A Siren

by Thomas Adolphus Trollope

  CHAPTER V

  After-thoughts

  The Marchese Lamberto and Signor Ercole Stadione quitted the house inwhich the prima donna had her lodging, together, when the businessmatters, which they had come thither to arrange, had been settled.

  "A wonderful woman, Signor Marchese," said the little impresario,trotting along with short steps by the side of the Marchese, and risingon his toes in a springy manner, that made his walk resemble that of acock-sparrow. "Truly a wonderful woman. I have seen and known a many inmy day, Signor Marchese, as you are well aware, sir; but such an one asthat, such an out-and-outer, I never saw before."

  "She is evidently a lady, whose education and manners entitle her to betreated with all respect," replied the Marchese, more drily, the littleman thought, than his great patron was usually in the habit ofaddressing him, and somewhat quickening his stride at the same time, asif he wanted to walk away from the impresario.

  "Most undoubtedly, Signor Marchese, and every sort of respectfultreatment she shall have. There shall be a stove and a new looking-glassput into her dressing-room this very day. If she don't draw, say ErcoleStadione knows nothing about it. A very singular thing it is, SignorMarchese,--and you must have observed it, Signor, as well as I,--there'ssome women whose singing, let 'em sing as well as they will, is thesmallest part of their value in filling a theatre. There's no sayingwhat it is, but they draw--Lord bless you, as a bit of salt will drawthe cattle after it! And this Lalli is one of that sort. I know 'em,when I see 'em. Won't she draw, that's all!" said the little man again,rubbing his hands together, and chuckling with infinite glee.

  The Marchese Lamberto would have been at a loss probably if he had beenrequired to state clearly why he felt angry and annoyed with theimpresario that morning, and thought him a bore, and wished to be quitof him. But such was the case. And presently, when the well-skilled andbusiness-like little man began to canvass the capabilities of certainparts in his repertorio, for the most advantageous showing off of thepersonal advantages of the new acquisition, the Marchese could stand itno longer, but replied hastily:

  "Well, well. All these matters had better be submitted to the ladyherself. I think, Signor Ercole, that I will say good-morning now. Youare going to the theatre, and I am waited for at the palazzo."

  And the Marchese did return to the palazzo, though nobody was speciallywaiting for him there. On the contrary, he told the servant in the hallto admit nobody, and when he reached his library, he shut the door andbolted it. And then he threw himself into an easy chair to think.

  The first thing that his thinking made clear and certain to him was thatsomething had happened, or was happening to him, which had neverhappened to him before,--something respecting the exact nature of whichall his previous experience afforded him no light.

  In love! He had never been in love; but he knew, with some tolerableaccuracy, what was generally understood by the phrase. He had read thepoets, who describe the passion under sufficiently various phases; andhe had heard plenty of lovers' talk among a people who are not wont tosuffer, or to exult, or to be happy in silence. Was he in love with thiswoman? Did he, in his heart, love her--in his heart, as he was there inthe solitude of his own room, at liberty and at leisure to examine hisheart upon the subject. A heavy frown settled on the Marchese Lamberto'sbrow, and an unpleasant change came over his face, as he proceeded withthe task of asking his heart this question. There rose up feelings andpromptings within him, which almost drove him to the fierce assertion tohimself that he hated this woman, who was thus occupying his thoughtsagainst his will.

  What had become of all that warm chivalry of feeling that had urged him,with all perfect earnestness of sincerity, to declare that no breath ofcalumny or insult should come near her, beneath the aegis that he couldand would throw over her? Where was it gone? All clean gone. He knew,with tolerable accuracy, the story of the former life of this woman.They were facts which he knew,--certainly knew. But they had allvanished from his mind,--had been as though they were not,--while he hadsat there by her sofa, looking at her and listening to her,--had allvanished, even as the ardent chivalry, which had then been caused bysome sorcery to spring up in his mind, had vanished now.

  It was passing strange.

  That he was very sorely tempted--as he had never before in his lifebeen, tempted--to make love to this actress,--as it is called,--to makelove to her after the fashion, not so much of those poeticaldescriptions which have been referred to, as after the fashion of thoseprosaic settings-forth of the passion, which were familiar enough to hisears, was clearly recognizable by him. He knew very certainly that hedesired that.

