CHAPTER VII. THE VILLA AT ORVIETO
If the villa life of Italy might prove a severe trial of temper andspirits to most persons, to young Gerald, trained in all the asceticismof a convent, it was a perfect paradise. The wild and far-spreadinglandscape imparted a glorious sense of liberty, which grew with eachday's enjoyment of it. It was a land of mountain and forest--those deep,dark woods of chestnut-trees traversed with the clear and rapid rivuletsso common in the Roman States, with here and there, at rare intervals,the solitary hut of a charcoal-burner. In these vast solitudes, silentas the great savannahs of the South, he passed his days--now roaming insearch of game, now dreamily lying, book in hand, beside a river's bank,or strolling listlessly along, tasting, in the very waywardness ofan untrammelled will, an ecstasy only known to those who have feltcaptivity.
Though there were several young people in the family of the Intendente,Gerald had no companionship with any of them: the boys were boorish,uneducated, and coarse-minded, and the girls, with one exception, werelittle better. Ninetta, it is true, was gentler; her voice was soft,and her silky hair and soft, dark eyes had a strange, subduing influenceabout them; but even she was far from that ideal his imagination hadpictured, nor could he, by all his persuasions, induce her to share hisraptures for Ariosto, or the still more passionate delight that Petrarchgave him. He was just opening that period of youth when the heart yearnsfor some object of affection--some centre around which its own hopes andfears, its wishes and aspirations, may revolve. It is wonderful how muchimagination contributes in such cases, supplying graces and attractionswhere nature has been a niggard, and giving to the veriest commonplacecharacter traits of distinctive charm.
Ninetta was quite pretty enough for all this, but she was no more.Without a particle of education, she had never raised her mind beyondthe commonest daily cares; and what with the vines, the olives, thechestnuts, the festivals of the church, and little family gatherings,her life had its sphere of duties so full as to leave no time for thelove-sick wanderings of an idle boy.
If she was disposed to admire him when, in fits of wild energy, he wouldpass nights and days in chase of the wild boar, or follow the track ofa wolf, with the steadfast tenacity of a hound, she cared little forhis intervals of dreamy fancy, nor lent any sympathy to joys or sorrowswhich had no basis in reality; and when her indifference had gone so faras to offend him, she would gently smile and say, 'Never mind, Gerald;the Contessina will come one of these days, and she'll be charmed withall these "moonings."' Whether piqued by the tone of this commiseration,or careless as to its meaning, he never thought of asking who theContessina might be, until one morning a showily-dressed courier arrivedat the villa to announce that, ere the end of the week, the Cardinal'sniece and her governante were to arrive, and remain for, probably,several weeks there.
It was two years since her last visit, and great was the commotion toprepare a suitable reception for her. Saloons that had been carefullyclosed till now were immediately opened, and all the costly furnitureuncovered. Within doors and without the work of preparation went brisklyon. Troops of labourers were employed in the grounds and the gardens.Fresh parterres of flowers were planted beneath the windows; fountainslong dried up were taught to play, and jets of many a fantastic kindthrew their sportive showers on the grass.
Gerald took immense interest in all these details, to which his naturaltaste imparted many a happy suggestion. By his advice the statues werearranged in suitable spots, and a hundred little devices of ingenuitycame from his quick intelligence. 'The Contessina will be delighted withthis! How she will love that!' were exclamations that rewarded him forevery fresh exertion; and, doubtless, he had fashioned to his own hearta Contessina, for he never asked a question, nor made one singleinquiry about her, the real one. As little was he prepared for the great_cortege_ which preceded her coming--troops of servants, saddle-horses,fourgons of luggage, even furniture kept pouring in, until the villa,so tranquil and deserted in its appearance, became like some vastand popular hotel. There was something almost regal in the state andpreparation that went forward; and when, at the close of a longsummer day, two mounted couriers dashed up to the door, all heated anddust-covered, quickly followed by two heavy coaches with scarlet panels,Gerald's curiosity at length got the upper hand, and he stole to awindow to watch the descent of her for whom all these cares had beenprovided. What was his astonishment to see a little girl, apparentlyyounger than himself, spring lightly to the ground, and, after a briefgesture of acknowledgment to the welcome tendered her, pass intothe house. He had seen enough, however, to remark that her long andbeautiful hair was almost golden in tint, and that her eyes, whatevertheir colour, were large and lustrous. He would have dwelt with morepleasure on her beauty had he not marked, in the haughty gesturesshe vouchsafed and the proud carriage of her head, a bearing he,not unfairly, ascribed to a character imperious and exacting--almostinsolent, indeed, in its requirement of respect.
Guglia Ridolfi was, however, the greatest heiress in the Roman States:she was the niece of a cardinal, the granddaughter of a grandee ofSpain, and, more than all, had been taught to reflect on these factsfrom the earliest years of her girlhood. It had been for years thepolicy of the Cardinal to increase the _prestige_ of her position byevery means in his power; and they who knew the ambitious nature of theman could easily see how, in the great game he played, his own futureaggrandisement was as much included as was her elevation. Left withouta father or mother when a mere infant, she had been confided to the careof her uncle. Surrounded with teachers of every kind, she only learnedwhat and when she pleased, her education being, in fact, the result ofcertain impulses which swayed her from time to time. As she was giftedwith great quickness, however, and a remarkable memory, she seemed tomake the most astonishing progress, and her fame as a linguist and herreputation for accomplishments were the talk of Rome.
