cause of offense, I do not know--none has ever known.
Suddenly, however, the gay, the apparently somewhat wayward girl, nowbetween fifteen and sixteen, assumed a new character in her father'sand mother's eyes. With a strange frank abruptness she told them shewould take no more singing lessons of the Italian; but she added noexplanation.
Lady Hastings was angry, and expostulated warmly; but the girl wasfirm and resolute. She heard her mother's argument, and answered insoft and humble tones that she would not,--could not learn to sing anylonger--that she was very sorry to grieve or to offend her mother; butshe had learned long enough, and would learn no more.
More angry than before, with the air of indignant pride in whichweakness so often takes refuge, the mother quitted the room; and thefather then, in a calmer spirit, inquired the cause of her resolution.
She blushed like the early morning sky; but there was a sort ofbewildered look upon her face as she replied, "I know no cause--I cangive no reason, my dear father; but the man is hateful to me. I willnever see him again."
Her father sought for farther explanation, but he could obtain none.Guardini had not said anything nor done anything, she admitted, togive her offense; but yet she firmly refused to be his pupil anylonger.
There are instincts in fine and delicate minds, which, by signs andindications intangible to coarser natures discover in others thoughtsand feelings, wishes and designs, discordant--repugnant to themselves.They are instincts, I say, not amenable to reason, escaping analysis,incapable of explanation--the warning voice of God in the heart,bidding them beware of evil.
Sir Philip Hastings was not a man to allow aught for such impulses--toconceive or understand them in the least. He had been accustomed todelude himself with reasons, some just, others very much the reverse,but he had never done a deed or entertained a thought for which hecould not give some reason of convincing power to his own mind.
He did not understand his daughter's conduct at all; but he would notpress her any farther. She was in some degree a mysterious being tohim. Indeed, as I have before shown, she had always been a mystery;for he had no key to her character in his own. It was written in theunknown language.
Yet, did he love or cherish her the less? Oh no! Perhaps a deeperinterest gathered round his heart for her, the chief object of hisaffections. More strongly than ever he determined to cultivate andform her mind on his own model, in consequence of what he called astrange caprice, although he could not but sometimes hope and fancythat her resolute rejection of any farther lessons from SignorGuardini arose from her distaste to what he himself considered one ofthe frivolous pursuits of fashion.
Yet she showed no distaste for singing: for somehow every day shewould practice eagerly, till her sweet voice, under a delicate taste,acquired a flexibility and power which charmed and captivated herfather, notwithstanding his would-be cynicism. He was naturally fondof music; his nature was a vehement one, though curbed by such strongrestraints; and all vehement natures are much moved by music. Hewould sit calmly, with his eyes fixed upon a book, but listening allthe time to that sweet voice, with feelings working in him--emotions,thrilling, deep, intense, which he would have felt ashamed to exposeto any human eye.
All this however made her conduct toward Guardini the more mysterious;and her father often gazed upon her beautiful face with a look ofdoubting inquiry, as one may look on the surface of a
bright lake, andask, What is below?
That face was now indeed becoming very beautiful. Every feature hadbeen refined and softened by time. There was soul in the eyes, and agleam of heaven upon the smile, besides the mere beauties of line andcoloring. The form too had nearly reached perfection. It was full ofsymmetry and grace, and budding charms; and while the mother markedall these attractions, and thought how powerful they would prove inthe world, the father felt their influence in a different manner: witha sort of abstract admiration of her loveliness, which went, nofarther than a proud acknowledgment to his own heart that she wasbeautiful indeed. To him her beauty was as a gem, a picture, abeautiful possession, which he had no thought of ever partingwith--something on which his eyes would rest well pleased until theyclosed forever. How blessed he might have been in the possession ofsuch a child could he have comprehended her--could he have divestedhis mind of the idea that there was something strange and inharmoniousin her character! Could he have made his heart a woman's heart for butone hour, all mystery would have been dispelled; but it wasimpossible, and it remained.
No tangible effect did it produce at the time; but preconceptions ofanother's character are very dangerous things. Everything is seenthrough their medium, everything is colored and often distorted. Thatwhich produced no fruit at the time, had very important results at anafter period.
But I must turn now to other scenes and more stirring events, having Itrust made the reader well enough acquainted with father, mother, anddaughter, at least sufficiently for all the purposes of this tale. Itis upon the characters of two of them that all the interest if therebe any depends. Let them be marked then and remembered, if the readerwould derive pleasure from what follows.
The Man in Black: An Historical Novel of the Days of Queen Anne Page 5