  And was what he desired so much out of his reach? Surely all that hadhappened, all that he had seen, all that he had heard at the interviewwith Bianca that morning, was not calculated to lead him to think so.And why should it be? It would be all very much according to theordinary current of events in such matters. He was a bachelor. He waswealthy. He was the most prominent noble of the city. He was broughtspecially into contact with the lady by his theatrical connection andhabitudes. His patronage and protection were by far the most valuablethat could be offered to her in Ravenna. The Diva herself was--such asDivas of her sort and time were wont to be. It would seem to be all veryeasy and straight-forward. What was the worst penalty wont to followfrom such peccadilloes to persons in his position? The loss of a littlemoney,--of a good deal of money perhaps. But he had plenty and to spare.

  But none of these considerations availed to smooth the frown from theMarchese's brow, or to make the future at all seem clear before him.

  In the first place to make this singer his mistress, simple and littleobjectionable as such a step might seem to most men of his country, andrank, and period, and freedom from ties, was not an easy matter, or anagreeable prospect to the Marchese, on purely social considerations. Hehad placed himself on a special pedestal, from which such a liaisonwould involve a fall. And such a fall, or the danger of such a fall, wasvery dreadful to the Marchese. There was the Cardinal; there were thegood nuns, whose affairs he managed, and who looked on him as a saint onearth. Worst of all there was his nephew. How preach to him (terriblynecessary as such preaching might be) under such circumstances?

  To be sure, there was no need of doing whatever he might do in such sortthat the whole town should be his confidant. He had as goodopportunities for secrecy as could be desired. Theatrical business andhis recognized connection with it was an abundant and unsuspected excusefor as much conversation with the lady,--as many interviews as he mightwish. It seemed safe enough upon the whole.

  And yet these considerations did not avail to take the frown from theMarchese's brow, or bring his perplexed self-examination to an end. Thevery evident disposition of the lady to be kind did not avail to pleasehim. Instead of being pleased and triumphant at the probable prospect ofso enviable a bonne fortune, he was displeased, unhappy, irritated,angry--angry with himself and with the sorceress who had thrown thisspell on him. How was it? By what charm had she bewitched him so?Already he was impatient, longing to be back again in her presence. Andyet he was angry with her,--doubted whether he did not rather hate herthan love her.

  At last he started from his chair and swore that he would retain themastery over his own self; that he would think no more of the abominablewoman,--see her no more!

  Taking his hat he rushed out of the house, with an instinctive desirefor bodily movement as a means of stilling the tossing fever that wasraging within him; walked through the streets at such an unusual pace,that the people turned round to look after him as he passed; walked bythe door of the house in the Via di Santa Eufemia in which Paolinalived,--saw Ludovico coming from it, who was surprised indeed at thusseeing his uncle; and more surprised still to find, that the Marchesepassed him without seeming to notice him,--walked out into the country,and returned only at supper-time, tired and worn out; and then, when thesupper was over, and Ludovico had gone out to the Circolo as usual,after pacing his room, and swearing to h
imself at every turn, that hewould see the creature no more,--slunk out of his own palazzo, feelingafraid of being seen by his own servants, and wandered to her lodging!

  And what were Bianca's meditations, when the business visit of theimpresario was over, and he and the Marchese left her room together?

  First and foremost, the Marchese Lamberto was in love with her; and thatnot as dozens of youngsters in many a city had been; but madly,desperately, in love with her. That fact admitted of no doubt whatever!It was strange, curious enough, that she should have succeeded sobrilliantly, so entirely, and so immediately in spite of all the signsand tokens which had led her not small experience to expect so entirelydifferent a result. Clearly the still larger experience of old QuintoLalli had been more far-sighted. His view of the matter had been thetrue one!

  But still, how far was his view of the question a correct one? What wasthe success, which had been very unmistakably so far achieved, inreality worth? It was very plain that this Marchese Lamberto had beencaught, captivated, fascinated! But what then? There was no doubt at allthat he would very willingly suffer her to add him to the list of herprevious admirers and lovers. It never entered into the Diva's head toconceive, after the very unmistakable testimony she had received of theevident admiration of the Marchese, that very grave difficulties,objections, and hesitations would, on his side, stand in the way of hisaccepting any such position. She doubted not that this conquest wasperfectly within her reach; and that there would be no difficulty at allin drawing large supplies from the Castelmare wealth towards recruitingthe needs of the Lalli exchequer.