She had all the waywardness, caprice, and instability such a disciplinemight be supposed to produce, and so completely sated with amusement andpleasure was she that now, as a mere child, or little more, she actuallypined away from sheer _ennui_ of life. A momentary change of placeafforded her a slight passing satisfaction, and so she had come down toOrvieto to stay some time, and persuade herself, if she could, that sheenjoyed it. Strangely enough, nothing in either her general appearanceor her gestures betrayed this weariness of the world: her eyes werebright, her look animated, her step active. It was only when watchingher closely that one could see how estranged her thoughts were from whatseemed to fill them; and how, at times, a low, faint sigh would escapeher, even when she was apparently occupied and interested.
It was rumoured that these very traits of her disposition were what hadattached her uncle so fondly to her, and that he recognised in them theindications of a blood and a race which had always made their way inlife, subjecting others to their rule, and using them as mere tools fortheir own advancement. One thing was certain: he curbed her in nothing;every wild weed of her heart grew up in all its own luxuriance, and shewas the ideal of imperiousness and self-will.
Either from caprice or settled purpose--it were hard to say which--theCardinal affected to submit his own plans to her, and he consulted herabout many things which were clearly beyond the sphere of either heryears or her knowledge, but to which her replies gave him the sort ofguidance that gamblers are wont to accept for the accidents of play; andoften had 'Da Guglia's' counsels decided him when his mind was waveringbetween two resolves. Whether from perceiving the ascendency she thusobtained over her uncle's mind, or that really, to her pleasure-sickheart, these sterner themes gave her a gleam of interest, but graduallyshe turned her thoughts to the great events of the day, and listenedwith eagerness only to subjects of State craft and intrigue.
Such was she to whose morning levee Gerald was summoned on the day afterher arrival, when, in a sort of vassalage, the Intendente, followed byhis family and the villagers, were admitted to pay their homage. It wasnot without a certain compulsion Gerald yielded to this cu
stomary actof deference; nor was his compliance more gracefully accorded when helearned that he was supposed to be a member of the steward's family, as,if he were known to be a stranger, it was almost certain the Contessinawould not suffer him to remain there.
It solved much of his difficulty to be told that in all likelihood shewould never notice nor remark him. She rarely did more than listen tothe few words of routine gratulation the Intendente spoke, and with aslight nod of her head intimate that they might retire. 'Then, why am Ineeded at all? Why can't this ceremony go on without me?' cried he halfpeevishly.
'Because, if she were afterwards to see you about the grounds, she isquite capable of remembering that you had not presented yourself on herarrival. She forgets nothing.'
'That's true,' broke in the Intendente. 'It was but the last time shecame here she remarked that the lace border of my hat was torn, and saidto me, "Signor Maurizio, you must have lazy daughters, for I saw thatpiece of gold braid torn, as it is now, on the last two visits I madehere."'
Gerald turned away in ill-humour, for he was vexed that any act ofservitude should be required of him.
There is a strange mystery in that atmosphere of deference which arisesfrom the united submission of many to one whom they would honour andreverence. The most stubborn asserter of equality has not failed to ownthis, as he has stood among the crowd before a throne. The sentimentof homage is quickly contagious, and few there are who can steel theirhearts against the feelings of that homage which fills every breastabout him. Gerald experienced this as he found himself moving slowlyalong in the procession toward the chamber where the Contessina heldher court. The splendid suite of rooms, filled with objects of art, themassive candelabra of gilded bronze, the costly tables of malachiteand agate, all obtained their full share of admiration from the simplevillagers, whose whispered words almost savoured of worship, until,awe-stricken, they found themselves in a magnificent chamber, hung withpictures from floor to ceiling. In a deep window recess, from which avast view opened over mountain and forest, the Contessina was standing,book in hand, gazing listlessly on the landscape, and never noticing inthe slightest that dense throng which now gathered in the lower part ofthe room.
'Maurizio and the peasants have come to pay their duty, whispered athin, elderly lady, who acted as governante to the young countess.
'Well, be it so,' said she languidly. And now a very meanly-clad priest,poor and wretched in appearance, came crouchingly forward to kiss herhand. She gave it with averted head, and in a way that indicated littleof courtesy, while he bent tremblingly over it, as beseemed one whoselips touched the fingers of a great cardinal's niece. Maurizio followed,and then the other members of his household. When it came to Gerald'sturn to advance, 'You must, you must; it is your duty,' whispered thesteward, as, rebel-like, the youth wished to pass on without the act ofdeference.
'Is this Tonino?' asked the Contessina, suddenly turning her head, forher quick ears had caught the words of remonstrance. 'Is this Tonino?'
'No, Eccelenza; Tonino was drawn in the conscription, muttered thesteward, in confusion. 'He knew your Excellency would have got him off,if you were here, but----'
'Which is this, then--your second son, or your third?'
'Neither, Eccelenza, neither; he is a sort of connection----''
'Nothing of the kind,' broke in Gerald. 'I'm of the blood of theGeraldines.'
'Native princes,' said the Contessina quickly. 'Irish, too! How came youhere?'
'He has been living with us, Eccelenza, for some months back,' chimed inthe steward; 'an honest Frate, one----'
'Let himself answer me,' said the Contessina.
'They took, me from the Jesuit college and placed me here,' said theboy.
'Who do you mean by they?' asked she.
'The Frate, and the Count; perhaps, indeed, I owe the change more tohim.'
'What is his name?'
'I never heard it. I only saw him once, and then for a short time.'
'How old are you?'
'I think, fifteen.'
'Indeed. I should have thought you younger than I am,' said she, halfmusingly.
'Oh, no; I look much, much older,' said Gerald, as he gazed at herbright and beautiful features.
'Don Cesare,' said she, turning to a pale old man beside her, 'you mustwrite to the rector of the college, and let us learn about this boy--howhe came there, and why he left. And so,' said she, addressing Gerald,'you think it beneath your quality to kiss a lady's hand?'
'No, no!' cried he rapturously, as he knelt down and pressed her hand tohis lips.
'It is not so you should do it, boy,' broke in the governante. 'Yourshas been ill training, wherever you have got it.'
'Alas! I have had little or none,' said Gerald sorrowfully.
'Pass on, boy; move on,' said the governante, and Gerald's head droopedas his heavy footsteps stole along. He never dared to look up as hewent. Had he done so, what a thrill might his heart have felt to knowthat the Contessina's eyes had followed him to the very door.
'There, you have done for me and yourself too, with your stupid prideabout your blood,' cried the Intendente, when they gained the courtyard.'The next thing will be an order to send me to Rome, to explain why Ihave taken you to live here.'
'Well, I suppose you can give your reasons for it,' said Gerald gravely.
'Except that it was my evil fortune, I know of none other/ broke out theother angrily, and turned away. From each, in turn, of the family didhe meet with some words of sarcasm and reproof; and though Ninetta saidnothing, her tearful eyes and sorrow-stricken features were the hardestof all the reproaches he endured.
'What am I, that I should bring shame and sorrow to those who befriendme!' cried he, as with an almost bursting heart he threw himself uponhis bed; and sobbed there till he fell asleep. When the first gleam ofsunlight broke upon him he awoke, and as suddenly remembered all hisgriefs of the day before, and he sat down upon his bed to think overwhat he should do.
'If I could but find out the Conte at Rome, or even the Fra Luke,'thought he; but alas! he had no clue to either. 'I know it; I have it,'exclaimed he at last. 'There is a life which I can live without fearingreproach from those about me. I'll go and be a charcoal-burner in theMaremma. The Carbonari will not refuse to have me, and I'll set out forthe forest at once.'
When Gerald had uttered this resolve it was in the bitterness of despairthat he spoke, since of all the varied modes by which men earneda livelihood, none was in such universal disrepute as that of acharcoal-burner; and when the humblest creature of the streets said 'I'd as soon be a charcoal-burner,' he expressed the direst aspect of hismisery.
It was not, indeed, that either the life or the labour had anythingdegrading in itself, but, generally, they who followed it were outcastsand vagabonds--the irreclaimable sweepings of towns, or the incorrigibleyouth of country districts, who sought in the wild and wanderingexistence a freedom from all ties of civilisation; the life of theforest in all its savagery, but in all its independence. The chiefresort of these men was a certain district in those low-lying landsalong the coast, called Maremmas, and where, from the undrainedcharacter of the soil and rapid decomposition of vegetable matter evergoing on, disease of the most deadly form existed--ague and feverbeing the daily condition of all who dwelt there. Nothing but habits ofwildest excess, and an utter indifference to life, could make men bravesuch an existence; but their recompense was, that this district wasa species of sanctuary where the law never entered. Beyond certainwell-known limits the hardiest carbineer never crossed; and it was wellknown that he who crossed that frontier came as fugitive, and not asfoe. Many, it is true, of those who sojourned here were attaintedwith the deepest crimes--men for whom no hope of return to the worldremained, outcasts branded with undying infamy; but others therewere, mere victims of dissipation and folly--rash youths, who had soirretrievably compromised their fair fame that they had nothing left butto seek oblivion.
The terrible stories Gerald had heard of
these outcasts from hisschool-fellows, the horror in which they were held by all honestvillagers, inspired him with a strange interest to see them with hisown eyes. It savoured, too, of courage; it smacked, to his heart, likebravery, to throw himself among such reckless and daredevil associates,and he felt a sort of hero to himself when he had determined on it.'Ay,' said he, 'they have been taunting me here for some time back, thatmy friends take little trouble about me--that they half forget me, andso on. Let us see if I cannot make a path for myself, and spare them allfuture trouble.'
Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel Page 7