  But this, as has been explained, was not what Bianca wanted. "Majorrerum sibi nascitur ordo!" She was intent on playing a higher andgreater game. Was it likely she would be able so to fix the harpoon shehad successfully thrown in the very vitals of the prey, so to make thisman feel that she was absolutely essential to his happiness, as toinduce him to marry her? That was the question! And Bianca did notdelude herself into imagining that anything that had passed betweenherself and the Marchese that morning entitled her to consider thebattle which should lead to that victory as even begun.

  The Diva did not conceal from herself the greatness and arduous natureof the task before her. She knew what a Marchese of mature age, of noblelineage, and of unblemished reputation, was; and she knew what she was.But she did not appreciate those extra difficulties in the case, whicharose from the special social position, and still more from the specialcharacter and temperament of the man,--and these were the greatestdifficulties of all!

  On the whole, she was sanguine; and what was perhaps more to thepurpose, old Quinto, when they talked the matter over together, and thegeneral result of the morning interview had been reported to him, wassanguine too.

  "Depend upon it, bambina mia," he said, "it is the best game--the realgame. Young fry will rise to the bait more readily; but they alsowriggle off the hook much more easily. It is the old fish who, when hehas it once fixed in his gills, cannot get rid of it, struggle as hemay. You play your game well,--neither relaxing, nor yet too much in ahurry, and I prophesy that I shall live to see you Marchesa diCastelmare."

  "And many a year afterwards, I hope, papa mio. And you may depend on myteaching my husband to behave like a good son-in-law," said Bianca, witha bright laugh.

  "As for the nephew," continued Quinto, "I can understand that it wouldbe more agreeable to make your attack on him--"

  "I don't know that at all, papa mio," interrupted Bianca. "You maylaugh, if you will, and think that I am making a virtue ofnecessity--and small blame to me if I were--but the truth is, I do likethe Marchese. I like him better, as far as I can yet tell, than any manI ever knew. Yes! you may make grimaces, and look as wicked as youplease! But it is true. And, if you ever do see me Marchesa diCastelmare, you will see that I shall make him a very good, ay, and avery fond, wife."

  "Who could doubt it, Signora, that has the advantage of knowing you aswell as I do?" said the old man, with a mocking bow.

  "You may sneer as much as you like, Quinto; but you understand nothingabout it. The Marchese is a man any woman might love. You call him anold man? I tell you he is younger for a man than I am for a woman, Godhelp me! It isn't only years that make people old."

  "That's true, bambina mia, poveretta. And I am sure I have nothing tosay against it if you can fancy this Marchese a gay and handsome youngcavalier."

  "Handsome he is, as far as that goes. I swear he is the handsomest man Ihave seen here! His nephew is good-looking enough, but he is not to becompared to his uncle either in face or person."

  "Well, whether you have succeeded or not in making the Marchese in lovewith you, cara mia, I begin to think that you have succeeded already infalling in love with him," said Quinto, looking at her with raisedeyebrows.

  Bianca remained silent awhile, nodding her head up and down in a sort ofreverie, and then said, rousing herself with a shake of her flowingcurls as she looked up, "No; not quite that. But I won't say that it isimpossible that if I am to make him love me, I may come to love him inthe doing of it. You see, amico mio, it is something new. It is not theold weary mill-round. He did not come to me with the set purpose ofmaking love to me, as all those young fellows have done, and do, justbecause they have nothing else to amuse them; because it's the fashion;because it's a feather in their caps; because it's the thing to have aprima donna for their mistress! If the Marchese has fallen, or falls, inlove with me, he does so because he cannot help himself, he does it indespite of himself; and that flatters a woman, Quinto. Well, we shallsee," she added, after another pause: "one thing, at all events. I swearthat there shall be nothing between me and the Marchese--of--the oldsort."

  "It is wisely said, bambina mia. That is the road which must lead, ifany can, to the winning of your game."